#if this goes well i may venture into rope leads as well

[funny-bunny224]

Wednesday Addams x Reader - NSFW Alphabet Prompt

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

- You had some experience, while Wednesday hadn’t any in the slightest. That never bothered you, though. You would typically take the lead and make the first moves, but always made sure to get feedback and consent before venturing into anything. You found it cute how studious Wednesday’s approach was when it came to learning about sex. She would read many books on various things, rather it be toys, positions, stimulants, etc., to absorb as much information as possible. There were many times that she would mention things she wanted to try out or test on you, and you were always down to indulge her.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

- Having Wednesday sit on your face is very mutually enjoyable. There is nothing sexier than seeing her writhe atop of you as you go to town on her delicious pussy, face covered in her slick and tongue making quick work of creating more. You’d either grip her thighs or reach up to cup her tits, leaving harsh crescent indents that were sure to bruise, if not bleed, as she would ride your face to as many orgasms as she pleased. She especially loved to tug on your hair, treating the strands like the strings of a marionette doll as she directed your face exactly where she wanted it.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

- Romantic feelings/intimacy are not things that come easily to Wednesday, so you find yourself filling in where she has difficulty. You were once like that yourself, so you are nothing short of understanding and patient with your love. Although not all the time, there were still many moments where she allowed her guard down and you got to catch a glimpse of her softer side. She may kiss you a little sweeter, hug you a little longer, touch you tenderly, or look at you a little softer. Regardless how fleeting those moments may be, they make you feel all the luckier to call her yours.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

-  Although she wasn’t the most experienced of people, Wednesday did not let that stop her from discovering and collecting more kinks than seemed countable. Just about any form of torture or pain was on the table for her, both to receive and give. Slapping, choking/breath-play, marking, knife-play, wax-play, overstimulation, rope-play, blood, the list really could go on and on. She enjoyed receiving more than giving, but there were times she would switch your roles around and you definitely didn’t mind the change of pace. Something Wednesday was huge on, and that you would always allow her to do, is degrade and talk down to you. You were typically the dominant one, yet she enjoyed being dominant in a more verbal way. She absolutely loved to call you her “pet” and have you address her as “mistress”. Power-play was incredibly becoming of her. With her sharp, bitter tongue and quick wit, you highly doubted anyone else could ever hold a candle to her.

W = Wild card (a random head canon for the character)

-  Although it wasn’t something you expected, Wednesday had quite the interest in lingerie. You had absolutely no complaints about it, though. You loved peeling away her Nevermore uniform to expose the sexy surprise she always had hiding under it for you. Just for you. Most of her sets were her typical black, but she would also go the extra mile and pick things that were of your favorite colors as well. She would forever be a stunning, ethereal beauty in your eyes regardless of what she wore, but something about her in lingerie always got your heart beating a little more than necessary and your throat feeling all the more dry.

#wednesday addams #wednesday addams x reader #x reader #/reader #Smut #x reader smut #netflix series #gender neutral reader #fluff

[hibiscusheir]

Bakusquad Playing Specter (Roblox) with game-experienced!reader

a/n: ty for the support on my last post :]] it means a lot to me. a lot of this may not be accurate, as I haven't written for this fandom in about a year's time, so it may suck, or it may not! -heir

Characters: Katsuki Bakugo, Eijiro Kirishima, Denki Kaminari, Hanta Sero, Mina Ashido

CW: cursing, getting scared, probably terribly translated Spanish on Sero's part

Katsuki Bakugo

At first, he denied your request to play.

"The fuck-? No way, that sounds stupid."

After a bit of convincing, he complies, and you teach him the simple ropes of the game.

He doesn't really get it, but he wants to win.

"What's this-"

"That's an EMF reader. If it goes up to five (5), we write that down, and it narrows down our selection to figure out the ghost."

"And this-?"

"...Bakugo, that's a flashlight-"

If a hunt starts, and you two are together, you'll lead him to a closet to hide and wait.

(He makes fun of the ghost through the closet)

If you're split up, however, he'll rage when he either gets in the closet too late or he can't find one and the ghost kills him.

"WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED?!"

"You didn't hide fast enough."

"I'LL BLOW THAT GHOST TO PIECES-"

"Dude. It's a video game. Chill."

He wins sometimes, but you need to keep him grounded, otherwise, he'll get cocky.

Eijirou Kirishima

He would never turn down a game request from you!

"Hell yeah, sounds manly!"

I think he'd know some stuff, like what an EMF or a thermometer does.

But anything else, he doesn't know what he's doing, and you will have to explain to him.

He would try to address the ghost by the first name, even though it's chat and that's not how it works.

"*Insert name*! Y/N, why aren't they responding-???"

"It doesn't work like that, Kiri."

":( that's not nice."

When hunts roll around, you two are always in the closet together.

(Probably because he never leaves your side.)

On the rare chance he's not with you, he knows where to hide because you showed him.

You guys usually win.

If you don't you're alright with it!

Even if it's just a dumb glitch.

Denki Kaminari

He's so jumpy about the game.

Even the sound of running water makes him jump in his seat if it's sudden enough.

He'd need the flashlight if the lights went out/the generator was turned off.

Always hiding in either the closets or in the van

But if he gets the courage, he'll venture with you, solving the case together.

You gotta do most of the work, sorry. 🤷

Probably short circuits when jumpscared.

Would be the one to turn off jumpscares.

Though, he'd be pretty good about getting to the generator quickly to turn it back on!

(Because he's scared lol-)

You guys usually equally win and lose, most of the time, he dies though.

Hanta Sero

I think he'd be down to play, despite not knowing the game.

He's eager to learn, though!

Once you explain to him how to play, he's actually quite good.

He stays on track, doesn't get too cocky, and does well on his own.

...on easy mode.

On any other mode, however, the ghosts always scare the shit outta him.

Like during hunts, if he rounds a corner and sees the ghost, he yelps.

"MIERDA SANTA-"

"Y/NNNNNNNN, AYUDAAAAAA-"

But he dies since there's nothing you can do

(unless you use a crucifix or sacrifice yourself lol)

Overall, you two make a pretty good team as long as the mode stays on easy!

"*High fives you* Ayyyeeee, we did it!"

Mina Ashido

(Disclaimer, this is my first time writing for Mina, so if its OOC, then I'm sorry T-T)

She'd be down!

Lowkey think she'd know what she was doing.

Like, she'd know what an EMF is, know how to use a crucifix, know where to put the book, etc.

She strikes me as the type of girl to look up paranormal things in her spare time, especially since she's training to become a hero! There could be a villain who is like one of these ghosts!

She may have played this game before you asked her to play with you.

May even be a higher level than you~

She may get a little surprised by the jumpscares, but not super freaked out by them.

And definitely not scared enough to turn them off, hehe.

A/N: ayyyyyyyyy that's the end of that one :) I'm sorry if the last three seemed shorter and if they were a lil (or a lot) OOC but i still hope you liked this! like, reblog, and follow if you enjoy this and want more content from me! my requests are open as well :)

#my hero academia #boku no hero academia #bnha #mha #headcanons #bakusquad #katsuki bakugo #bakugo katsuki #bakugo #bakugo x y/n #bakugou x reader #bakugo x you #kirishima eijiro #eijiro kirishima #kirishima #kirishima x y/n #kirishima x reader #kirishima x you #denki kaminari #kaminari denki #kaminari #kaminari x y/n #kaminari x reader #kaminari x you #hanta sero #sero hanto #sero #sero x y/n #sero x you #sero x reader

[ducknotinarow]

[2k3 Don and Raph; I feel Don will immediately regret this uwu]

It had been at least a couple of days since Master Splinter had given him ‘the talk’, and yet, Donatello was still embarrassed as all Hell about it. He had even avoided the kitchen in that time, leaving him cranky without his coffee

There was only so long he could go without it though. Venturing to the kitchen, he was relieved to only see Raphael in there. Sighing out, Donatello strolls in, heading straight for his precious coffee machine,

“I’m glad it’s just you and I Raph, Donatello casually comments as he looks for his mug, “Last time, Master Splinter found me alone, and gave me the birds and the bees talk…”

He leaned back against the counter, waiting for the coffee to heat up. It’s then be noticed the silence, and he felt his heart sink. Looking to Raph with wide eyes, he swallowed,

“Please tell me I’m not the only that he’s spoken too about that.”

Oh, him and his big mouth!

Ignoring whatever Raph was telling him, Donatello opted to instead unplug their coffee machine. Gathering it and his mug up, not worrying about the potential burns he may get from doing this, he begins leaving, grumbling,

“I’m taking this with me and never leaving my lab again.”

| Muse Interaction

Despite them all growing up with Splinters strict bed time schedule only Leo seemed to take to it the best. In that he at least kept to a more stable bed time. Mikey could be hit or miss but he was pretty much somewhat on a routine himself. But, they could both be early risers despite it. Donnie and Raphael could be more the night owls Donnie less seeing how they went days with out sleep altogether. So running into each other wasn't that uncommon Raph on his way to sneak out only to find Donnie going on day three of no sleep.  And well some nights were Raph telling them to ‘go the fuck to sleep’ other had them up chatting to each other being the only ones alive to the world at the time.So when Donnie had been recently holed up in his lab eh Raphael didn’t think much of it. This is why the coffee pot was kept in the kitchen however even if Don was partly the only one who ever drank the stuff. Leo and Splinter preferred tea. Mikey never needed it and Raph only drank it with Donnie.

“And out from the lab comes the resident brain Stine.” Raph goes to greet his brother as he was leaning up against the counter “Don’t seem like the coffee has seen any use for a bit was startin’ ta think you might be passed out in the lab.” He was kidding but seeing Donnie finally stumble out of said lab did bring some relief. And of course the first thing Donnie went for was the coffee pot, Raph just let a faint smile show on his beak turning to the side to open up the cardboard where they kept the coffee to grab it for them. Handing over the canister towards his twin. And they went anf got the pot up and going now.

“I’m glad it’s just you and I Raph”

“yeah? Why's that?” Not that Raph minded the sentiment or didn’t return it even. Heck, their nights together were often his favorite. Not that he would admit that out loud, but it was the truth. As Donatello went looking for his mug Raph, moving back to how he was resting against the counter. Curious about what lead to Don hiding away this time. Didn't seem lole some personal project from that bit alone.

“Last time, Master Splinter found me alone, and gave me the birds and the bees talk…”

Oh. Now Raph normally would smirk and rejoice in one of his brothers' pain over that. However, instead, his eyes widen a bit as he just looked at Donnie their own eyes suddenly widen like looking into a mirror as they shared the expression.

"He gave yas the talk?"

“Please tell me I’m not the only that he’s spoken too about that.”

"Well... not exactly." Raphael commented on. He also had the joy of getting that talk worse because Splinter sat Casey down along with him. He would have rather it just been him why did he have to rope them into sure was nice he knew Splinter liked Casey and saw them as family even but that had to be the worst day if Raphael's life to this very moment

"Yeah I don't blame ya hidin' away 'ike ya 'ave. I dipped outta her a few weeks myself-" cut off when he picks up on all the noises going on beside him in that very moment. Turning to watch Donatello the usual more level headed of the group currently unplugging the coffee machine from the wall. Gating the thing up into his arms along with his mug in hand. Raph haven't even noticed when the pot finished brewing let alone when donnie got his mug made up.

"Hey are ya brain dead from the lack of coffee ya gonna burn yourself that things too hot!." Raph jumped to scold and hated it because he sounded like fucking Leo when he did it.

“I’m taking this with me and never leaving my lab again.”

Donnie grumbled back, oh look they really were twins. Raph rolled his eyes and huffed before going and grabbing at his twins arm. More to keep the top of the machine from getting to close to Donnie from how they were lugging the thing around.

"Oh come on Don, it ain't that bad jeez and ya already got 'the talk'what more could Splinter do now? Stop bein' a wuss and man up." As if Raph had any room to talk considering how he himself ran off after getting that same talk from thier father. But, he chose to ignore that because this wasn't about him anyway. Working on getting the machine out from Donnies hold. Because if he had one in his lab, they really would not see Donnie as much as they do now.

"I will break it don' think I can't or won't." Of course he could, and of course, he would find a way to make it happen. Carful to pull the manchie back so the top was angel away from both of them before he set it back to the counter, careful to push it back into place. "Man ya got me soundin' 'ike Splinter Jr over here now."

It's hard to say which Raphael was more upset about.

"Jeez it ain't the end of the world sometimes Don you can be the most dramtic turtle. Even more than Mikey an' thats saying somethin'. Now stop bein' an idiot and just sit down and drink your sludge."

#muse| hamato rapheal #madamkezzie #aflockofffeathers #[ you think first i hit first aflockoffeathers] #[2003 verse] #muse interactions #ic reply #((truth be told raph was in the kicthen hopiing to see Donnie pop out if he didn't he was gonna just go in thier lab XD)) #((fun fact i have a burn from my pwn coffee pot from six years ago uwu which is way raphs so focused on the top uwu))

[patrickztump]

i did it i did it i DID IT. ya girl made a semi-huge purchase of biothane and hardware to make leashes and sell them in the local artisan-charity shop. here’s to hoping it all goes smoothly 🤞🏻🤞🏻

#babble post #am i nervous i’ll fail? a lil yeah #but honestly it can’t be 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 hard #the hard part will be actually selling #and it’s really not a huge order at all but considering i’ve never done it. it’s sizable #also finally going to be selling vinyl decals #i came so close to doing so in 2019 but just ... didn’t #if this goes well i may venture into rope leads as well #but i’ve been doing a lot of rope projects lately #so that’s in the ‘we’ll see’ pile

[ledenvs3000f21]

Nervousness In Nature

I vividly remember my first backcountry trip and all the nerves I was feeling before I embarked on a rugged 65 kilometre hike across rugged terrain. Having never been in a similar situation to this before I spent hours worrying about any possible negative outcomes and attempted to prepare for any possible scenario. On the top of my list of worries was the risk of running into a black bear. Although I am not super scared of black bears, they are not the first animal I would like to be greeted by at night alone in my tent. Hiking along the coast of Lake Superior in Northern Ontario, I knew there was a chance I would have an unwanted visitor at my campsite. To prepare for this potential encounter I prepared as well as possible by bringing a bear bag, rope to tie my bag to a tree, and bear spray. Luckily I never ran into a bear and had a trip with little worry. As I have become more experienced in nature I have begun to worry less and less, as I realize that I have the experience and confidence to overcome tense situations.

I know for a fact there are many people who have been in a similar position to me and have been nervous to go on a backcountry trip. Their nerves may be entirely different from mine, whether it is being worried about adverse weather, a low food supply, or limited access to treatable water. As a future backcountry guide and nature interpreter I realize that my role at times will entail calming peoples nerves down and ensuring that the trip goes as smoothly as possible. Hence, I believe it is super important that I remain calm and composed, no matter what is happening out in the natural world. The second I start to worry and panic, my group will follow suit, if they have not started already. I think there is a fine line as a nature interpreter and guide when it comes to leading a group of people. In the textbook, Tilden states, “we cannot forget that people are with us mainly for seeking enjoyment, not instruction” (Beck et al. 2018). This quote resonates with being a guide and dealing with nervous party members. Even if the situation is worrisome and people begin to panic, it is important not to boss people already, instead I believe it is better to suggest possible solutions. The minute I start to bark orders at people, the minute people on the trip stop having fun, no matter how many bears may be chasing after us.

I think the idea of being nervous in nature has not been touched on much in this class, and in general. It is worth mentioning that everybody at one point or another has felt nervous about being in nature. Instead of living in fear, I believe it is best to use this past nervousness and learn from it to better prepare for the next situation that will bring forth nerves. As a future backcountry guide I know now that I must be as calm as possible at all times.

Do you guys have any similar stories about being nervous before or during a backcountry trip?

Keep calm and adventure on!

Lucas

Beck, L., Cable, T.T., & Knudson. D.M. (2018). Interpreting cultural and natural heritage for a better world. Sagamore-Venture.

[cousinslavellan-archive]

Rescue from the Depths

A mission beneath the Deeps of the Deadfire, and a moment of panic that leads to a moment of peace.

[Feeling a bit better today, have some more POE fic. First kisses tada ♥ Also on AO3]

From the moment Alina is given the diving suit, Tekēhu has a bad feeling.

She has a proven knack for solving problems, of that he is well aware - but what the scientist doesn’t seem to realize is that the Watcher normally works with a team, not as a solo-party.

Yet Alina accepts the diving suit and the mission, and seems prepared to go it alone - despite the looks and words of worry from their other companions - until she reaches him and is quieted by a wide, toothy smirk.

“If you think for one moment, Captain, that I am allowing you to venture into the Deep on your own? Then Ekera, you are greatly mistaken.” Tekēhu winks, “I am more than capable of following you down, using my own abilities. Have no fear, I say; your handsome fish will be at your side.”

Alina looks like she might argue, so he takes her helmet from her hands and leans in closer, “Please, Alina. Allow me to follow, else I may go mad from worry.”

That earns a soft sigh and a nod, the elf bowing her head as he helps her finish suiting up.

Together they dive from the side of The Defiant, submerging and making their way steadily down to the structure hidden deep below the waves.

Tekēhu stays close at Alina’s side the entire time - noting that she is a decent swimmer, but weighed down and slowed by the suit.

They are both on high alert as they enter the ruins and begin to wander, Alina’s helmet tucked beneath her arm - ‘I don’t want to leave it, in case I need to put it on quickly’ - and the few enemies they come across quickly dispatched with spells.

It turns out to be - as it always seems too - an Engwithan machine that is causing the strange growth, and that’s where the trouble begins.

Alina’s focus slips away as they move closer, in the way he’s now seen her do numerous times - and the reason becomes clear when she blinks back to herself, a frustrated scowl crossing her lips.

“It’s Galawain.” she says in way of explanation, already backtracking out of the room, “He wants us to bury the machine, rather than destroy it.”

“Ekera, will that stop the growth?”

“I don’t know, but I’d rather not fight a God.”

On that they are agreed.

Backtracking through the ruins is no hard task, and they deactivate two of the shields with no issue - noting the way the building begins to shake and leak as they do.

“Be ready to swim.” his Watcher warns, already securing her helmet in place as she speaks - and he prepares himself to shift the moment she touches the last console.

And then everything goes to Hel.

They both make it out of the steadily collapsing ruin with little issue, swimming for the surface as soon as they’re both free.

They’ve made it perhaps halfway when Tekēhu notices Alina struggling, suddenly clawing at the latches of her helmet and ripping it off.

Did it stop working?!

There’s no way to ask her, right now; she’s kicked off the rest of the suit and is swimming desperately for the surface, panic clear.

Tekēhu doesn’t think - he rockets forwards and grips her at the waist, pulling her swiftly towards the surface - not pausing until they’ve both broken free of the water and she’s clear of the worst danger, coughing as she clings to him.

“I’ve got you, Beloved, you will be alright.” he promises, one arm tight around her shivering form, the other grabbing the rope that’s been thrown over the edge, holding fast as they’re pulled up.

The crew is crowded around, worried about their Captain, but Tekēhu doesn’t stop once his feet have hit the deck; only scoops Alina up properly and carries her off towards her quarters, shouting, “We’ve accomplished the mission, but the Captain was injured - where is Daelan?”

“I’ll fetch him, Tekēhu - get her to her quarters.” Edér stops long enough to give him a nod, “I’m damn glad you went with her, fish boy.”

He’s off without another word, and Tekēhu continues in his route - ducking beneath the frame of the cabins doorway and crossing to set Alina down by her bunk.

“Ekera, where do you keep your clothes? You are drenched, I say - and it will not do to have you fall ill.”

“The chest to the left.” she mumbles, still seeming a bit dazed, and Tekēhu is quick to follow her direction - trying not to be nosey while he digs, as she is not in the proper state for flirting of any sort.

No, he is merely lucky she is still here, still breathing, and he offers his mother a silent thankyou.

Finally, he finds what look to be warm and sleep-appropriate clothes, and he moves back to her, attempting to mask his concern at the fact that she has not moved.

“Alina, are you well enough to change? If you are comfortable, I will do my best to behave and help you change - or I can have Xoti come, if you would prefer-”

“Tekēhu.”

His name and her hand on his chest catch him off guard, making him look up from where he’d knelt to help with her shoes - and her lips pressing to his make him freeze a moment, startled and elated.

He kisses her back immediately, feeling her hand tentatively press into his hair and shivering when it wraps gently around her in response, approving. 

His own hand settles on her hip, squeezing gently - and when the hiss she releases is one of pain and not of pleasure, Tekēhu pulls back.

“Much as I would greatly enjoy continuing, Alina… you are injured, I say.” he cuts off her argument with another soft kiss, rather enjoying the way her cheeks flush and her eyes darken. “We will have other chances - once you are rested.”

“Alright.” she sighs, stealing a last touch before he moves away - and he makes sure to send Xoti to help her change, before the medic arrives.

Tekēhu would like to say he could control himself, but after a taste of her - he’s unsure.

#pillars of eternity #pillars of eternity: deadfire #tekehu/watcher #tekēhu #poe fanfiction #poe watcher #fluff #tekehu

[thetimelordbatgirl]

Twisted Disney OCs

Description of Twisted Disney: Taking inspiration from Disney’s Twisted Tale Series, this is a similar series but with different twists that lead to present time with next gen aspects. 

List of Stories (so far): *Your Destiny Lies In Your Hands (Aladdin). *And At Last I See The Light (Tangled). *Silence Is The Most Powerful Scream (Little Mermaid). *Never Go Into The Woods (Beauty And The Beast). *I Wonder (Sleeping Beauty). *Second Star To The Right And Straight On Till Morning (Peter Pan). *I’m Late (Alice in Wonderland). *Sleeping Death (Snow White). *Chasing Stardust (Treasure Planet). *Reflection (Mulan). *Return To The Realms (Nutcracker and The Four Realms). *For The First Time In Forever (Frozen). *Welcome To My Wicked World (Descendants 3). *Zero To Hero (Hercules). *This Is Halloween (The Nightmare Before Christmas). *Dig A Little Deeper (The Princes and The Frog). *So This Is Love (Cinderella 3: A Twist In Time).

Summaries of Stories:

Your Destiny Lies In Your Hands: Twist: “What if Jafar had won?” Summary: “The day Jafar became Sultan of Agrabah was the day that Agrabah became the kingdom of darkness and nightmares as with a genie at his side, it’s impossible to fight against it.  But despite this, the resistance within the kingdom continues to fight, led by Aladdin and his son, Aziz, as they fight to take down Jafar and free their kingdom, with Aladdin and Aziz in particular hoping to free the sultanna, Jasmine, one of the resistance’s founders who years ago, had surrendered herself for their safety.  Unbeknownst to the resistance, Jasmine is planning her own plan against Jafar along with their daughter, Princess Alia, and with plans soon colliding, the fate of Agrabah hangs in the balance....”

And At Last I See The Light: Twist: “What if Gothel had won?” Summary: “Growing up, Hope has heard tales of a woman with hair that is longer then any rope made and can do magic of all things....but the tales always end sadly with her father, Flynn, losing his eyesight and the woman being taken away to parts unknown.  And....that’s all they were: tales with the same tragic ending.  Until now.  With the anniversary of the missing princess drawing near, Hope ventures out with Pascal and Max to find the princess and bring her home, to cure her father and finally, reunite the royal family of Corona....”

Silence Is The Most Powerful Scream: Twist: “What if Ariel lost to Ursula?” Summary: “Born as the princess of Atlantica, Ianthe grew up hearing tales of the land above and of a prince whose eyes used to be full of life...until the fateful day happened that resulted in the loss of King Triton and her mother, then-princess Ariel, returning home as a mute.  Obeying her mothers warnings about the land of above, Ianthe stays in the sea, trying to be the best princess she can be...until the day, she saves a drowning prince. Finding out what’s happening on the land above, Ianthe journey’s to the land above and with an ally in the form of Prince Dylan, Ianthe hopes to put a stop to a sea witches reign of terror once and for all....”

Never Go Into The Woods: Twist: “What if Belle succeeded in fleeing on the first night when Beast ordered her to get out?” Summary: “Born as the daughter of the towns book shop owner, Belle, Mireille is used to hearing stories that always at the end of the day, are just stories and are just made up.  But when hunters return to the village badly injured and babbling about a wild Beast that attacked them when they approached a castle in the woods, Mireille curioustly grows and increases at her mothers reaction and despite being aware of the risks that come with it. she journey’s into the woods along with childhood friend, Fitz, in some hope of finding what’s going on.  But she soon finds out why her mother warned to never go into the woods and just what hides within it....” 

I Wonder: Twist: “What if Sleeping Beauty never woke up?” Summary: “Dreams- Tana knows all about dreams as they something everyone have when they go to sleep and enter the dream realm.  But due to her mothers magic restrictions, Tana never gets to experience dreams, being told that if she goes to sleep, a witch named Aurora will get her revenge on her mother through her and despite wanting to experience dreams, Tana listens to her and never questions her mother, Maleficent.  However, when Tana starts to hear voices she doesn’t recognize and remembers things she doesn’t understand, she finds herself exploring a realm she never thought she would and in the process, finds out that her mother is not the person she thought she was....”

Second Star To The Right And Straight On Till Morning:  Twist: “What if Peter lost to Captain Hook?” Summary: “Wendy Darling. A name that to her family, is the name of a family member that went missing and was never found.  But to Neverland? It’s the name of their protector who rose in wake of Peter Pan’s death.  Still the age she was that fateful day, Wendy continues to protect Neverland from Captain Hook while sometimes visiting the world, but never London, only her lost girls understanding why she never visits London.  However, deciding to face the city of her former life, Wendy is met with the past in more then one way when she looks into a window, only to be met with a girl who shares more then the same name with her....”

I’m Late: Twist: “What if Alice didn’t escape Wonderland?” Summary: ””So, what did you see this time, Louise?” A cat who disappears with a grin left in their wake.  A never ending tea party. And a queen always screaming, “Off with her head!” They always the same dreams turned nightmares for Louise that always cause never ending headaches, but despite going to therapy constantly, Louise is still stuck with these visions and headaches, meaning the therapists office is like her second home.  However, when the visions slowly come to life and a rabbit with a watch appears in therapy, Louise soon finds out why she’s getting the visions and that it’s time to visit the place in her visions before its all lost....”

Sleeping Death: Twist: “What if the Prince fell asleep instead?” Summary: “The day Princess Snow White became queen was instantly a day of celebration with the fall of Queen Grimhilde and the dawn of a new age bringing originally hope to the kingdom that things will get better.  However, the new queen slowly changed over the years and soon enough, the kingdom was in ruins once more as the queen slowly became known for being obsessed with the same magic that corrupted Queen Grimhilde in her quest to wake a sleeping prince that may as well be dead after all these years.  With the kingdom in ruins and people slowly disappearing due to the queens magic experiments, Anastasia finds herself leaving her village on a quest to stop the queen once and for all and bring the kingdom back to its former glory....and hopefully, save her friend who had been among the disappeared people....”

Chasing Stardust: Twist: “What if Jim didn’t escape the treasure planet in time?” Summary: “Nova had never met her brother that her mother tells her about.  Because by the time Nova Hawkins was born, Jim Hawkins was long believed dead, having never returned from his journey to find the Treasure Planet, leaving many to believe he was dead along with the crew he had gone with....including Sarah in the end.  As a result, Nova grew up with tales of her troublemaking brother who meant well in the end and despite Sarah’s best attempts, Nova soon slowly turned out like her brother, trouble making habits and all.  However, after one troublemaking gone wrong on the anniversary her brother left home and never returned, a man with cyborg limbs suddenly crash-lands at their tavan and revealed the impossible: Jim is still alive.  Teaming up with the man, a captain and her mother’s friend, Nova finds herself journeying to the same planet her brother never came back from with one quest in mind: bring Jim Hawkins home finally” Quotev Link

Reflection: Twist: “What if Shang couldn’t spare Mulan?”  Summary: “In the nights of China, most people know better then to leave their homes as the risks were too high with the Hun’s guarding them always- but that was also the time shadows would strike the guards and kill them, leaving flowers in their wake, almost like a taunting message that Emperor Shan Yu was increasingly angry that he can’t figure them out.  That was how the shadows liked it- especially one of the shadows, named Shihong, who always told two proud spirits and a proud dragon of how close they were getting to the end of their plan.  Their plan? Take down Emperor Shan Yu and free China finally and....avenge her past life and her past life’s lover, Mulan and Shang....”

Return To The Realms: Twist: “What if Sugar Plum had succeeded?”  Summary: “”Mother, can you tell us about the realms again?” Once upon a time, there was four realms, all four living in peaceful harmony....until the day Sugar Plum sought to control it all and in the process, brought it to ruins, as the girl and boy that tried to stop her disappeared and never returned.... On Christmas Eve, Clara Stalhbaum is holding another famous party, continuing the tradition of her godfather as she tries to be happy despite what happened one Christmas Eve.  However, while playing their mothers party game, twins Vincent and Victoria suddenly find the party going sour when soldiers made of tin grab them and drag them to the realms they grew up hearing tales about, but they find out why they were grabbed the moment they taken to the queen known as Sugar Plum....”

For The First Time In Forever: Twist: “What if Anna and Elsa were split up as children?”  Summary: “Having spent most of her reign hiding her powers, Queen Elsa of Arendelle finds herself not only having problems with her son with his increasing ice problems, but also finds herself plagued by memories she can’t find a reason for why she’s remembering- these memories including always a girl happily asking her to do the magic, and the memories always ending badly with the girl getting hurt.  Finally, when the memories get too much, Elsa’s son, Prince Nicholas, decides to seek out help from trolls he found out about in a book, but when he does so, he finds out more then he thought he would about his family as family secrets finally emerge....”

Welcome To My Wicked World: Twist: “What if Mal had been evil the entire time?” Summary: “Auradon, the land of Goodness and Kindness...or so it had been. For now, it was the land of evil, under the rule of Queen Mal who had revealed her true colors once the barrier was down, taking over Auradon with the villains of the Isle on her side and soon enough, turning Auradon into a nightmare that everyone over time, became scared to fight back.  Or publicly at least.  For hidden within Auradon is a growing resistance and with the aid of allies in Auradon, their planned strike begins as its now or never to finally save the kingdom....”

Zero To Hero: Twist: “What if Hades had succeeded?” Summary: “After the Lord of the Dead and the titans take over Mount Olympus, the world is in chaos and the lord of the dead, Hades, loves it, as the titans keep the world in order and while briefly another threat rose to him, Hades had it taken care off....after all, no one will be able to stop him while he controls prophecies.  Except when his ‘loyal’ servant finds this thret, alive and well- Hades own daughter, Zasime.  Despite a curse restricting her powers, Zasime has to train and become a hero and defeat Hades...or he’ll destroy them and have control of the world forever...” 

This Is Halloween: Twist: “What if Oogie Boogie took over Halloween Town?” Summary: “Halloween. A holiday that used to stand for fun and candy and non-dangerous tricks. Nowadays, it has become a holiday of danger and the tricks are no longer fun. All because of the missing pumpkin king as the current ruler, Oogie Boogie, continues to ruin Halloween.  But when three human children find Jack that Halloween and are soon found by Sally and a Halloween town girl, Oogie Boogie’s Halloween reign may finally come to an end....hopefully at least, with Oogie Boogie after them in order to keep Halloween under his reign forever....”

Dig A Little Deeper: Twist: “What if Tiana didn’t kiss Naveen?” Summary: “If there’s one thing Louis takes to heart from his mother, its her one rule: Never go into the darkness of New Orleans...or risk ending up captured by spirits. Saving up money for him and his mother to be able to leave New Orleans, Louis is devoted to jobs he takes and therefore, has no time for fairytales....until the day his childhood friend, Margaret comes to him with tale about frogs oddly and why Voodoo Spirits haunt New Orleans.  With New Orleans ruler after them, the pair only have short time to stop the spirits, save a frog prince and stop Dr. Facilier once and for all....”

So This Is Love: Twist: “What if Cinderella didn’t escape the pumpkin?”  Summary: “The heir to her kingdom, Princess Kathleen finds herself betrothed to another prince in order to get a treaty with the other kingdom and despite her heart being set for someone else, she tries to obey this....until the day she finds a magic wand in her grandmother’s room.  After this day, she finds out secrets relating to Anastasia, her mother and the women she thought she was and with friends help, she sets to uncover these secrets in order to finally help her kingdom....”

Name: Aziz.  Relation (if any): Son of Aladdin and Jasmine. Story: Your Destiny Lies In Your Hands.  Summary: TBA. Voiceclaim: Booboo Stewart. 

Name: Alia.  Relation (if any): Daughter of Jasmine and Jafar.  Story: Your Destiny Lies In Your Hands.  Summary: TBA.  Voiceclaim: Naomi Scott. 

Name: Hope Fitzherbert.  Relation (if any): Adopted daughter of Eugune.  Story: And At Last I See The Light.  Summary: TBA.  Voiceclaim: Anna Cathcart (younger) and Sofia Carson (older).

Name: Ianthe.  Relation (if any): Daughter of Ariel.  Story: Silence Is The Most Powerful Scream.  Summary: TBA. Voiceclaim: China Anne McClain. 

Name: Dylan. Relation (if any): Son of Eric and Vanessa/Ursula.  Story: Silence Is The Most Powerful Scream. Summary: TBA. Voiceclaim: Mitchell Hope. 

Name: Mireille.  Relation (if any): Daughter of Belle.  Story: Never Go Into The Woods.  Summary: TBA. Voiceclaim: Letitia Wright.

Name: Fitz. Relation (if any): Son of Gaston. Story: Never Go Into The Woods.  Summary: TBA. Voiceclaim: Josh Keaton. 

Name: Louis.  Relation (if any): Husband of Belle.  Story: Never Go Into The Woods.  Summary: TBA. Voiceclaim: John Boyega. 

Name: Dawn/Tana.  Relation (if any): Daughter of Aurora and Phillip/Adopted daughter of Maleficent. Story: I Wonder.  Summary: TBA.  Voiceclaim: Sarah Jeffery. 

Name: Wendy Darling II.  Relation (if any): Great-niece of Wendy. Story: Second Star To The Right And Straight On Till Morning.  Summary: TBA. Voiceclaim: Anna Cathcart. 

Name(s): Penelope, Violet, Eva, Willow, Sophie and Maria.  Relation (if any): Wendy’s lost girls. Story: Second Star To The Right And Straight On Till Morning.  Summary(s): TBA.  Voiceclaim(s): Brenna D’Amico (Penelope), Kimiko Glenn (Violet), Hailee Steinfeld (Eva), Jadah Marie (Willow) and Kate Micucci (Sophie). 

Name: Louise Hill. Relation (if any): Reincarnation of Alice.  Story: I’m Late.  Summary: TBA. Voiceclaim: Abby Ryder Foster. 

Name: Anastasia.  Relation (if any): None. Story: Sleeping Death. Summary: TBA. Voiceclaim: Sofia Carson. 

Name: Petra.  Relation (if any): None. Story: Sleeping Death.  Summary: TBA.  Voiceclaim: Brenna D’Amico. 

Name: Nova Hawkins. Relation (if any): Jim’s younger sister. Story: Chasing Stardust.  Summary: TBA. Voiceclaim: Jenna Ortega.

Name: Alexandria Chestwood.  Relation (if any): None.  Story: Chasing Stardust.  Summary: TBA. Voiceclaim: Angelina Jolie. 

Name: Cheyanna Hillthorne.  Relation (if any): None. Story: Chasing Stardust.  Summary: TBA. Voiceclaim: Naomi Scott.

Name: Shihong.  Relation (if any): Reincarnation of Mulan.  Story: Reflection.  Summary: TBA. Voiceclaim: Diane Doan. 

Name: Lijuan.  Relation (if any): None. Story: Reflection. Summary: TBA. Voiceclaim: Chelsea Zhang. 

Name: Daiyu.  Relation (if any): None.  Story: Reflection.  Summary: TBA.  Voiceclaim: Lilan Bowden. 

Name: Vincent Stahlbaum.  Relation (if any): Son of Clara and Phillip. Story: Return To The Realms. Summary: TBA. Voiceclaim: Issac Ryan Brown. 

Name: Victoria Stalhbaum.  Relation (if any): Daughter of Clara and Phillip.  Story: Return To The Realms.  Summary: TBA.  Voiceclaim: Navia Robinson. 

Name: Nicholas.  Relation (if any): Son of Elsa.  Story: For The First Time In Forever.  Summary: TBA. Voiceclaim: Mitchell Hope. 

Name: Eira.  Relation (if any): Child raised by the Trolls.  Story: For The First Time In Forever.  Summary: TBA.  Voiceclaim: Sarah Jeffery.

Name: Brooke Hook.  Relation (if any): Daughter of Uma and Harry.  Story: Welcome To My Wicked World.  Summary: TBA. Voiceclaim: Letitia Wright.

Name: Gemini Legume.  Relation (if any): Child of Gil.  Story: Welcome To My Wicked World.  Summary: TBA. Voiceclaim: Amanda Joy Michalka. 

Name: Andrea Rose.  Relation (if any): Daughter of Audrey. Story: Welcome To My Wicked World. Summary: TBA. Voiceclaim: Jenna Ortega. 

Name: Balthazar Mercier.  Relation (if any): Son of Ben and Mal.  Story: Welcome To My Wicked World. Summary: TBA. Voiceclaim: David Henrie. 

Name: Zasime.  Relation (if any): Daughter of Hades.  Story: Zero To Hero.  Summary: TBA. Voiceclaim: Sofia Wylie. 

Name: Myrine.  Relation (if any): None. Story: Zero To Hero. Summary: TBA. Voiceclaim: Auli’i Cravalho. 

Name: Wednesday Skeleton.  Relation (if any): None.  Story: This Is Halloween.  Summary: TBA.  Voiceclaim: Chloe Grace Mortez.

Name: Jason Ronald.  Relation (if any): None.  Story: This Is Halloween.  Summary: TBA. Voiceclaim: Booboo Stewart. 

Name: Normen Ronald.  Relation (if any): None. Story: This Is Halloween.  Summary: TBA. Voiceclaim: Isaak Presley. 

Name: Luna Ronald.  Relation (if any): None. Story: This Is Halloween. Summary: TBA. Voiceclaim: Jenna Ortega. 

Name: Louis.  Relation (if any): Son of Tiana.  Story: Dig A Little Deeper.  Summary: TBA. Voiceclaim: John Boyega.

Name: Margaret.  Relation (if any): Daughter of Charlotte and ‘Naveen’/Lawerence.  Story: Dig A Little Deeper.  Summary: TBA. Voiceclaim: Daisy Ridley. 

Name: Kathleen.  Relation (if any): Daughter of Prince Charming and ‘Cinderella’/Anastasia.  Story: So This Is Love.  Summary: TBA. Voiceclaim: Sofia Carson.

Name: Carlo. Relation (if any): None. Story: So This Is Love. Summary: TBA. Voiceclaim: Mitchell Hope. 

Name: Kaida.  Relation (if any): None.  Story: So This Is Love. Summary: TBA. Voiceclaim: Sarah Jeffery. 

Name: Albert.  Relation (if any): None. Story: So This Is Love.  Summary: TBA.  Voiceclaim: Booboo Stewart. 

#megan's ocs #megan's fanfiction #OC's masterpost #original series OCs

[sistersofthelightforce]

Facing Facts: The Mission (P2)

Truly, it seems to be going too well. Anakin reckons Queen Karee sent them here as more of a holiday than a mission. Padme and Ahsoka seem to be arguing a little though, obviously in languages he doesn’t understand.

“Ota, kri ne ma ata, pe ki ne ma ota!” Ahsoka protests. 

“Mi prad, cer ki lotay versa kip kri sa jera,” Padme seems to reply firmly. 

“Mi isan kro, pe mi isan ko,” Ahsoka murmurs somewhat sadly.

They argue like this for a time, but it always seems sad, instead of angry. It ends when one of them sighs and rests their head on the other’s shoulder (more often this is Ahsoka than Padme) or when Anakin tells them to knock it off.

Sometimes they just stare very angrily at each other and Anakin has to remind them to talk out loud.

(Sometimes it’s not even during a fight, they just stop talking midway through a conversation and Anakin knows they’re talking telepathically, so he has to remind them that he can’t hear them. He wonders if that’s the point.)

They spend their days together, playing a family, and Padme doesn’t seem to hate him, not anymore. She has seen that he loves their children, and that is enough, he hopes, for her to begin to forgive him.

Ahsoka comes to them with a grin on her face. “Baast showed me a secret tunnel, leading to a data server! He says it’s stuff for his father’s business, but I’m sure it’s for the gang!” She exclaims.

This is exactly what they’ve needed. Access to the gang’s servers will get them a chance to put in the chip without needing to get access to a main room.

“That’s wonderful, Anata!” Padme chirps. Anakin gives her a sidelong look. If Ahsoka is able to announce their plan to the room, using her real name is less likely to get them caught than that.

The room seems to freeze as his confusion is seen. 

Ahsoka looks down, almost sheepishly. “It’s my nickname. It means angel. I’ve been called it for the last ten years, longer even, by my family. It's why Karee chose it.”

So Ahsoka could hear him say it without ever having to explain why.

“Well, Anata,” Anakin ventures carefully, “I’m very proud of what you’ve achieved.”

The room seems to breathe again and they begin to formulate a plan.

Parton Grevils invites Padme and Anakin to dinner with his associates, while Ahsoka spends the evening supposedly “having free time”. She will spend this “free time” sneaking into the data servers then contacting them and teleporting them there. 

“Welcome, welcome!” Parton exclaims, ushering them in with a cheery smile.

“Thank you for inviting us,” Padme says with a false smile of her own.

“Thank you for coming. Your company is very… invigorating.” Parton eyes Padme in a way that makes Anakin want to punch the sleemo.

“Ah! Ben, Kira, come, have a seat!” Parton’s wife comes over, pulling them both into chairs quite near the two Grevils.

Anakin has forgotten how much he hates fancy dinners. People weren’t exactly tripping over themselves to invite Darth Vader for a bite to eat.

He’s almost relieved when he hears his commlink go off, the signal from Ahsoka that everything is ready and she will teleport him to the secret base so he can code in the chip.

He gets up quickly. “That’ll be Anata, I’ll be back in a moment. She probably just wants to know if she can order a holovid or something.” He rolls his eyes playfully before leaving.

“Dad? I found somewhere I shouldn’t be. Do you remember that time on Zygerria? It’s a little bit like that,” Ahsoka says quietly, her voice small.

Zygerria. Where they had to pretend to be slave and master, then the plan went wrong and they were-

Oh. Ahsoka has been caught.

“Your mother and I will be there in just a moment, don’t go anywhere,” Anakin instructs her.

Padme is looking at him with concern when he returns.

“She told me what happened. Give an excuse and she can teleport us there,” Padme says firmly. When Anakin glances at her, he finds she hasn’t moved her mouth.

“Sorry folks, Anata is feeling sick. We should be with her.” Anakin shrugs, and Padme gets up, not having to feign concern.

“So soon? Anata is a teenager, surely she can look after herself for a little while?” Parton’s voice is steely. He knows.

“She gets very sulky when she’s sick, she’ll be very grumpy if we don’t come home pretty soon,” Padme explains, turning her “diplomacy voice” on. “Goodnight, thank you for having us.”

She pulls them both out of there before anyone can protest further, and teleports them to just outside the room that Ahsoka is in.

They burst in, not having to pretend to be worried. 

“Anata, are you alright?” Padme demands. Ahsoka glares back at them, tied to a pole. She can’t escape, for the risk of blowing her cover. She has to pretend ropes would hold her down.

A gang member has a blaster pointed at Ahsoka before they can blink. “Tell us why you are here, and we may let the girl live.”

Anakin genuinely isn’t sure of what to do. He doesn’t want to blow their cover, expose the Jedi as returned by using his lightsaber, or expose the Sisters by letting them shoot Ahsoka, only to discover she can be brought back (if she wouldn’t let it go through her).

Luckily Padme makes that decision for them and shoots the gang member.

Anakin looks over at her and she shrugs. “He was going to shoot our daughter.”

Ahsoka steps out of the ropes and hands Anakin the chip. “You’re up, Skyguy.”

He’s halfway through installing the chip when the door slams open, and Parton Grevils storms in. “What is going on here?!”

“Well, looks like our cover is blown,” Ahsoka says casually, and pulls out her lightsaber. “Parton Grevils, you and your associates are under arrest for money laundering, theft and corruption. You have a right to a fair trial and a lawyer.”

“Jedi?!” Parton exclaims in astonishment.

Ahsoka looks around at the two people behind her. “Eh.” She shakes her hand from side to side. 

The arrest goes easily, as none of the gang members are truly a match for any one of them with one hand tied behind their back. They are kept by the hotel security while they send for New Republic ships to take them to prison.

They quickly return to their rooms and call Queen Karee to inform her of the news.

“Well done, Sisters,” Karee pauses, “General.”

“Thank you, Karee. It was an easy job,” Padme reassures the Queen.

“Well, nonetheless, I insist you three stay another day, simply to enjoy yourselves, before you return to the palace. Spend time together as a family.” Queen Karee gives Padme a look.

“As you wish, Queen Karee,” Anakin says quickly. Padme steps on his foot, but it is too late for it to be taken back.

“Excellent. I will see you in two days. Minta ki seta-” Queen Karee begins.

“Jin minta ank erant.” Padme and Ahsoka finish, while Anakin just kind of nods, and the holocall ends.

“So… another day by the pool sounds great,” Ahsoka says sheepishly.

“Tomorrow, ma tana,” Padme retorts firmly. “For tonight, we need to debrief. Tonight almost went wrong. What would have happened if you hadn’t gotten a message to Anakin and I hadn’t been here to hear you?”

“Ota, I’m not a child,” Ahsoka protests.

“But you had to act as one, an untrained one!” Padme is scared, Anakin realises, scared of harm befalling her daughter.

“I wouldn’t have allowed anything to happen. I would have escaped, fought back, pretended to be hurt, something like that,” Ahsoka points out.

“You should have waited, brought one of us with you. It would have been safer,” Padme retorts.

“I would have been fine, what matters is the mission-” Ahsoka begins.

“What matters is you, Ahsoka,” Anakin interrupts quietly.

Both women turn sharply to face him. 

“We don’t want anything to happen to you. Padme is just scared of what could have happened to you. I was scared of what could have happened to you. The concern when we came in wasn’t fake, Ahsoka. We really were worried,” Anakin explains gently.

Ahsoka seems to deflate, and reaches out for both Anakin and Padme. She pulls both of them into a hug. “I’m older than both of you were in the first war. Have faith,” Ahsoka murmurs.

“Okay,” Padme says gently, placing one arm around Ahsoka, and the other around Anakin. “I will have faith.”

------

Ota, kri ne ma ata, pe ki ne ma ota!- Mum, he is my dad, as you are my mum! (Boona)

Mi prad, cer ki lotay versa kip kri sa jera- I know, but you must remember what he has done (Boona)

Mi isan kro, pe mi isan ko- I love him, as I love you (Boona)

Minta ki seta- Sisters in arms (Asna)

Jin Minta ank erant- Are Sisters for life (Asna)

Ma tana- My dear/My darling (Boona)

#Facing Facts series #Anakin Skywalker #Ahsoka Tano #Padme Amidala #star wars #star wars au

[sp4c3-0ddity]

burial rites

Summary

When the mission proves to be a huge waste of time, Pidge suffers.

//or, Pidge and Lance are assassins that get separated when they can't locate their target

Word count:  9325 (one-shot, complete)

A/N

uh yes this starts with whump/torture then goes into some comfort. modes of whump are waterboarding (a bit at the very beginning) and a character (almost) getting buried alive. if you’re uncomfortable with any of that, you may want to give this a pass OR skip to the second scene (just ctrl+f “***”)

my thanks to @rueitae for beta reading and @cgf-kat for validating the whump!! and to both of them for catching my inconsistencies

Read below or here on ao3:

Pidge gasps for breath as water drips down her face and soaks into her hair. Her throat and nostrils burn, so she coughs, searching for relief that can't be found with a drenched rag covering her face.

She tries to shake her head to knock the rag off, but rough hands still force her back so all she gets for her trouble is water up her nose.

Pidge's bare toes uselessly scrape the floor, seeking purchase, her arms wrenched high over her head with a chain looped through the thick rope binding her wrists. She grits her teeth against the nausea and dizziness and spits, "I already told you, I don't know where Lotor is! If I did, why the hell would I have come here?"

She's pleased with the steadiness in her voice even as her whole body trembles, with the cold of the water sliding down her back and the fear gripping her with each second that passes and she still can't assess her surroundings.

She'd guess they're in an unfinished basement, the same one she ventured into against her own - and Lance's - better judgment. And either they found and stole her earpiece - her one link to her partner outside the dilapidated art studio - after she hit her head and blacked out or the water damaged it.

(The last thing she heard through the earpiece was Lance shouting her name.)

"We've heard good things about your firm," her assailant with the higher voice simpers behind her. She lets go, Pidge gasping in shock at the release of pressure on the back of her head, but then thin, strong fingers grasp her chin and turn her face in a direction she still can't see through the rag over her eyes. "The agents have a reputation for doing their research, so if anyone knows where he really is, it would be one of you."

"Your logic...isn't logical," Pidge says, her breath too short. "You just used a cheap trap."

"It worked, didn't it?" the other, gruffer one says. "But we were expecting a hornet, not a mosquito."

It doesn't hurt; it's easy to underestimate her and she learned to use it to her advantage, so Pidge smirks under the rag. "Mosquitoes carry diseases."

"It doesn't matter if we don't let them bite." A blow falls against her face, making her gasp and whipping her head back so forcefully stars dance inside her eyelids. But it dislodges the rag from her face even as Pidge furiously blinks tears out of her smarting eye.

A quick scan of the room ascertains it is a dingy, unfinished basement with a dirt floor and flimsy walls with the boards only partially filled.

"Look what you did, Zethrid," the shorter of the two women chides, gesturing towards the rag. "Now she's seen our faces."

The bulkier woman raises her fist and sneers. "Like she'll be able to tell anyone about us after we're done with her, Ezor.”

A shiver of fear runs down Pidge's spine. Is this how it ends? She's been at this job less than a year, and this was her first real lead...

But no, Lance will be looking for her.

But how long will it take? Pidge doesn't know how extensive the network of tunnels is, not when she dangles from the ceiling of a room she didn't see during her brief survey. How far did they take her from the place at the base of the stairs where they found her?

Ezor steps towards her, a teasing grin on her lips as she trails the handle of her whip down Pidge's cheek. "So if you don't know where Lotor is, maybe there's something else you can tell us."

"Like what?" Pidge demands, her eyes narrowing.

"Oh, Zethrid, who was that one operative that escaped the boss?"

"He was a hacker, wasn't he?" Zethrid says. She crosses her muscular arms, shrugging. "Scrawny guy; wasn't much fun to wrestle."

"Right, that guy!" Ezor says. She claps her hands together, smiling gleefully. "But he was cute, at least, right?" When Zethrid just rolls her eyes and snorts, she turns back to Pidge. "Kind of looked like you, actually..."

Pidge's breath catches, her legs thrashing uselessly, but the chains hold her fast, and she's quickly gasping for air all over again.

"Look at that, Zethrid," Ezor says, resting a hand on her hip and appraising Pidge. "She does know something. What was his name?"

Pidge knows Ezor addresses Zethrid, but she can't stop herself from blurting, "Matt."

Ezor smirks. "Oh, yeah! Want to tell us something about him?"

"Eat shit!" Pidge hisses.

"Wrong answer," Ezor scolds her before her whip whistles through the air and strikes her cheek.

A scream tears out of her throat, more from the shock of rough wire thrashing across her face than the pain. But the fire in her skin comes a heartbeat later, when hot blood oozes down her face.

Ezor leans towards Pidge, her eyes narrowed almost thoughtfully, and observes, "Now they really do look alike."

Does that mean...did Matt receive the same treatment from these assholes? The thought makes Pidge's chest squeeze with fear for him...and anger.

But wait. "You said...you said he escaped," Pidge says. "W-when? From who?"

"Ah, ah, this is an interrogation, not a job interview." Ezor frowns, shaking her head as if she's disappointed. "We had such high hopes for you, didn't we, Zethrid?"

Zethrid just grunts and comments, "So...she's a dud. She doesn't even know where her own damn brother is."

Pidge's heart beats at the back of her head, painfully fast. She breathes shallowly, but refuses to look cowed, glaring up at Ezor. "Worried you wasted your time?" she hisses.

(Because she's worried she wasted hers.)

"Oh, torture is never a waste of time," Ezor says with a cheerful click of her tongue, "but in this case..." She glances over her shoulder at Zethrid. "I'd love to smack her around a bit more, but her partner will be on his way."

And that's Pidge's cue. She sucks as much air as she can into her aching lungs and screams.

Ezor clues in on what she's doing quickly, eschewing her whip and smacking a hand over her mouth. Pidge tries to bite her, tries to kick and headbutt, but she nimbly replaces her hand with the same sodden rag knocked off her face, only now she forces it between her teeth and ties it at the back of her head.

The gag is just one more thing on Pidge's lengthening list of hurts, so she rolls her eyes and glares - wishing looks could kill - at Ezor as she steps back to admire her handiwork.

"What should we do with her?" Zethrid asks. "You think boss lady would be interested in a pint-sized assassin? She can hold her against her brother."

"True," Ezor says with a thoughtful tap to her chin, "but I don't think we can get away fast enough, so ransoming her to her boss lady is out too." She hums, scanning the unfinished room for ideas before her gaze lifts to the dusty light bulb dangling from the ceiling.

Pidge's heart thumps painfully while they decide her fate, her stomach tied into a heavy knot of dread. She just dangles from the ceiling, both saliva and blood soaking into the rag that was just lying on the dirt floor, her arms sore as blood drains from them.

Well, at least she's not as dizzy anymore.

"We should just get it over with and kill her," Zethrid says.

It's not surprising, not really. Pidge expected them to kill her from the instant she opened her eyes and they started waterboarding her. But her chest tightens, regret making her heart heavy as she thinks of all the things she never got to do: reunite with Matt, design the perfect surveillance drone, finish Doctor Who with her mother, learn to ride a motorcycle, beat Lance's high score in Pinball...

God, she'll never tell Lance how grateful she is he agreed to their partnership, how she feels about him and his stupid flirty face and his stupid butt.

"Great idea, babe!" Ezor exclaims. She jerks a thumb over her shoulder and adds, "Why waste a perfectly good hole begging to be filled?"

Before Pidge can process the implication in her words, Zethrid smirks and unchains her from the ceiling. She gasps around her gag at the sudden loosening of her stiff muscles, held in one position for too long, but she has no time for any relief when her wrists are still bound together and Zethrid picks her up.

Pidge thrashes against her hold, jerking her fists towards Zethrid's face to no avail. She's beefy and indomitable, barely batting an eye on her muffled shrieks before she dumps her through a hole in the plaster wall.

Pidge tumbles to the ground, her elbows hitting and sending a shock through her arms. She stumbles upright to her cuffed hands and knees, heart racing in her throat and a stupid, pained whimper escaping her. "N-n-n—" she tries to say around the gag.

Dirt flies through the hole and scatters against the wall's other side and the floor. Pidge blinks a few particles from her eyes right as another cloud of dust joins the first.

She inhales some, sputtering through the gag. She presses against the wall as more and more dirt flies in, trying to push herself to her feet. But the hole in the wall is too high for her to even peer through, much less grab with bound hands and heave herself out.

Ezor chatters away on the other side. "You think her partner would know something about Lotor if we ask nicely?"

Pidge shrieks around the gag, pounding her fists against the wall even as the soil and plaster rise higher. Her blood boils with an almost alien rage; if they hurt Lance...

"Doubt it," Zethrid replies with a snort. "He's not a hacker like this one, so he'll be even more useless."

"Then the least we can do is bury him with her," Ezor says. "Wouldn't you like that, tiny assassin?"

Pidge would scream and shout curses at them if she could, but now it takes all her effort to raise her hands over her head, not when the dirt rises to her chest and the gag makes it so hard to simply cough and loosen the particles caught in her throat. She doubts there's a single orifice in her body clear of soil.

Her head throbs and spins again, her stomach turning, her whole body weighed down by the dirt. It's all heavier than she expected even after spending every spring - against her will - helping her mother lug bags of potting soil into the greenhouses.

Pidge uselessly tries to push dirt away from her. She swallows her rising panic, swallows all the pointless sobs that threaten to escape her. She has to live, has to find Matt and return home and—

An unmistakable gunshot rings out, and glass shatters before the room plunges into absolute darkness. And no more dirt rains on Pidge's head.

"Oh, welcome!" Ezor greets. "We were wondering when you would show up, but I wonder...how are you planning on shooting us if you can't see us?"

"Like this," Lance growls before he fires another shot.

***

Lance has killed more people than he can count since he joined the firm. He aimed and pulled the trigger with someone within sight of his scope, muttering under his breath all the crimes they committed without consequence until Allura sent him into the field to end them.

But no kill ever felt like these.

His heart races, blood burning with rage as he fires each shot. The darkness doesn't bother him - his other senses are good, and he can predict their next moves - but it clearly does them, so it gives him an edge.

Air whistles as the big one (he thinks) swings her shovel towards him. Lance steps back, raising the handgun and firing a single shot, a pained groan his reward. Usually he might smirk in triumph, but with his body pumped full of adrenaline and Pidge still out of reach, he can't celebrate.

A whip winds around his left arm, jerking at him, but Lance tugs back. The captor at the other end gasps in surprise, but before he can shoot in that direction, the whip goes slack and the room silent.

Lance stills, holding his breath and body poised to strike. His fingers tighten around the handgun, ears peeled for the slightest hint of sound.

The cocking of a gun greets him before cool metal presses to his temple. "You think you're the only one who gets angry when their partner's hurt?" the same chick that spoke to him demands, her voice harsher.

Lance grits his teeth. "Maybe you should've thought of that before you tried to kill mine," he sneers.

"Oh, honey, there's no tried about it," she retorts.

It's her final mistake.

The next gunshot is his and drops her instantly, but he doesn't bother checking if it did the job since a different frenzy grips him.

Lance flicks on his flashlight and shines it around the small, dirty room, heart pounding in his throat with each sweep that doesn't land on Pidge. A glint of metal chain links dangling from the ceiling fills him with anger all over again, at least until he spots the hole in the wall.

Lance runs towards it, towards a muffled whimper and wheeze that gets louder the closer he draws. "Pidge!" he shouts, reaching through before he even thunders to a stop.

Pidge's dirt-crusted, tear-streaked face stares up at him. He half-clambers through the hole, desperately shoving dirt aside towards the wall, enough that he can free her arms and wrap his around her body to heave her out with him.

They crumple to the floor, Pidge a shaking, coughing mess when he tugs the dirty gag away from her mouth. He wipes dirt off her face with the hem of his shirt, and though she's sitting here with him, her body blessedly warm and alive, his heart refuses to slow.

"Y-you're gonna be okay," he promises her, cupping her cheeks and kissing her dusty forehead.

Pidge nods, but not without a shudder ripping through her. Her fingers latch onto his shirt, and that's when Lance notices her wrists are bound with thick rope.

He fights the fresh wave of anger, instead finding his pocket knife and sawing through them. Pidge gasps when her wrists are freed, rubbing the raw, bruised skin before glancing around the dark room with wide eyes. "W-where did they—"

Lance reassures her, "They're not hurting you again."

Pidge meets his gaze, hers steelier than he expects to his relief. "G-good, but..." She trails off, frowning with something obviously on her mind.

"But what?" Lance demands. "Pidge, they—"

She shakes her head, and Lance decides against pressing, despite his frustration.

"W-we should do something about the bodies before we leave," Pidge suggests in a surprisingly steady voice.

"Y-yeah," he agrees, scanning the room till his eyes land on them, hatred filling him at the sight. "I think I know how."

***

Lance carries Pidge away from the scene, all the way through the dark, labyrinthine basement and up the stairs and out of the abandoned art studio. Outside it's later than when they arrived, at least an hour past sunset, but streetlights flood the area between the studio and their van.

Pidge weakly protested him picking her up at first, citing that he was probably tired after taking care of the bastards who tortured and tried to kill her, but when he held her anyway, she settled against his chest without complaint.

Lance wishes the first time he carried her like this was under better circumstances.

The streetlights throw Pidge's grimy, bloody, disheveled appearance into sharp relief. A grimace twists his lips, hot anger filling him all over again. A deep cut that oozes blood stands out against her cheek, one of her eyes is almost swollen shut, and her other eye is bloodshot. Dirt crusts her lips and skin, flecks of white plaster standing out in her hair, and when he makes the mistake of trying to dust some off, she winces when his fingers brush the back of her head. She looks small and vulnerable - more vulnerable than he’s ever seen her - bundled up in his jacket, and it hurts.

He could've prevented this if he tried harder to dissuade her from venturing into the basement, if he'd been faster to pursue, if he never agreed to the partnership she and Allura proposed, if—

Pidge coughs wetly, jerking him from his thoughts, and leans over to spit dirt-specked saliva onto the sidewalk. She groans, her arms flung loosely around his neck, and complains, "My mouth tastes disgusting."

Lance raises an eyebrow. "That was the grossest thing I've ever seen you do."

Pidge rolls her eyes. "You still laugh at fart jokes."

Heat fills his cheeks as he averts his eyes and mumbles, "They can be funny..."

She snorts but doesn't contradict them.

The van chirps when he unlocks it, and he carefully maneuvers Pidge in his arms to open the passenger door. He deposits her in the seat before his gaze roves over her face, taking in every bit - every speck of dirt or dried blood, every freckle, every eyelash - and not a little worried about letting her out of his sight.

Pidge stares back with wide eyes, color filling her cheeks. "Lance?"

"Uh..." He clears his throat and forces a smile he doesn't quite feel onto his face. "Seat belt?"

"Fine, Mom," Pidge grumbles, tugging it on with a click - but not without his jacket sleeves sliding down and flashing the bruises staining her wrists.

Lance shuts her door and quickly rounds the car, releasing a sigh of relief when he sits in the driver's seat beside her. But the silence that fills the car then is stifling, and he hesitates to turn the key in the ignition.

"What do you want to do now?" he wonders carefully.

"Take a long, hot shower," she says immediately.

"Maybe we...see Coran first," Lance suggests, peering at her from the corner of his eye. When Pidge shakes her head, her gaze fixed on her hands folded in her lap, he insists, "Pidge, you're hurt."

"Obviously."

Lance tries not to take her grumpiness personally. "But—"

"I'm not ready—I don't want to answer his questions yet," she tells him in a low voice.

"Then—"

"Take me home to clean up first, Lance," Pidge says, her eyes finally flicking back to him. "Then maybe we can...go to Hunk's. I would kill for one of his peanut butter-filled cupcakes."

Lance meets her eyes; in them he sees a plea for...normalcy, he thinks. Never mind the nasty cut on her cheek or her black eye or any of the other invisible hurts - physical or not - littering her body.

But he smiles and agrees, "Okay, we'll go with your plan."

***

Pidge can't find a rational excuse for Lance to sit in the bathroom with her while she showers. She walked just fine on her own power from the van up to her second floor apartment and has no problem undressing - reluctantly putting his jacket aside to launder and return to him later - aside from some soreness in her legs and arms.

Except for the stinging cut on her cheek, the swollen eye, the throbbing at the back of her head, and the burn in her throat and nostrils, she might be almost...normal.

But being alone right now fills her with an unreasonable fear.

She forces herself to bear it anyway; it's just a shower! Hot water washes away the dirt still caked on her skin and trapped in her hair, the heat easing the tension in her muscles, but when it comes time to rinse the blood off her cheek, it’s suddenly difficult to breathe. She draws back from the water, her heart stuttering in her chest, and washes the blood off with wet hands instead.

(What is wrong with her that she can barely clean herself without her air getting trapped in her lungs and her heart jumping into her throat?)

She concentrates on breathing, on the even pattering of water drops on the tub floor, and refuses to get lost in a spiral of thoughts. She scrubs and scrubs all the dust and blood and grime away until her fingertips are wrinkled and her skin pink and raw, before she turns off the water and nearly trips over the tub in her hurry to get out and towel off.

Lance sits at her kitchen table - cluttered with surveillance equipment prototypes she “borrowed” from the firm - when she emerges from the bathroom, cleaning his handgun with the same care she pays her tech. But he looks up at the sound of her footsteps, a smile lighting up his face...though worry colors it.

"How're you feeling?" he wonders.

"Better," she says, wiggling her toes and stretching her shoulders. Her heart finally slows and steadies, relieved to be done and refreshed despite her anxiety. She tugs the towel wrapping her hair off and drops it over the back of a chair. "You ready to go?"

"Are you sure you—"

"Yes," Pidge insists. She slips a sweater on over her tank top and shoves her bare feet into a pair of sandals.

She just wants to do something normal, and their post-mission ritual of coffee and cake at Hunk's bakery is normal.

(She also wants Lance to stop looking at her as if she'll break, but she doubts that'll happen after the day's fiasco.)

But then Lance points to his cheek and says, "You're bleeding again."

Pidge reaches up, eyes widening when her fingertips touch a damp, warm liquid. "Oh."

"Told you we should've—" He cuts himself off with a sigh. "Do you have first-aid supplies?"

"Yeah," she says, "in the bathroom." She turns to retrieve them, but Lance beats her to it, pushing his chair back and stepping past her with a few long strides.

He returns with a box of Band-Aids and tube of Neosporin before nudging her shoulder. Pidge takes it for a silent instruction and perches in a chair beside his.

Even though she's perfectly capable of doing something so simple herself, she lets Lance wipe the fresh blood away with a tissue and smear ointment - probably too generously - onto the cut. His fingers are gentle, his breath warm where it brushes her skin, and every sensation sends little shivers up her spine.

Which is a rather...useless reaction to have to someone - even Lance - patching her up, in her opinion. So she holds her breath and avoids his gaze as he sticks three bandages over the cut.

"Coran could've done a better job," he grumbles.

"Probably," Pidge agrees with a shrug, "but this is good enough."

"You'll probably end up with a scar, Pidge," Lance points out.

She tries a smirk on for size, though it feels...fragile and forced. "I'll look cool and edgy," she jokes. "No one will mess with me anymore." When Lance barely cracks a smile, she desperately adds, "I guess the unfortunate side effect is that my good looks suffer."

Now they really do look alike!

Lance's warm chuckle tears her from the depths of recollection. "Not so easy to do that," he says.

Pidge bites her lip, suddenly self-conscious under his gaze. She stands and throws away the bandage wrappers, saying, "We going or not?"

Lance holds the door open for her, but before she passes through his hand finds hers. The stupid gesture makes her heart stutter, and she's momentarily breathless when she looks up at him.

"What?" she says, quirking an eyebrow.

Lance frowns, reaching up with his other hand to smooth down one of the bandages on her face. "Nothing! Just..."

When he still hesitates - this is so not like him, and it has her chest tightening in worry - she squeezes his hand and says, "Then come on; Hunk won't be open all night."

***

Lance struggles to drive straight and not veer out of his lane. He can't take his eyes off Pidge - and not for the usual reasons.

He almost lost her to two psychos that tried to bury her alive, so he's not planning on letting her out of his sight anytime soon if he can help it. Waiting for her to finish showering had been hard enough, even when he found something to do with his hands, but a whole night?

At least he's guaranteed to see her in the morning - and make sure she survived the night - when they have to report to Allura for their botched mission debriefing, but now...

Pidge is too quiet, stuck in her own head while she gazes out the window. Lance searches for something - anything - to say that’ll draw her out, distract her, but for once he’s at a loss for words.

Several cleared throats and false starts later, Lance parks the van on the street in front of Hunk’s bakery. He steps out and feeds a few quarters to the meter, grumbling that maybe this time he should put this on his mission expense report - surely coffee and cake is a form of therapy? - before spinning around at the sound of the van’s door opening.

But it’s just Pidge, sliding out till her feet touch the ground. “So…” She shoves her hands into her sweatshirt pockets and nods towards the cheerfully lit bakery. “Who’s buying this time?”

“Me, if I have my way,” Lance says immediately, easily. The familiarity of the question sets him at ease, and it slips them into a routine.

Hit taken, mission complete, unwinding over sugar and caffeine while they chat nonsensically and decide what to leave out of their report to Allura until Hunk chides them for “keeping secrets”…

Lance doubts there will be much of that debate this time.

“You paid last time,” Pidge retorts. She leads the way to the door, and the bell overhead greets them with a cheery ring.

The heavenly intermingling scents of cinnamon, nutmeg, coffee, and chocolate saturate the air inside, almost suffocating in their strength. He inhales and smiles before raising an eyebrow at Pidge and wondering, “Did you even bring your wallet?”

Pidge rolls her eyes but mutters, “No…”

He smirks, already triumphant, and saunters up to the display.

Hunk stands with his back turned, working at the espresso machine. It hisses as it foams the milk before he pours it into a waiting pastel yellow mug. He slides it and its matching saucer across the counter, winking at Pidge. “I was wondering when you guys would finally show your faces,” he says before busying himself at the dessert display.

Pidge stares into the latte. “Is it flavored?” she asks, picking up the mug and staring suspiciously into it.

“Extra caramel, just for you,” Hunk promises.

Lance peers over her shoulder and muffles a snort at the art in the milk: a small face with a zigzagging grin and a pair of obnoxious glasses.

Just like Pidge’s little avatar.

“It’s a good likeness,” Lance compliments. When Pidge shoots him an unimpressed glance, he smiles apologetically…at least until Hunk hands him his own drink.

“What is…this?” Lance turns the mug around, but the squashed heart in his mug only manages to look like an upside down squashed heart.

Pidge laughs and nudges him in the side. “I think Hunk put more effort into my latte than into yours.”

“But…” Lance frowns before glancing up at Hunk and his cheerful smirk. “I thought we were friends!”

Hunk raises his hands defensively. “We are, but it’s late, so next time you want more impressive latte art you come earlier in the day.”

“But Pidge’s—”

“Pidge has a black eye, Lance,” Hunk says. “Of course I’m going to do something nicer for her.”

Lance rolls his eyes but doesn’t protest. Instead he looks to Pidge, wary that she might react to Hunk’s observation, but she just snickers and sets her mug on the counter before leaning over and saying, “I’ll have my usual, please, Hunk.”

“Peanut butter-filled cupcake?”

“You got it.”

While Hunk sets Pidge’s cupcake and a chocolate cake donut - Lance’s, per his request that Hunk always “surprise” him - on a tray, Lance extracts his wallet from his back pocket only for Hunk himself to say, “It’s on me tonight.” His eyes drift towards Pidge, gingerly perching at the edge of a chair in the corner with her latte in front of her; he leans across the counter towards Lance and mutters, “She looks like she needs sleep more than caffeine though.”

Lance represses a sigh and instead smiles; it’s not too hard, not when Pidge is safe and with him. “Well, you know our Pidge,” he says. “She’ll drink it and pass out an hour later if she has nothing else to do.”

“Right, well, make sure she doesn’t find something else to keep her awake,” Hunk advises. “I’ll come talk to you guys after I clean up.” Hunk claps Lance on the shoulder before grabbing a washcloth and wiping down the counter.

Lance takes the tray - because who is he to turn down a free dessert? - and takes the chair beside Pidge. He pushes her cupcake towards her.

“It kind of looks like a cardioid too,” Pidge says, tilting her head to look into his mug.

“A what now?” Lance leans over the mug, his head close to hers.

“It’s a trig function that resembles a squished heart when you graph it,” Pidge explains before raising her own mug to her lips.

Lance can’t remember a thing from high school trig, but he grins, a stupid fondness filling his chest when she meets his eyes. “You know, you’re cute when you talk nerdy.”

Pidge sputters into her latte, spraying coffee and milk onto the table. She sets the mug down, coughing, her face turning red. “Th-thanks, Lance,” she stutters.

Lance, startled by her reaction, grabs a napkin and hands it to her. “Oh, shoot, sorry,” he says. “Are you okay?”

Pidge coughs as she accepts the napkin. “Y-yeah, just…how many times am I going to choke in one day?”

Lance’s eyes widen, his stomach turning with guilt because…well, good going, him.

“But, uh, really…” She smiles slightly as she peels the paper wrapper off her cupcake. “Thanks for bringing me here and not to the firm.”

He returns her smile, her gratitude setting him at ease, as they both turn to their desserts. His donut is as good as a donut can be thanks to Hunk’s handiwork, and Pidge obviously relishes her cupcake judging by the speck of peanut butter icing that sticks to her nose.

Lance laughs and points it out for her to wipe away, then wonders why he didn’t just do it for her. Her feet brush his under the table, and the normalcy of the atmosphere unwinds some of the tension in his body. Warmth fills his chest, warmth and an immeasurable gratitude that they can even share sweets and coffee.

Until his shirtsleeve slides down his arm.

Pidge’s eyes widen when they land on the purple strip winding around his skin. Before he can cover it, her hand shoots out, fingers gently grasping his wrist and pushing the sleeve up further. “Lance, when—”

“Must’ve been during the scuffle,” Lance supplies hurriedly. “I can’t remember when.”

Pidge touches the bandages on her cheek with an absent look in her eye. Lance swallows, because he knows where her mind drifted, but before he can bring her back, she asks, “Is there anything—”

“Nope,” he cuts her off, smiling in what he hopes is a disarming manner. He was lucky to get away from that fight mostly unscathed, so he’ll be damned if Pidge fixates on his hurts when hers could’ve been so much worse. “It’s just a bruise, Pidge.”

“So is my black eye,” she points out with a pout that might be cute in any other circumstances.

“Yeah, well, I didn’t even notice this until you pointed it out,” Lance says…which is true. He was - and still is - too concerned about her state to care much about a bruise that isn’t even bothering him, so he extracts his arm from her warm grip and tugs his sleeve down to his wrist.

Pidge opens her mouth - possibly to call him out on what’s not a lie - but before she utters a word Hunk slides into the third chair at their table, batting his eyes at Lance. “Am I interrupting anything?”

“Nope,” Lance says at the same time that Pidge grumbles, “Yes.”

Hunk stares between them before saying, “You two are the reason I only work part-time at the firm.”

Lance gasps, indignant, and presses an offended hand to his chest. “Us? What the hell did we do?”

“Everything,” Hunk complains. “The bickering, the flirting—”

“The what now?”

“—the pranks.” He jerks a finger at Lance. “You were bad enough on your own, but it was all downhill when Pidge quit dispatch and joined you in the field.”

Lance glances at Pidge and wonders, “Are you just going to take this from him?”

Pidge, to his shock, snickers. “Yes, because if he hadn’t retired, we wouldn’t be blessed with his peanut butter-filled cupcakes.”

Lance eyes the distinct lack of crumbs on Pidge’s plate. “I can see how that benefits you, Pidge,” he says, “but the world is missing out on Hunk’s expertise.” He gestures towards his friend - some friend - and sighs. “Why, Hunk, why.”

“I had a higher calling than cutting brake lines and arranging accidents,” Hunk explains simply. His fingers, not often caught still, fold a napkin into a crane. “Baking is better for my nerves too, and if I really want a thrill, I just ask you guys or Keith about your missions.” He slides the finished crane towards Pidge before resting his elbow on the table and smiling. “So…how was today’s?”

Pidge tenses, but Hunk doesn’t seem to notice as he continues, “It must’ve been pretty epic if you wound up with a black eye.”

Lance crosses his arms, irritation crawling under his skin, and retorts, “Not how I would call it.”

“So you showed them?” Hunk grins and pats Pidge on the shoulder…

…or tries to. She shoves his hand aside, pushes her chair back, and announces, “I’m gonna use the restroom. Do you guys want anything?”

Hunk raises an eyebrow, obviously confused. “From the restroom?”

Lance half-stands and asks, “Do you want me to come—”

“Quit coddling me, Lance,” Pidge snaps before spinning around and stalking towards the back of the bakery.

Lance stares after her retreating figure, his heart heavy as he wonders if he should follow anyway. Should Pidge be alone right now? But her parting words sting and he doesn’t want to overstep, so he turns to Hunk and smacks him upside the head.

Hunk glares at him. “What was that for?” he demands.

“Are you freaking blind?” Lance exclaims, gesturing towards where Pidge went. “Can’t you tell she just had her worst mission ever?”

(And the worst it will remain if he has anything to say about it.)

“No!” Hunk says, raising his hands defensively. “I’ve seen you guys with worse injuries; you”—he prods Lance’s chest—“once sauntered in here with a broken arm and boasted that the other guy looked worse!”

A prickle of shame hits him, so he mutters, “Because I got the job done that time.”

“Then…” When Lance shakes his head, Hunk sucks in a breath. “What happened?”

Lance sighs, fresh anger spent, and buries his face in his hands. “It was a trap,” he says. “We spent almost two weeks surveying that art studio, checking for any funny business before going in, but our target wasn’t there. Instead we found two assholes that chained up and tortured Pidge, and they would’ve killed her”—by burying her alive—”if I hadn’t gotten there in time.” His fingers close around a napkin - the crane Hunk folded - and crumple it into a wrinkly ball. “I still haven’t found the nerve to ask her if they wanted information or were just plain sadistic.” He’s sick to his stomach just thinking about it and furious all over again.

Shooting those bastards and burying them dead was too kind a fate.

“God,” Hunk breathes. “How is she walking around after all that?”

“I don’t know, Hunk,” Lance admits. “She’s stronger than that though.” The restroom doorway draws his eye, but there’s no sign of Pidge. “We still have to report to Allura, and Pidge will have to talk about it.”

Because Allura will want to know everything; she’s nothing if not thorough, and if someone is luring the assassins working at her firm into traps, she’ll find ways to make them pay.

“I’m sorry I smacked you,” Lance says. He pats Hunk on the shoulder. “You didn’t deserve that.”

Hunk smiles. “I get it,” he says. “I’d be the same - all jumpy and angry - if someone tried hurting Romelle.”

“Your…fiancee Romelle?” Lance wonders with an eyebrow quirked.

“Do you know any other Romelles?”

With Hunk almost smirking at him, the implication sticks the landing. Heat rushes to Lance’s cheeks, so he does what any self-respecting assassin head-over-heels for his partner would do and buries his face in the crook of his elbow. “It is…not the same thing,” he grumbles into his sleeve.

“Of course not,” Hunk says sardonically, “because Romelle would know that I’m smothering her out of concern because I love her and that she can lean on me, while Pidge might not get that.”

Lance dares to peek at him. “What’s your point, Hunk?”

“She’ll be too shy to ask you for certain…kinds of help if she doesn’t know how deep your feelings go.”

“Are you saying I should tell her?” Lance wonders. “Now?”

“No, not now,” Hunk says, “but you really should soon. I’m just saying that…well, you’ll know what she needs from you better than I will.”

“What if…what if she doesn’t want whatever that is from me?” Lance asks, the very idea making his heart sink. He already feels impotent in the face of whatever trauma Pidge carries - he should’ve gotten there sooner - so what if she doesn’t want anything from him?

Hunk pats him on the shoulder and explains, “The least you can do is offer; if she doesn’t accept, then that’s okay too.”

“Right, I—” he cuts himself off abruptly when a motion in the corner catches his eye.

Pidge finally emerges from the restroom, the door swinging shut behind her, and returns to them. Her gaze shifts from the floor to his face, but the frown on her lips fills him with an odd dread.

“Pidge!” Hunk greets her. “I was beginning to think you fell in.”

She laughs, though it sounds half-hearted and fragile. “Not this time.”

Hunk then stands and wraps his arms around her, engulfing her in a hug without saying a word.

Pidge’s eyes widen in surprise, but she returns his embrace with her eyes pinched shut.

Lance isn’t jealous of Hunk, no, not at all…and Pidge looks so small and almost frightened in his arms that his chest tightens with fresh worry.

At last Pidge steps away from Hunk and turns to Lance, pushing hair away from her face - away from her swollen eye and the bandages standing out on her cheek - and clearing her throat. “I’m sorry I snapped at you, Lance.”

Lance blinks, surprised, and rubs the back of his neck, feeling more awkward around his partner than he has since…well, since ever. “Uh, it’s okay, Pidge.”

“It’s not,” she counters. She crosses her arms, her shoulders hunched, and adds, “You’re just trying to help.”

“Do you…want me to take you home?”

Pidge toys with the hem of her sweatshirt as she quietly admits, “I kinda don’t want to be alone at my apartment tonight.”

“You can spend the night in my spare bedroom,” Hunk offers.

Pidge sags and turns to him with a grateful smile. “Do I get carbs in the morning too?”

Hunk grins. “Only the very best carbs,” he promises.

Pidge laughs, a little more strongly this time, but then she looks to Lance and… “Then I’ll…see you in the morning at the firm when we have to face Allura?”

An almost alien panic grips Lance; they have to part so soon? But he forces a smile onto his face and says, “There’s no one I’d rather have at my side.”

Pidge’s smile falters, and for a second she looks like she wants to say something else.

But Lance remembers Hunk’s advice and blurts, “Unless you want me to stay with you.”

His heart pounds while he waits for her to either agree or deny, her face unreadable until a relieved grin stretches across her face. “Yes, I-I”—she clears her throat—”yes.”

Lance grins, but before he can even sag in relief, Hunk rests his hands on his hips and says, “You do realize there’s only one bed, right? You’ll have to share.”

Why the hell does he sound so damn cheerful about that? Lance for his part suddenly feels way too warm. “Uh, well—”

“Perfect,” Pidge says. Her fingers close around his wrist, and she bids Hunk goodnight before dragging Lance towards the stairs.

***

Pidge can scarcely believe there was once a time when she preferred solitude to Lance’s company. When she worked dispatch and had to call him to send him on a hit, he spoke too familiarly though they were near-strangers. Keith would simply grunt, and Hunk would be friendly but impersonal (at least until they got to know each other). But Lance…

Somehow, through chatting and teasing over the phone and a year-long partnership after she quit dispatch to better devote herself to finding Matt, she endured Lance…and he grew on her.

It’s an understatement of epic proportions when she can’t bear the thought of parting from him now, not after the day’s trials and his timely rescue. She expected to be more galled that this mission turned her into a literal damsel-in-distress, but now she’s just grateful the air she breathes is clean.

(Well, as clean as it can be in a city with too-lax regulations on carbon and particle emissions.)

She tries not to think too much about the possible implications behind her and Lance sharing a bed; after all, she wants him here, so she’ll have to live with it.

She strips down to her tank top in lieu of actual pajamas, watching Lance clutching his belt buckle and staring down at his dirty jeans. “You can take them off,” she tells him, shrugging as she jumps onto the full-sized bed. “It’s not like they’re hiding something I’ve never seen before.”

Lance looks vaguely constipated - it’s amusing though not an expression that suits him - but follows her suggestion, unbuckling his belt and shucking off his jeans till he stands in his t-shirt and boxer shorts.

(Pidge tactfully avoids eying his butt since the shorts are rather flattering.)

They slip under the covers. Lance’s body is a warm presence beside her, but she resists its pull on her. She’s already asked too much of him to just keep her company and spend the night with her.

(Never mind that she just kind of wants him to hold her.)

She faces the wall beside the bed with her back to him and tugs the blankets up to her chin.

She regrets it immediately when the sensation of something nearly covering her face has her gasping and her heart racing. She pushes the blanket down to her waist and sags, staring sullenly at the wall while she catches her breath.

“Pidge?” Lance says, the bedsprings creaking as he shifts. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she lies. “I’m fine.”

“If you’re sure…” When she doesn’t respond, he murmurs, “Good night, Pidge.”

Pidge bites her lip before replying, “‘Night, Lance.”

Sleep waits beyond her grasp, her mind buzzing with nothing but the day’s events to occupy it. She pinches her eyes shut and tries to force her recollection away from Ezor’s simper and Zethrid’s glower, tries not to think of dirt filling her eyes and ears and nose, tries not to recall how damn helpless she was, and how maybe it all could’ve been avoided if she wasn’t in such a hurry and surveyed the property a little longer, and how Lance could’ve been killed as easily as he rescued her, and how she almost died after finding out her brother escaped and—

“Pidge,” Lance’s voice, deep and husky in a way that might fill her with heat in any other circumstance, cuts into her thoughts, “you’re thinking too loud.”

Pidge freezes and exhales till there's no air left in her lungs (sort of). With her heart in her throat, she rolls over...and finds Lance already facing her, his eyes shining in the dark.

She reaches for him at the same time as he does her, her arms winding around his waist while his come around her back and pull her close till she can bury her face in his chest. She breathes shakily, careful not to press her nose too far, but she can still smell the faint but distinct scent of his spicy body wash.

His arms holding her firmly, his chest rising and falling so steadily, are the perfect comfort, so the dam she's built up all day bursts when the first broken sob escapes her.

***

Lance clutches Pidge as she cries, his shirt muffling her voice. His heart weighs heavily, useless as he ever was, but he runs a hand down her back and his fingers through her hair, careful not to touch the goose egg at the back of her head.

Her fingers grasp at the back of his t-shirt while tears and probably snot soak into the front. Lance doesn't care about the mess; he just wants Pidge to get better.

But better how? How does he erase what happened, turn back time so he can find her quicker or warn her that they'll find nothing in that damn art studio?

He almost lost Pidge - before she could even reunite with her missing brother! - and for nothing.

Lance reins in his rapidly rising anger and focuses on his partner sobbing in his arms. She needs to calm down - she's started hyperventilating, heaving great gasps of air, he realizes with alarm - so he urges her to sit up.

But he doesn't let her go; instead he pulls her halfway into his lap and starts talking.

"You're safe now, Pidge," he murmurs into her ear. "You'll rest, and you'll heal, and if you still want to go on missions"—the very thought of them separating on one again fills him with a heart-stopping fear—"I won't let anything like this happen to you again."

"Th-they were going t-to—they would've kill—b-buried me alive," Pidge whimpers, each word rising and lowering in pitch with her hysteria.

"I-I know," Lance tells her as a lump sticks in his own throat. He swallows around it, licking his lips before brushing them against her temple. "I-it was your worst mission, and we all have bad ones but never—never that bad."

Pidge sniffles. "W-when was y-your worst?" she wonders.

This one, is Lance's immediate thought, never mind that the only injury he sustained is an ugly bruise that'll heal within a week, but Pidge won't want to hear that. So he rubs her arm and sighs before admitting, "It was my first one."

Pidge's breathing is steadier now, so he lies down and drags her with him. She snuggles into his chest - he pretends not to notice her pushing the blankets away from her face - and says, "O-oh? W-what happened?"

"Really?" Lance pulls away slightly to look at her tear-streaked face. "You don't know? You mean you didn't read about my history before Allura pretty much strong-armed me into partnering with you?"

To his immense satisfaction, Pidge snorts. "I did, but it's not like the reports are the same as your recollection."

Lance, unsure he wants to know the answer, wonders, "What does the report for it say?"

"That you...rushed to take the shot without Shiro's approval," Pidge explains haltingly yet almost clinically. "The target got away, and in the pursuit he was injured. Allura recommended you be taken out of the field and train for dispatch instead, but Shiro fought for you to be given another chance."

That old, familiar shame drops into his gut, but Lance chuckles and says, "That's pretty accurate."

"Anything you wanted to add then?" Pidge asks.

"Yeah, I do." This time when he runs a hand down her back, he's not sure if it's to soothe her or brace himself. "I was doing my field training with Shiro, and even before I met him the guy was practically my hero."

"Understandable," Pidge says with a note of amusement.

"But I also knew I wasn't as good as Keith," Lance continues. "He'd already been on a few missions with Shiro, and I wanted to prove that I was better than him, so I ignored one of Shiro's orders and he ended up paying for it. We were just lucky we didn't get caught."

"So you think it was your fault Shiro got hurt and your target escaped?"

"Pidge, I know it was my fault," Lance insists with a sigh. "You said it's even in the official report."

"I guess I can't argue with that," she concedes, "but"—she pulls back, her fingers tangling in his hair as she tugs his head down to look him in the eye—"you know what happened to me was definitely not your fault, right?" Her gaze is startling in its intensity, and from this close he can see every shadowed curve and edge on her face.

Lance's breath catches; it's an awfully inappropriate time to be thinking of kissing her, but Pidge's reassurance means everything to him.

Though it does little to dispel his fears.

"Pidge..." He cups her cheeks, smoothing one of the bandages and wiping away the last of her tears. "I can think of a thousand and one ways I could've kept that from happening to you."

"Oh, well, I can think of maybe five or six," Pidge scoffs, "and I'm a genius, so you're wrong."

"Five or six are still too—"

"Lance," Pidge cuts him off with her hand resting on his jaw, "did you tie me up?"

"No, but—"

"Did you waterboard me?"

Shock grips him, his eyes flying wide. "Wait, they—"

"Did you crack a whip or pick up a shovel?"

"No." Lance grits his teeth and blinks away tears before burying his face - hiding it - in Pidge's hair, loose strands tickling his nose. "You have no idea how scared I was when I couldn't hear you anymore, Pidge." He fights to keep his breathing steady. "It was even worse than when I heard you scream."

"God, Lance..." Pidge's fingers trail through his hair, her breath warm and uneven against his neck. "You just—you have no idea how relieved I was to see you. You were okay, and you dug me out, and you haven't left me since, a-and—" Her voice wavers as she sighs. "I chose you over any other hitman at the firm, so stop blaming yourself, you—you foolish, beautiful goofball."

Lance's eyes widen, and when he leans his head back, Pidge avoids his gaze. "Did you just call me—"

"Shut up."

"—a goofball?"

Pidge snorts before she outright giggles, muffling the sound in the crook of her arm. And Lance, desperate to commit it all to memory, smiles while a heat fills his chest.

"Wait," he says, something Pidge mentioned sticking in his mind, "didn't you say that Allura assigned you to me?"

Pidge's eyes shoot open, and if Lance had to guess she must not have meant to let that slip. "I, well, that's technically true, but I...made my own recommendation."

"And you chose me over a veteran like Shiro or a standout like Keith?"

"Shiro was on the brink of retirement," Pidge explains, "and he's always treated me like a kid, so he was the last guy I'd want with me in the field while I'm learning and looking for Matt. And Keith has impressive stats, but he works better without a partner or trainee to keep track of." She tucks her hands into his chest, staring at her open palms. "You've been...more patient with me than I sometimes deserve, you taught me how to shoot straight—"

"Your aim was pretty bad when you started out."

"—you're fun to be around between missions and during long ones, and even when I was still a dispatcher I...tolerated you."

"Only tolerated?" Lance scoffs and rolls his eyes, but he's amused despite her word choice, happy to soak in her praise. "After all we've been through together?"

Pidge laughs. "Lance, that was over a year ago," she says. "I feel a little more strongly about you than just toleration now."

He's not sure why - not when she damns him with faint praise - but something in her tone sends warmth rushing to his face. He rests his forehead against hers and clutches her hands to his chest, saying, "Well, I'm flattered you thought so highly of me."

One of Pidge's hands escapes his grasp to caress his cheek, forcing him to repress a shiver. "Maybe someone else could've saved me as well as you did today," she murmurs, her gaze capturing his, "but you're the one I needed with me tonight."

"I'll be with you whenever you need me, Pidge," Lance swears, "and even when you don't, so long as you want me there." His heart pounds away against his ribs with the solemnity of his promise, and he wonders if Pidge can feel its strength under her hand.

"I'm with you too," she says.

Pidge surprises him when she slides closer and brushes his lips with hers, a kiss soft and tender as a whisper. "Thank you, Lance," she breathes. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

A smile pushes at his lips, and he can even feel the curve of her own against them. "Probably outmatch Keith."

Pidge hums. "I...understand the sentiment, but I think today proved that's not it."

"Then next time you save my life, and we'll call it even. Deal?"

"Deal," Pidge says with a soft laugh. "I forbid you from dying before you meet my brother anyway."

Warmth floods him, and he feels oh so ridiculously fond. "Oh, really?" Lance raises an eyebrow. "Would you fight an angel of death for me?"

"In a heartbeat," Pidge admits without hesitation and without shame, her tone fierce...though the yawn stretching her face ruins the effect.

Lance chuckles, though the exhaustion of the day tugs at him, urging him to sleep, too. "You ready to sleep for real?" he wonders. "And at a reasonable time?"

Pidge snorts then says, "I think so." She wraps her arms around his waist and presses her cheek to his chest right over his heart. "Just don't let me go."

"Never," Lance promises, because the least he can do tonight is keep Pidge secure in sleep. So his arms tighten around her, holding her close with one hand clutching her shoulder and the other carding through her hair.

(In the morning they'll worry about reporting to Allura and Pidge's invisible, long-term injuries, but for now they'll dream with the knowledge that someone who loves them and wants them safe sleeps in their arms.)

*** End ***

#plance #pidgance #lidge #flirtyrobot #bet you thought you'd seen the last of me #voltron #reem writes fic #seriously though heed the warnings #probably add the ao3 link when i reblog #although it's already up if you'd rather read it there

[ask-venom-and-eddie]

The Microwave Incident™

Fandom: Venom Movie (2018) Relationships: Eddie Brock/Venom Symbiote/Anne Weying/Dan Lewis Characters: Eddie Brock, Venom, Anne Weying, Dan Lewis AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17297084 Additional Note: This primarily focuses on Dan and Eddie bonding*

Summary: In all of Dan’s years of life, he’d never quite expected to one day be cohabiting with both his girlfriend, his girlfriend’s partner and the symbiote that lived within said partner.

In all of Dan’s years of life, he’d never quite expected to one day be cohabiting with both his girlfriend, his girlfriend’s partner and the symbiote??? that lived within said partner. But as much of Life goes, nothing will ever be quite as planned and if there’s anything he’s learned to be good at by this point, it would be to go with natural progression. Things are much easier when one learns to acknowledge it and deal with whatever happens when it happens.

Besides, it’s not so bad. The total amount of time it takes to complete chores is effectively shortened down with proper delegation. There’s always someone present to take care of the cat, trips to retrieve groceries are shortened, household fees are equally split, and the amount of troublemakers around the area have mysteriously vanished....All things considered, Eddie is a pretty decent housemate. That is if one can get used to occasionally waking up to a black humanoid mass shoveling the contents of their fridge into their gaping maw, all the while making eye contact with them.

Okay so maybe Venom is a little bit as intimidating as they are fascinating to Dan.

But can anyone really blame him for that? Considering how their first meeting had resulted in Dan very nearly getting choked out by them...him?? How does the whole...symbiote thing work? Truth be told, he’s still not all too caught up with the details entirely. Of course, Anne had briefly explained Eddie’s situation after the whole... ‘Hospital thing’. The last he’s heard about Venom had been that the symbiote was presumed dead. And now, they’re alive again?

He still remembers the exact moment Anne had found out Venom was still very much alive and very much a part of Eddie. Boy, had that been quite the fiasco. Thankfully, things have more or less settled into a peaceful routine now. It’s clear that Anne and Eddie still have things to work out between the both of them and that is not up to Dan to fix. But the doctor is optimistic all the same that they’ll get there in their own time too.

For now, he’s content with the arrangement. Laughing together as they watch bad reruns on tv, dining out together at least once a week, watching Mr Belvedere and Venom get accustomed to one another, having fun and respectful debates with Eddie...it’s fun. It’s nice. Dan would even venture to call it comfortable.

With the occasional exceptions.

Namely now. Noticing the distinct smell of char and smoke wafting out of their shared apartment isn’t exactly something one looks forward to when returning home. Alarm converting into adrenaline, Dan breaks into a run, heart hammering under his chest. By the time he’s shouldered the door open and dropped his bags in favor of rushing inside, he finds a panic-stricken Eddie attempting to fan out the interior of the microwave that had erupted in flames with his hoodie.

“Eddie d-” He’s barely able to get a word of warning out before the ends of Eddie’s hoodie catches on fire too, leading to more panicked gasps from the other and a rushed attempt to stomp out the flames. Eddie probably would have succeeded if it weren’t for the fact that his frenzied attempts ensured that he got a little too close to the microwave that was still on fire and Dan could only watch in horror when he makes contact with it by the tip of his elbow and practically howls.

A little part of it might have been Venom’s doing too because Dan sees tendrils of black inky rope-like substance emerge, rapidly roping up Eddie’s elbow. Stray tendrils extended, attaching themselves beneath the kitchen table floor. Eddie is then bodily dragged underneath in an attempt to take cover. They’re protecting him. Dan dimly registers. But now isn't really the time to be making sense of things. He has a fire to put out.

Galvanised by determination, the doctor scrambles to put gloves on just in case. He takes a moment to ease his nerves before he slams the microwave oven door shut. Careful to keep a wide berth as he turns it off, Dan unplugs the power cord just in case. There’s very little one can do except to suffocate the flames, which is exactly what he attempts to do.

Eddie is still in the same location by the time Dan could safely declare that he has the situation contained. He’s hunched over in a futile attempt to fold himself in half, breathing erratically, the back of his hoodie sweat-drenched. An inky black substance, almost oily in sheen, oozes from his chest. Almost as if reflecting Eddie’s current state, the tendrils jitter, a seething mass twitching with agitation.

Whatever it was doing, if anything at all, captures Eddie’s attention enough and he’s just barely able to focus a wide-eyed gaze at Venom in a struggle not to hyperventilate. Shaky fingers grasped at the symbiote, tugging on them in an effort to pull him closer even as Eddie fought for air.

As Dan hurries his way forward, it’s becoming more and more apparent that the other is having trouble calming himself down. In retrospect, perhaps he shouldn’t have moved as quickly as he did because the sudden movement has Venom’s hackles raising and Dan is greeted with a furious bellow, fangs bared, claws extended. Oh boy oh boy.

“It’s okay, it’s okay!” His own heartbeat hammers in his ears when Dan raises his hands. Much like one would approach a skittish animal, the doctor slows his approach. Inch by gradual inch, Dan makes his way closer in what he hopes to be a non threatening manner.

“It’s okay, buddy. I’m-I’m not going to hurt him or you. I’m here to help. Let me help, Venom. Please.”

Pearlescent eyes narrowed into slits at his words and Dan resists the urge to gulp. Against his own wishes, he finds himself holding his breath when Venom appears to consider his offer. There’s something about finding yourself the sole focus of something so..otherworldly. Something powerful enough to snap your spine in one solid move if it thought to do so. It settles beneath his skin, all pins and needles.

It takes a while- Eddie may be the one looking worse for wear but Venom. Venom is a constantly shifting mass, shape inconsistent, as if it was compelled to stay close yet pull away at the same time. Dan might not understand the symbiote as much as Eddie or even Anne does, but it’s apparent even to him that Venom isn’t feeling all too good either.

There’s really no other way to describe the symbiote’s movements. But Dan would compare it to a drop of water against speakers playing at an unbearably loud volume. Nevertheless, a decision is finally made. With their last shudder, Venom oozes back. Whatever visible parts of it slithers back in quicker than Dan could blink. All that remains is a disembodied hand, fingers carefully interlaced with Eddie’s in a singular gesture that conveyed both a need for comfort and an effort to reassure.

Choosing to interpret that as assent, Dan wastes little time in shuffling underneath the table as well so that he would be seated next to Eddie’s hunched figure. “Eddie. Eddie, can you hear me?” It takes him a few tries before he’s able to get a response from his panicky companion. Eddie’s hands clenched into fists in a repeated pattern: squeeze, release, squeeze, release. Combating threats Dan can’t see, wisps of nightmares he doesn’t have access to. Not in the same way he does.

Eddie’s face is ruddy with exertion and emotional toil, breathing shaky and stilted. Dan watches as his companion thumps at the front of his chest in a manner that suggested he was attempting to dislodge something even though he knows nothing is there.

“Sorry.” Eddie’s voice cracks when he chokes out a coherent reply, pitched high and teetering on the edge of exhaustion. He scrubs at his face, still hunched up against himself. “I don’t-I don’t know what- What’s happening to me.”

And Dan could feel his heart break just a little.

“Experiencing emotional distress of sorts in highly stressful situations is a valid response, Eddie. Don’t apologise for that.” Though his reflex and instincts willed him to initiate contact as a means of comfort, the doctor hesitates and lifts away the hand that had been hovering near Eddie’s shoulder. Touch is grounding for some but it may not for others. The last thing Dan wants is for Eddie to feel even worse.

A little part of him wonders if it had been the fire or the fact that he’d failed to prevent it from catching fire that evoked such an intense response. Whichever it is, it’s not a question to be asking now. There’s always time to figure it out in the future. For now, what Eddie needs is the means to regulate his breathing and even out his physical reactions. Maybe get something for burns. That’s right-

“Eddie, may I?” By way of finishing his sentence, Dan gestured at his companion’s elbow only for Eddie to shake his head after comprehension dawns on him.

“No need.” Eddie manages to wheeze out with a measure of effort. “.Big guy’s...got it covered.”

“Oh.” A beat later. “He can do that?”

His surprise must have shown because the corners of Eddie’s mouth twitched upwards for the briefest of moments when he casts gaze on him. The edges of red-rimmed eyes may have crinkled just the tiniest bit with fondness.

“Yeah. He can-” An abortive gesture is made, aimless before Eddie sets his hand again the front of his chest, kneading. Probably uncomfortable from the amount of effort it took to keep breathing regularly. “He can do a lot.”

“Huh. Fascinating. What else can he do?” Maybe if they talked about Venom, it’d be enough of a distraction to ease his discomfort. “Uh. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, no pressure.” There’s virtually nothing Dan could, or would do, with that information anyways. Assuming the symbiote may be suspicious about that.

He’s met with yet another abortive gesture but Venom must not have minded much since Eddie answers him in halting sentences, pausing frequently to breathe deeper. They talk and Dan shares stories of his own when Eddie trails off: Teenage escapades, past pets, unfortunate haircuts, late night hospital antics with the staff, his ongoing struggles with the parking meter, stories that have Eddie looking less haunted. Eddie tells him about his investigative work, speaks jargon that goes over Dan’s head about motorbikes, captures his attention with descriptive details about the wild adventures he’d gotten into, reasons his opinions on current mysteries.

They don’t talk about the microwave and Eddie doesn’t come out from underneath the table when Dan excuses himself to answer a call.

But he makes space for him when Dan comes back with two cups of hot cocoa. Mr Belvedere slinks in to join them, shameless in the way they curled up in Eddie’s lap, purring louder than he’s ever heard. And Dan decides that Eddie’s a little bit like a cat himself when he slumps against his side, cheek warm against Dan’s shoulder, breathing finally even as he dozes.

They’re still there when Anne returns home. The question in her eyes were apparent when she finally catches sight of them. But she only nods when he mouths ‘I’ll tell you later’, eyes honey soft. Her lips are warm when she presses a kiss to his cheek and runs her fingers through Eddie’s hair, angling awkwardly just so she could press one against his temple.

Things are okay. They’re all okay.

Something in Dan relinquishes it’s hold with a soft sigh and he revels in it’s absence. He feels light, whole, good.

Yeah, they’ll be okay.

#symbrock #venom movie #venom 2018 #eddie/dan/anne/venom #dan lewis #anne weying #eddie brock #venom symbiote #Mod Sleeper

[insanely-creative-things]

Big Hero 7: The Series

www.fanfiction.net

Big Hero 7 S2

El Fuego

*Its so happened to be a dark night at the maximum prison where Yama, the notorious gang leader from Good Luck ally and foe to Hiro Hamada and Cora Mizichio, is sitting at his cell abiding his time. Soon enough, MegaYama had arrived and swiftly defeated the security guards and start smashing the wall where Yama is behind.*

Yama: Yes! New Mega Yama! Get me out of here!

*That is when the flying figure of Baymax with Hiro and Cora arrives to the scene.*

Hiro: Baymax! Clothesline!

*With one fist out Baymax punches Mega Yama, throwing him away from the wall. Not hearing the sound of rock being pounded Yama calls out to his robot.*

Yama: Whats going on? New Mega Yama why did you stop smashing?!

*Baymax lands as the rest of Big Hero 7 joins them.*

Fred: Nice take down Omega Danger-

*That's when Mega Yama's fist punches Baymax, along with Hiro and Cora, away and over the wall.*

Fred: He can't handle all four of AUGH!

*Mega Yama takes his grasp around Fred as he spins around and throws him to Wasabi and Honey Lemon, knocking them down and leaving Gogo to him, Mega Yama raises his foot ready to stomp on Gogo when she quickly summons her hover disc to shield herself from Mega Yama's foot. But the pressure too strong for her alone.*

Gogo: Uh guys? Honey ?

*Gogo continues to struggles until the gang soon join her to push back against Mega Yama's foot.*

Honey Lemon: Push harder!

Fred: *Straining* I'm known for my wit! Not my strength!

*Honey Lemon peeks up from the disc when they no longer felt the impending pressure of Mega Yama's foot.*

Honey Lemon: Yay! he gave up!

*A quick grab of Wasabi from Mega Yama's claws proved her other wise.*

Wasabi: Spoke too soon!

*Fred quickly catches Wasabi just as Baymax comes flying back to join the fight. Mega Yama pushes them down as Hiro and Cora fall off and land far away. mega Yama goes towards the two teens ready to stomp on them when Baymax's fists punches him in the back and into the wall, shutting the robot menace down.*

Hiro: Thanks Baymax.

Cora: We owe ya big time buddy.

Baymax: Your welcome.

*The gang cheer around Baymax leaving Yama confused*

Yama: What happened? Where'd you gone to Mega Yama? Hurry before Big Hero 7 shows up!

*It was then they later traveled to their chosen night out: Mech Wrestling. it was an event where wrestlers don on their mech suits and join in a fight before hundreds of people while putting up a main act. The gang had agreed to join up to see it... but it took more convincing for Cora's father to let Cora go. After begging and swearing they would not let Cora be hurt her agreed... on one condition...*

Mizuchi: Excuse us ma'm..

*They all sit down at their seat while Mizuchi tries to not block anyone's view of the show. Finally he settled on laying across the bleachers of the gang with Baymax acting as a head comforter.*

Cora: Sorry Papa..

Mizuchi: No no, its fine. You can see the show right?

Honey Lemon: We can see well sir!

Mizuchi: Cool... I wonder if Kage had ever ventured to these sort of things...

*And so the announcer starts up his pitch as the audience starts to get wild.*

Announcer: Welcome fight fans! Its time for Mech Wrestling Madness!

Honey Lemon: *Covering her ears and talking loudly* I've never been to a mech wrestling match!

Cora: *Also covering her ears* Me neither! Is it always this loud?

Baymax: sounds under 85 decibels are generally considered safe.

Honey Lemon: So is it safe?

Baaymax: No.

Gogo: Too Loud, too fake, to me.

Hiro: But its fun. You know, cheering for the good guy, booing for the bad guy.

Gogo: Or both.

Fred: I love Mech Wrestling so much That I actually tried to buy the league! But I was outbid by an anonymous-

Announcer: Everyone! Put your hands together for the new owner of Mech Wrestling Federation... Richardson Mole!

*Richardson Mole arrives in the smoke, no doubting upsetting Fred to the core.*

Fred: WWWHHHYYYY?!

Wasabi: You OK buddy?

Fred: *Clearly not OK* Oh hohoho I will be! Once I take something from Mole he wants more than anything!

Wasabi: So... not OK?

Mizuchi: Is this Mole the same mole that had threatened your secret identities for Fred's possessions and to be a member of your team?

Hiro: Pretty much. Along side being Fred's enemy.

Mizuchi: I see... *To Fred* We'll talk about this!

Fred: *Not really paying Attention* OK.

Announcer: Now for the main event! He brings the heat, he loves to cheat! He's a bad guy with bad breath! El~ Fuego!

*The Mech Wrestler El Fuego is a Mexican man whose mech armor is composed of flames. The crowd boos at El Fuego.*

El Fuego: Keep booing! Keep booing! Its just more fuel for El Fuego!

*Its there that Honey Lemon lets it go.*

Honey Lemon: Get ready to get extinguished El Fuego! You're going down son!

*Everyone around Honey Lemon look at her as if she smacked someone's grandma to the ground.*

Honey Lemon: Sorry, I guess I just got wrapped up in the moment.

*Gogo lightly blushes at her girlfriend before quickly turning around in a small huff of whatever.*

Announcer: And his opponent! He's Mech Elite! He can't be beat! He's the good guy whose smile can light up the room! Uncle~ Samurai!

*The crowd cheers wildly at the 'heroic' mech wrestler appearing before them. The two mech wrestlers go head to head as Uncle Samurai throws El Fuego to the ring post shouting 'feel the revolution!'. After throwing in a couple punches Uncle Samurai pushes himself to the ropes to launch himself-*

Honey Lemon: End him Uncle Samurai! *calms down* You're doing so great!

*With his attention back to the fight Uncle Samurai is quickly yanked by El Fuego to which he gives the red, white, and blue mech wrestler a punch. Making the team wince and Mizuchi to cover Cora's eyes.*

Cora: Papa!

Gogo: Fake...

*The crowd boos as El Fuego spins Uncle Samurai around, winding up for his next move.*

Fred: Ah snap! El Fuego's about to do his signature mech slam! The sparkler!

*El Fuego spins faster and faster, making Baymax activate his nurse bot mode.*

Baymax: severe dizziness can lead to extreme nausea.

Hiro: Don't worry Baymax, its not real its for show.

*That is when El Fuego throws him off the ring and into the bleachers, rendering El Samurai unconscious.*

Mole: Hey! That's against the rules!

*That's when he rips off his jacket to reveal a referee shirt.*

Fred: Ah come on! Conflict of interest! You can't be the owner and the ref!

Mole: *To El Fuego* You just got your first warning!

El Fuego: Ah warning Ooh~

*Uncle Samurai soon regains consciousness and is struggling to get up.*

Baymax: Uncle Samurai may be in need of medical attention.

Gogo: He's fine.

*Soon enough Uncle Samurai gets up and is ready for more.*

Uncle Samurai: No surrender! Yes!

*That is when behind Uncle Samurai's back El Fuego grabs a piece of the bleachers and is ready to whack him.*

Hiro: This is classic! While the ref is conveniently distracted! El Fuego is able to cheat.

Mole: Hi Dream girl~ You pinned my heart.

Honey Lemon and Gogo: *Holding hands* We're dating!

*Mole sighs before he blows a kiss at Gogo… only for Gogo to promptly smack it away and kiss Honey Lemon full on the lips.*

Cora: Yes! *Pumps hands up*

*Once the kiss ends Honey Lemons giggles madly as she hugs her girlfriend while Gogo gives a satisfied, smug, smirk. Wrapping her arm around her tall girlfriend.*

El Fuego: Yes, kiss it goodbye.. to a dramatic combat!

*He whacks Uncle Samurai away, resulting in the patriotic samurai to launch himself forward only to be knocked down the floor.*

Announcer: Looks like a whole new meaning to getting benched!

*El Fuego gets up and launches himself up in the air where he uses his elbow to pin Uncle Samurai down to the ground.*

Honey Lemon: Hey he cheated! Tag me! Tag me in!

Cora: Uh?... *To Gogo* Is Honey Lemon this passionate when she gets to new things?

Gogo: Yes.

*El Fuego tries to smirk but the look from Mole is enough to make him begrudengly pick Uncle Samurai up and make his arms move around to appear that Uncle Samurai is defeating him. Soon enough Uncle Samurai for real finishes up the job and wins against El fuego.*

Crowd and Mole: One... two... Three!

Honey Lemon: Yes! That's what I'm talking about!

Baymax: You're being dangerously loud.

Honey Lemon: Sorry, but OMG that was so much fun! *To Cora and Mizuchi* What do you guys think?

Cora; Its fine! Kind of exciting. Maybe we can invite Uncle Kage and Chara sometime.

Mizuchi: I'll talk about that later...

*When the arena cleared out the staff is cleaning it up when El Fuego goes up to Mole.*

Mole: Ah, if it isn't the best heel in business!

El Fuego: *Getting off the mech Suit* I'm sick of loosing on purpose! You know I'm the best wrestler! Period!

Mole: Bad Guys never win in wrestling.

*El Fuego picks Mole up by the shirt growling angerly.*

Mole: You're a heel! And the heel's job is to make the face look good!

*El Fuego growls angrily before he drops Mole and walks away.*

Mole: See?! Total heel move!

*The next morning the Gogo, Hiro, Wasabi and Baymax all meet up at the café where Fred goes on his spew of words as he vows revenge against Richardson Mole.*

Fred: Richardson will rue the day he took something from me that I wanted! Again!

*However, the rest of his friends were not so much as paying attention to him.*

Fred: Uh hello? Earth to Best Friends I'm vowing revenge here!

Gogo: *Nonchalant* Great, we heard it before. You vow revenge-

wasabi: Set off on some ridiculous vendetta-

Hiro: Just to prove your better than richardson.

Baymax: It has never ended well.

Cass: Hey guys!

*the gang look up to see Aunt Cass carrying her tray of coffee mugs.*

Cass: Where's Cora and Honey Lemon?

Gogo: Honey's at her new happy place.

Hiro: And Cora's spending the day with her grandmother.

Cass: That's interesting. What's Honey Lemon's new happy place?

*None other then the Mech Wrestling league of course.*

Honey Lemon: Bring it on Fuego! Uncle Samurai is gonna dance on your face!

Esme: Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ you're loud!

Miyuki: Of all things Honey Lemon had to enjoy...

*Honey Lemon invited/dragged her SFAI friends, Miyuki Frost and Esme, to the Mech Wrestling event as well to get them into the hype. It had mixed results: Miyuki uses this as a time to work on her sketching for mech, while Esme mutters about the way the 'villain' and 'hero' are framed in Spanish. As of now El Fuego and Uncle Samurai are duking it out at the ring. El Fuego picks his enemy up and spins him in the air before slamming him to the floor.*

Crowd: *Boos at El Fuego*

Honey Lemon: Yeah! Go ahead! Celebrate now you're going down in a minute son!

El Fuego: You're just fanning the Fuego!

Esme: Have to admit, he's definitely buying into his role.

*El fuego then throws Uncle Samurai across the ring before he uses the strings to beat his opponent to the ground more. He stands on top as some of the crowd cheers on the action, but the watchful eye of Mole is quick to tell him to make sure he loses anyway...however... This time El Fuego will not lose on purpose. He cracks his neck as he steps towards Uncle Samurai and gives him the beating of a lifetime before he dives him headfirst to the floor via his jets. It results in him on top of Uncle Samurai as he uses Mole, the referee, to announce his victory. Much to the shock of Honey Lemon and others, Miyuki taking note of it before resuming sketching, and Esme giving a sly smirk. Finally, the banner of the winner is El Fuego.*

El Fuego: That's right! The heel is the winner!

*Soon enough the station is clearing out with some of the crowd still chattering about El Fuego's sudden victory when Miyuki notes something.*

Miyuki: Dang it I left my sketchbook!

Esme: Hold on, I'll get it!

*She rushes back in time to the doors and swiftly goes to the bleachers where the sketchbook is. She picks it up only to see El Fuego, outside his Mech Suit, go towards his stand as he gloats his victory. Good thing the bleachers were dark or he would had easily spotted her.*

El fuego: All hail the new heel champion!

*That's when Mole steps in*

Mole: I don't think so! Pack up your mech suit El Fuego! Your fired!

El Fuego: Fired? I'm the greatest Mech Wrestler this league has ever seen! Not to mention how I'm 'the bad guy' against some gringo who barely puts in any effort to actually fight back! I earned my place here!

Mole: That's the thing! You're the bad guy! Bad Guys don't win! Its not good for business!

*And so the banner flops loosely off the wall.*

El Fuego: You'll regret this. I'm bigger than this league! And I'm going to prove it!

*He stomps away from the arena, growling underneath his breath along with some cuss words in Spanish. This Esme uses to get back to her friends while carrying the sketch book and quickly relay what she saw.*

Miyuki: Basically, El Fuego was tired of purposely loosing to Uncle Samurai cause he actually earned his title along with the fact he's white-

Honey Lemon: So he went against Mole and won.. but got fired for it?

Esme: Yes. Though I would had suggested 'Hey! How about you make El Fuego a good guy!'. But then again, that would require Mole to be creative.

Honey Lemon: Yesh! Now I feel bad for El Fuego... I hope he picks himself up.

Esme: Yup. Anyway, I still can't believe that Cora is actually half mermaid.

Honey Lemon: I know! I mean, thousands of years of myths on what we thought were stories actually hold some truth! And ms. Kaguya is living proof!

Miyuki: so now Cora's going to have her first lesson about her heritage?

Honey Lemon: Yeah. Kaguya decided she would teach Cora first then us second. Just so Cora would feel more comfortable and focused on the lesson without us to watch.

Miyuki: Sounds fair. I wouldn't want people to stare at me.

* At the night on the beach, Kaguya and Cora are walking through the sand before they find a secluded spot to start Kaguya's lessons.*

Kaguya: Alright now Cora. I'm heading in.

*the old woman puts her cane down and dives into the water, where she emerges up with her tail in display. Cora notes closely at her grandmother's aquatic features.*

Kaguya: Tell me, what do you see besides my tail?

Cora: Well... *Looks closely*… You have forearm fins, pelvic fins and a dorsal fin on your tail and... Gills?

Kaguya: Yes. The gills operate the same as with fish, they're like feathers with a wide surface area. They exist in layers to which we can observe oxygen. We do, however, posses lungs... but they're not as strong as human lungs and are temporary.

Cora: Temporary?

Kaguya: For at least half a day, if a mermaid or merman were to crawl onto the beach they would have air sacks inside that will activate. But again, they are considerably weaker and smaller. If the mermaid and merman were to stay on land longer than necessary the gills will soon collapse on itself and suffocate them. Their skin will become dry and pale, they'll get bags under their eyes, and their hair will turn white as they dry out.

Cora:... Basically what happened to me when I got ill.

Kaguya: I'm not sure… to be honest I mostly didn't tell you because as far as we know.. you are the first child born of a mermaid mother and of a human father. No one knows the biology of such extremes, not humans obviously, but also not the merfolk.

Cora: And add in the fact that the thing from Papa passed it onto me, latching on my foot that supposedly should give me extra strength.

Kaguya: That is true... but Cora, don't think that we think less of you nor that we're afraid. We love you, your friends love you, and Hiro loves you. They accept who you are and that is the greatest relief I've ever felt in my life... its tied with the day your father proven himself that he does love your mother and is willing to better himself for his sake and hers... now, here's something cool for you, and something very familiar to your super suit.

*Kaguya sighs as she soon glows patterns of a soft blue around her arms, face, and tail and the tip of her fins. Cora listened to her grandmother explain the purpose of the bioluminescence in mermaids along with how they gained such an ability, as a thought that has been in Cora's mind since the reveal in Sycorax had protruded and made her look at her hands and feet, where the brand stares back at her in what she feels is taunting her.*

Cora:*Softly to herself*… Then what am I really?

*Not a human, nor a mermaid... All she knows now... is what she is not.*

*But somewhere in the city, someone has a very clear idea on what they want to be and who they are. And El Fuego decided that if they want a bad guy, he'll give him a bad guy. He is adding upgrades to his Mech suit while the TV is one for white noise.*

El Fuego: I'll show the whole world! I just need to find the biggest, baddest, good guy to fight!

*That is when the TV shows a news clip of Big Hero 7 with the main feature being Baymax.*

Dunder: Once again; Big Hero 7 proves to be the biggest, baddest, good guys in town!

*And so when El Fuego sees the picture of Baymax, he smiles to himself as he forms a plan.*

_________

*The next day at the arena Fred is carrying a suitcase and joined by Gogo, Wasabi, and Esme for support as they go to see Mole.*

Mole: Frederickson! Welcome to my wrestling federation!

Fred: Or is it mine?... There's an airport hanger full of these*opens case to show piles of money* with your name on it if you sell the federation to me.

Mole: Tantalizing proposition, and I admit I don't even like wrestling.

*That struck so many nerves in Fred as he decided to take breather to let out his frustration. With that Mole turns his attention to Gogo.*

Mole: So, how's things with your 'girlfriend' dream girl?

Gogo: My girlfriend's just fine creep. We're going on a date tonight.

Mole: Oh come on you're only dating that skinny twig to play hard to get.

*This has Gogo twitching her eyes as her fist starts shaking. Esme has to hold her hand while also reminding herself that to attack a white rich boy would land them in jail. Soon enough, after screaming his lungs out Fred goes back to join his friends and still have his case open.*

Fred: Anyway, about that generous offer-

Mole: Not for sale! I only bought it cause I knew it would drive you crazy!

*Mole then laughs like the entitled brat he is.*

Fred: And to think, at one time I actually felt sorry for you. Well, now I rue you!

Mole: I was born on Rue Street on a Ruesday on FrebRueary, Ruelly.

Wasabi: I rue the day we agreed to come here.

*With that Fred walks away to head back to the limo along with Gogo and Wasabi, but Esme stays behind to talk to Mole.*

Esme: Wow... So.. not only are you discrediting Gogo's relationship with Honey Lemon because of some perverted entitlement, but you purposely bought the league of wrestling just to spite Fred?

Mole: What about it?

Esme: You are a literally an internet troll in real life: someone who tells their target they have no life along with rude comments, through ironically they have all the time in the world to harass them. That tells me you actually have no life since you dedicated your time to spite Fred out of a vendetta and since you're not in school.

Mole: So what?-

Esme: I guarantee you that if you weren't a privileged, rich, white boy; you would be royally beaten up by children your own age cause they can see a gross brat when they smell one.

Mole: W-Well then that would make Fred pathetic too since he also says he rues how he responds to how I-

Esme: Being Offensive is worse cause being offended is a REACTION. You deliberately chose to behave this way cause it would make Fred upset. And he does have a right to be offended since most of the times you were the cause of it. The moment someone raises a fist and delivers that blow to you, you'll only show that you are a truly pathetic, sniveling, entitled, cowardly brat .

*That's when Mole's face turns red, but that is when Esme walks back angrily sighing before climbing to the car. That is when she sees Fred, grumbling angrily.*

Esme: *To Fred* Fred? You alright?

Fred: No I'm not alright!..*Sighs angrily* He doesn't even like wrestling and he-He's the worst!

*He turns around in a huff while Esme sighs, looking at Gogo and Wasabi. Meanwhile at the streets of San Fransokyo Hiro, Cora, and Baymax are at the rooftops watching over the city as they chat about things. Mostly about Cora's lessons.*

Hiro: So that's how Mermaids survive in the ocean.

Cora: Yeah, mostly thanks to how they observed many fishes and octopedes survive.

Hiro: Must've been fun.

Cora: Yeah, I bet when you guys get the lesson you'll be amazed. Its more awesome in person.

Baymax:... Your neural scans indicate a small but growing feeling of melancholy.

Cora: I'm fine Baymax… I was just thinking about Sycorax...

Hiro: *Places an arm around her shoulders* Yeah... I get it. But its over now and Diane will never hurt you or anyone again. She's locked up for good along with Chris.

Cora: And the real Liv... though.. why would Liv turn herself in?...I'll learn it later...Anyway, where’s this supposed showdown?

Hiro: Yeah *Commlink to the team* I'm calling it. Nothing's happening here.*

Baymax: A combustimal mass of incandescent gases is incoming.

Hiro and Cora: What?

*And soon enough a giant flame lands in the middle of street, soon revealing itself to be none other than-*

El Fuego: Say hello to El Fuego! Grande!

*He puts on a flame show as Baymax lands down with Hiro and Cora.*

El Fuego: I'm ready for a real fight! You ready Omega Danger?

*The crowd waits in anticipation for the epic showdown.*

Baymax: No thank you.

El Fuego: What do you mean no thank you? Come on big bot! Fight back!

*He launches his fist to knock Baymax back to which he stands back up.*

Baymax: I am programmed to assist someone in danger. There is currently no one in danger.

El Fuego: Yeah there is.

* He runs forward and punches Baymax again, but the bot refuses to raise a fist.*

El Fuego: What do you say now?!

Baymax: Expressing anger can be healthy.

*El Fuego punches Baymax over and over but not once had Baymax fallen down nor put up any fists to fight back. That is when he flies up to the sky with Hiro and Cora.*

Baymax: This is not healthy.

El Fuego: Neither is this!

*He shoots his fire far from a small shoulder cannon at Baymax to which the nurse bot dodges easily. That is when a helicopter with the news appear.*

Dunder: We're live on the scene of a surprisingly boring supehero battle.

Hiro: Baymax just fight back!

Baymax: There is no reason for violence.

Cora: But El Fuego will continue to attack you!

El fuego: Whats his problem? He just a wad of newtons!

Hiro: He's programmed to help people.

Cora: He won't hurt anyone.

El Fuego: Wait. He doesn't fight? I thought he was a cutting edge fighter bot! But he's nothing but junk!

*That got Hiro growling angrily at El Fuego once he uttered those words. That is when the rest of Big Hero 7 arrives.*

Gogo: Shows over El Fuego!

Honey Lemon: Your surrounded son!

*The rest of the team look at Honey Lemon. Still not processing the fact that she is now a bonifide mech wrestling fan.*

Honey Lemon: I mean.. Sir.

El Fuego: Seven against one is cheating. I want a fair fight. With your chicken bot! *To Baymax* Tomorrow evening! At night market square we tango! And if you don't show up, everyone will know Big Hero 7 is really Big Coward 7!

*He then flies off to the sky, leaving behind an increasingly pissed off Hiro. Cora, while also mad that El Fuego had the audacity to call Baymax garbage, also notes how Hiro is reacting.*

Dunder: Is it true that your considering changing your name to Big Coward 7?

*Later on Hiro, Cora, and Baymax are at the garage where Cora removes the helmet as she looks at the cracked visor. Hiro gives a deep sigh as he looks over the rest of the armor.*

Baymax: A deep sigh can indicate frustration.

Hiro:... You're not junk! You're one of the most sophisticated robots ever built! State of the art AI, synthetic fore sensors, high dynamic range cameras, not to mention saving the city multiple times!

Baymax: You are right Hiro. I am not junk. El Fuego is incorrect.

Hiro: I know but I.. But I can't stand that he thinks he's right! Its just not that he's saying my work is junk!...

*That is when Hiro turns to look at a picture.. a picture of himself, Aunt Cass... and Tadashi. Cora's eyes slightly quiver as she sees what Hiro is truly upset about. She goes over to place a hand on his shoulder.*

Hiro: He's saying Tadashi's work is junk...

Baymax: *Waddling to Hiro and placing his hand on his other shoulder* El Fuego's opinion does not diminish Tadashi's achievements.

Hiro: Yeah,... I know you're right Baymax...

*Baymax hugs him from behind as Cora stands aside and let them have their moment. The blue haired teen then looked at her phone and went to her photo gallery, finding a few pictures that had Tadashi. If he had lived what would he had truly thought of this? She knew for sure that Tadashi would have been less than pleased with their old college bully and no doubt proud of their accomplishments as Big Hero 7... and yet... how would he respond to El Fuego's taunts? While mature he isn't as above it all as many people would think. He probably had moments where he snapped. And then her mind wandered... would he still see her as a person if he learned all about her family past?... She looks back at Hiro and Baymax before she goes to resume to repair Baymax's armor. Later on they went to Fred's house where they talked about his latest revenge scheme against mole. Hiro, Esme, and the gang had informed her what Mole did and to take it with a grain of salt.*

Fred: Ladies, gentlemen, and gentlebots. I present with you with my latest Richardson revenge scheme!

*He shows a billboard with the words KWF.*

Gogo: K W F?

Wasabi: Kindergarten Wizard... falafel?

Fred: Ooh~ I would eat that but no. It stands for Kaiju Wrestling Federation.

Honey Lemon: You're starting a Kaiju wrestling league?

Fred: Yes! All the matches are going to take place in space!

*That's when Hiro's suit flies in with a kaiju mask.*

Hiro: Uh How'd you get my exosuit?

Esme: And yikes on the aesthetics!

Fred: I broke to your lab! But that's not what's important. What's important is that you make the actual space kaijus and-

Cora: Fred, we love you. But this is way over the top. I understand that you hate mole with a fiery passion since he repeatedly harasses you and stole something from you while under the pretense of friendship... but this is, again, way too far.

Fred: Well, what do you suggest then? Just let him rub his victory in my face?

Esme: Its a little complicated; on one hand you can just do what Commander Carter suggested when Mole blackmailed you guys with your secret identities.

Honey Lemon: That being?

Esme: From what I heard, having Gogo and Hiro pin Mole down while Cora bashes his face with a heavy binder.

Wasabi: That is also over the top.

Baymax: It could lead to mole having many facial injuries.

Esme: I know that and so does Commander Carter. But historically bullies go after easy targets. Once the target fights back, they don't bully harder, they look for another target. If there's one to describe them, it would be coward.

Fred: *Looking a little uncomfortable* I just wanna show that he has nothing over me! Not beat his face in!

Esme: That's one suggestion. And seriously, way over the top in response to Mole's purchase of the mech wrestling league. Situations are always different and that requires different solutions. And this is one that doesn't require a rightful beating or making a kaiju wrestling league. You have to pick your battles and decide which ones to let it be and when to face on. This one, you have to let it go.

Fred: Ya know.. your right! Thanks Esme.

Esme: *Winks at Fred* Anytime baby.

*Cora pulls out her phone and sees something in the news.*

Cora: Guys you wanna might check this out.

*The gang look at Cora's phone to see Bluff Dunder standing next to El Fuego as the wrestler looks more angrier by the minute.*

Dunder: El Fuego! Do you have a prediction for your fight against the biggest hero in Big Hero 7?

El Fuego: Oh yeah! If that chicken bot has the circuits to show up! I'm going to eat his CPO for lunch!

Dunder: Interesting. I'm feeling like a sandwich. Sounds like you're predicting victory.

El Fuego: Clear your ears out Dunder! Who ever programmed that bag of bolts had no idea what they're doing! I'm going to blast its stupid carbon fiber skeleton back to the junkyard!

*After he destroys a bit of the set and leaves, Dunder gets up.*

Dunder: Well alright. I like to thank El Fuego for being my guest on this week's segment on community corner.

*The screen now shows Hiro and Cass together as the teen had gotten home. And the same news clip is showing on the TV watched by Hiro and Cass.*

Cass: I wish there was another local news channel!

*Hiro gets up from the couch and starts sketching out a new diagram... a specific one for El Fuego.*

Cass: Its really hard to not let jerks get under your skin. Especially all the times with Kurt.

Hiro: Uh huh.

Cass: And that girl... Kami or something? I don't care. I can't believe you didn't tell me about her. I would've liked to have few words with her parents over the way she treated you and Cora. I'm glad she's expelled so you never have to face her again.

Hiro: *Not paying attention* Yeah.

Cass: *Sighs*… Doing some homework?

Hiro: Mhm.

Cass: Don't work too hard.

*Soon enough Hiro is making himself some adjustments to Baymax's armor... with an exoskeleton designed for himself. Soon enough he dons on the exoskeleton then the armor, with the last finishing touch being a helmet to look like Baymax complete with a voice modifier.*

Hiro: *As Baymax* I am Baymax.

*At the Mizichio household Cora is finishing up her homework when she sees the tv on with the news on El Fuego.*

Dunder: An unsanctioned street fight in a busy city center. Seems dangerous, and seems like good television.

*The crowd, not realizing the villain act was simply an act back at wrestling, boo him.*

El Fuego: Boo me all you want. Your hero is a big chicken!

Hiro: *Baymax voice* I am not a chicken.

*Hiro lands in Baymax's armor, ready to fight off El Fuego. And forgetting the fact that Baymax, while slowly improving, has used no metaphors or sarcasm when he talks.*

Hiro: *Baymax voice* I am your worst nightmare.

*At the Mizichio household everyone could tell something is up.*

Baymax 1: That is not Baymax.

Kaguya: Did Hiro just show up in Baymax's armor to face El Fuego?

Kage: And with a voice modulator.

Chara: Whats going on?

Mizuchi: Hiro's angry, so he's gonna face El Fuego as Baymax to defend-

*That's when they hear the rapid footsteps of Cora running up to her room and no doubt call Skymax.*

Kage: And there she goes.

*At Night Market square, Hiro-Max is face to face with El Fuego.*

Hiro-max: On a scale of one to ten, how would you rate your stupidity?

________

*El Fuego pounds his fists together as Hiro-Max gets to his fighting stance.*

Hiro-Max: Bring it.

*The two charge towards each other as they are now locked to push each other off. Using his wire arms he flips Hiro-Max to the ground. He flies up and blasts a ball of fire only for Hiro to get out of the way in time as El Fuego lands.*

El Fuego: Give up Omega Danger! You're no match for El Fuego!

*He shoots a flame thrower at Hiro-Max to which he flies up and raises his fist.*

Hiro-max: You wish.

*He punches El Fuego and flies him up continuously punching him before he grabs him and flies up.*

Hiro-Max: You are about to need Medical attention.

*He then dives down with a screaming and slightly confused Fuego. At the café the gang meet up with Baymax.*

Cass: Hey, do you guys know where Hiro is? Its getting late.

Wasabi: *Lying* Yes! I think he had a-

Fred: School project.

Honey Lemon: At school!

Cass: Oh I was getting worried there for a sec.

*She then goes to serve another customer as the team sigh in relief.*

Honey Lemon: I hope Hiro's OK.

*That's when they got text messaged from Cora reading Look at News now! Coming over there! They do look up the news and see El Fuego and Baymax fighting*

Fred: Check it out! El Fuego is wrestling Baymax!...Wait!.. If our Baymax is here.. and other Baymax is at Cora's house...

*Gogo looks closely at her phone and zooms in closer to the armor.*

Gogo: Then that's-

Gang: Hiro!

Baymax, Fred, Wasabi, Gogo, Honey Lemon: Oh no...

Cora: What were you thinking Hiro!

*Cora is dressed in her old super suit heading towards Nigh Market square on foot, looking around for any sign of her boyfriend and El Fuego. The gang then try to summon up their Skymax only to receive an error.*

Gogo; What?

*That's when a face call from Hiro himself.*

Hiro: Sorry guys, I disabled Skymax.

Gogo: But Hiro-!

Hiro: I know you just wanna help but I have to do this on my own. To defend Tadashi's honor!

*A large punch towards the armor temporarily blinks red inside Hiro's suit.*

Hiro: Gotta go!

*He ends the call, leaving the gang be.*

Wasabi: He does know that Cora will be heading there anyway right?

Gogo: and so are we!

Fred: To the Big Hero 7 Mobile!

*The gang and Baymax are awkwardly squished together, obvious that they had rushed in without any thought on where to sit.*

Fred: You know what? You guys go, I'll catch up.

*El Fuego spins Hiro-Max up before throwing him to the ground. Using his own power jets El Fuego flies up and stomps on Hiro-Max's back with the added touch of flames. He then dives down to slam him only for Hiro-Max to use his rocket fists to knock him back. Hiro-Max then gets up and is ready to finish the fight.*

Hiro-Max: You have been a bad boy. You will not get a lollipop.

*Using what little control of his mech suit he had, he catches Hiro-max's fist.*

El Fuego: This fuego is just getting started!

*He then kicks Hiro max away so far that Cora, just arriving at Night market square sees it nearly crash to the car containing the gang.*

Cora: Hi- I mean Omega Danger!

*Cora runs towards the fight where El Fuego is giving Hiro-max quiet a beating. Finally he throws Hiro-Max to a building where all of the systems fail.*

Hiro: No no no no!

El Fuego: Oh it feels good to win!

Honey Lemon: What can we do without our suits?

Wasabi: *Noticing something* Wait.. where's Baymax?

Gogo: *Spots someone else* Cora's there with-

Hiro: Baymax? Cora?

*Cora goes over to the shut down armor while Baymax stands in front of them.*

Hiro: What are you doing here?

Baymax: Protecting you from injury.

Cora: And getting your butt out of the fire.

El Fuego: I don't know what you are but congratulations! You get to be my first victim of my new finishing move! The flying butt!

Baymax: Oh.

*El Fuego flies up with his back facing Baymax and flies towards them. However, Baymax's inflatable body had cushioned Hiro and pushed Cora away from the cross fire.*

Baymax: You may have an anger related issue.

*El Fuego punches Baymax but due to his huggable design he merely bobs back and forth.*

Baymax: Unprovoked aggression is usually a sign of insecurity.

El Fuego: *Getting real tired* Whew! Hang on... I'm just getting started...

Baymax: Would you like a hug?

*Baymax hugs El Fuego while Cora goes over to Hiro and studies over the armor.*

Cora: Are you alright Omega Danger?

Hiro-max: What matters is that you are safe.

Crowd: Aww~

El Fuego: What the-?! Get off me!...Ah.. I don't feel good about myself..

Baymax: There there...

*But that was a small ruse as he grabs Baymax up.*

El Fuego: You fell for my fake emotional breakthrough! Time for a powerhug!

*He squeezes Baymax around, intending to pop the vinyl covering. Using what Cora had repaired Hiro-max gets up to protect Baymax.*

Hiro-Max: *Voice modulator failing* You win Fuego! You're the toughest!

El Fuego: What was that? I can't hear you!

Hiro-Max: You're tougher than me! Just don't hurt my friend!

Cora: Please El Fuego you've already proven yourself you don't have to hurt him!

El Fuego: Pathetic! Your groveling isn't going to save you two or your inflatable friend-

*That is when the familiar Exosuit with a kaiju head flies up to join the fight.*

Fred: Then I'll have to do it!

El Fuego: And what is it you're going to do lightweight?

*Fred is at the safety of Hiro's room where he is using the gloves and helmet to control the exosuit from afar.*

Fred: Something really smart!

*Fred pushes a button to which it reveals itself to be the magnetic waves which slowly tear apart the mech suit off El Fuego.*

El fuego: That's cheating!

*Finally all of the armor is off, leaving nothing but vulnerable muscle and flesh.*

Baymax: Would you like another hug?

El Fuego: no! Everyone leave me alone-Ah!

*He took a step back to a flight of stairs straight to the police.*

Police officer: Freeze El Fuego!

El Fuego: Hello officer...

Hiro: Thanks Fred... I just wish I let all of El Fuego's taunts go.

Cora: You really could've gotten hurt Hiro.

Fred: Yeah. Like Esme said, you have to pick your battles and decide which ones are worth your time.

*Soon enough, after getting Hiro safely back him and the gang mothering him, Cora looks at Hiro as they get him off the suit.*

Cora: I don't blame you for reacting that way you know... but again you really could've hurt yourself! I don't wanna loose you or Baymax after everything we've gone through!-

Hiro: *hugs her and rubs her back* I'm sorry Cora. You're right... I didn't focus.. what can I do to make up for it?

Cora: *Hugs him back* Just be careful for me. That's all I ask. I love you.

Hiro: I love you too.

*Soon enough, Hiro and Baymax are packing up the armor safely in a box inside their garage and have a heart to heart talk.*

Hiro: I can't believe I lost control... *picks up Baymax's helmet* I know no one can tarnish Tadashi's memory because... his work speaks for itself.

Baymax: His work has now become your work.

*Hiro receives a hug from Baymax to which he started to start a little play wrestling.*

Hiro: Hiro has Baymax against the ropes!

*And catching on to Hiro's mood, Baymax joins in the pretend wrestling.*

Baymax: This is safe, because it is fake.

____

A.N: And that was El Fuego!

Either way, thank you for reading Big Hero 7 and enjoyed reading this chapter. Love you!

#El Fuego #BH7 #Cora Mizichio #Hiro Hamada #hiro hamada x oc #Wasabi #Fred Frederickson IV #Honey lemon #Gogo Tomago #HoneyGogo #Baymax #Richardson Mole #Esmeralda #Esme #big hero 6 fanfic

[craniumculverin]

Crude Fortuity (part 1)

Stepping away from Alfred’s dramatics for a moment to share how he and Percy originally met - long before he happened across the doctor’s office in Yharnam.  Since I know not everyone cares for it - contains a fair amount of (my own) OCs.

This fic ended up being way longer than I intended, and a lot harder to organize than I could’ve ever thought. Cus of this it’ll be posted in parts as they’re finished, likely taking less priority over continuing with the actual storyline.

Weathered boots dig through heavy snow, crunching loudly as they find the uneven terrain below. A few snowflakes drift through the air, swirling around the towering trees that engulf the rocky base and foothills of the peaks above. It's hard to say how long the two men have been at it thanks to the cloud cover that's rolled in since the start of their trek, diffused sunlight making for a lack of shadows. Likely far too long and with too little to show for it.

The man in the lead finishes clambering up the roots of one of the ancient trees, grown into an absurd facsimile of enormous stairs over the years. “Everything about this place is absurd,” he thinks, breath puffing past chapped lips and whiskers as he continues unabated. A series of grunts float up to him as the other, slighter man makes it over the treacherous roots, followed by a curse on seeing how far ahead his partner already is. As he tries to catch up in the other's path through the snow he awkwardly goes to his knees, not for the first time this hike. He grunts as the line connected to his belt tugs him forward to faceplant him into a deep drift. Spluttering, he comes up whining. “Aaalf hold up, will you?! We’re not all giants, c’mon now!”

Alfred chuckles as he finds stable footing and turns to watch his friend catch up, taking the moment to shift his pack and a mass of ropes and cables to ease the ache in his shoulders. He huffs at the lack of relief and grimaces. Shaking globs of melting snow from his blazing curls as he nears, the shorter man reaches up to give his arm a good-natured punch. “Damn your legs and damn your stride! Gonna be the death o' me one these days, you are!”

The blond scoffs through a grin, folding his arms. “Oh shut it, Lorcan. You’d rather suffer this job with me than anyone else on offer, that’s a fact we both know. I’d still be down in camp if not for you!”

“I do not, you just carry more than anyone else is all! That’s why I asked for you t'come, that and you plow the way better - speaking of! On you go! Get!”

The Irishman waves both hands in the direction they’d been trudging, giving his friend an expectant, comical pout. Alfred can’t help but laugh as he turns to continue forward, his steamy breath partly blinding him. Where the little man’s boundless energy comes from was a sometimes aggravating mystery, but he’s grateful for it nevertheless. It makes for a good distraction from this terrible job, if nothing else.

The rope tied around his middle stays slack as he goes this time, his partner keeping up well enough. Lorcan has to raise his voice over the crunching of snow and rocks their progress causes, his breathing labored as he tries to stay close behind. “And don’t give out… about staying at camp! The Cap’n d’be having you… do some chore or another… and you know it!”

Alfred opens his mouth to make some retort only for his footing to vanish in a slide of mud. He nearly bites his tongue as he catches himself against a nearby trunk before his head collides with it, surprise coming out as a loud curse. Silence falls between them as he halts to assess their current route. The tree they were heading for was in sight, but a tall cliff face stood between them and it, the ground around it at a severe slant and covered in a layer of melting snow atop mud and moss. The large boulders strewn about and huge tower of weathered rock near the cliff were too risky to approach from below with those icicles dripping from them… But the way they’d been going looks to be nothing but gnarled roots amidst the still-snowy rocks, the gaps in-between likely consisting of deeper mud. No doubt one or both of them would slip and fall in that mess, or worse, twist an ankle. They’d have to venture near those boulders, at least until they found a way up and around the cliff.

There’s the soft brush of fabric on fabric as Lorcan steps close to look up as well. After a moment he leans in even more and stands as tall as he can to be closer to Alfred's ear, voice conspiratorial. “D’you think those icicles would kill a man instantly, or just knock him out t'be taken by the cold?”

“… Depends which you’re talking. The bigger ones? Probably cave your head in and kill you real quick. But those smaller ones, way up top there?” The blond points to the highest overhang on a jut of the rock tower, keeping his own voice low. “I have to wonder if those wouldn’t be like taking a bullet, aimed straight down. Would only kill you if you’re lucky.”

“Huh…” Lorcan’s freckled features hang slack as he looks on, squinting hard, brows knit together.

They exchange a look, silence heavy between them, before bursting out in laughter. Still chuckling and without another word, they go about gathering stones of throwing size before finding somewhere steady to stand nearer to their targets.

Taking turns, they try knocking down as much of the hanging ice as possible, clapping one another on the back when the other manages to succeed. They keep their voices down, having been told repeatedly the dangers of echoes reaching higher up where the snow stays year round. It’d also be bad if anyone in camp heard - if word got to Cap’n they were playing games whilst on the job, he’d threaten to give them a lashing. Of course he never follows through but still, neither of them enjoy sitting through his lectures.

After they've cleared out the worst of the icicles, Alfred pushes on for a gap between two of the boulders. Shattered bits of ice skitter across the slick rocks and roots, but there’s not much mud, and whatever snow had been here had melted with the earlier sun. The two make it to the top of the cliff face soon after, stopping to catch their breath before making a final push. The land levels out to something manageable directly beyond the cliff, and with the smaller saplings and underbrush to cling to they reach their destination quickly.

They drop their loads of equipment against the base of the ancient trunk with groans of relief. As Lorcan flops down to lean against the massive tree, Alfred walks to a jut of a smaller cliff's edge and pulls out his sheathed knife. Glancing to the sky with a frown, he looks back down the mountain from whence they came. The frown disappears at what he sees. “Cap’n was right, that salty bastard! Look, you can see clear to the western end of camp from here! We’re not even up the tree yet and there’s hardly anything to clear away for a line!”

“Course Cap’n was right, when isn’t he?” Lorcan whines, keeping his eyes closed despite the breathtaking view. “You think this means I don’t have to climb clear t'the top? I hate evergreens, damn sap and needles stick t’everything…”

“You know we gotta top it Lorcan. Can’t be a proper spar tree with any extra bits still on,” Alfred says while unsheathing his blade. He keeps it sharper than his razor and highly polished, the second part why he has it out - if the sun would only show itself again. “I can’t signal them like this… and we forgot the damn whistle.”

“Eh, don’t bother yet. Never said when t’signal, just t’signal. And Cap’n should’ve thought t’check we had a whistle, Lord knows the old git checks everything else thrice over… I still have t’check t’see it’s sound enough t'handle the load - let’s figure out signals after we’re sure t’is our tailspar."

With that the smaller man bounds to his feet. From his pack he pulls out a carpenter’s ax and starts walking the trunk’s perimeter, looking for immediate signs of weakness. Alfred sighs and sheathes his knife. There were no breaks to this job, not really. The periodic thunking of the ax’s hammer grows faint as he goes about getting their spurs and ropes ready. By the time Lorcan comes around the other side, Alfred has his own spurs on and harness ready to be secured.

“No conks far as I'm seeing, can’t hear any sign o' rot. Ah thanks,” he takes the proffered spurs, sitting on a mossy rock to get them on over his boots. Once done Lorcan doesn’t get up, a thoughtful frown on his face. He looks straight up to the highest heights of the tree before dropping his gaze back down to his partner, whose attentions had been on the distant camp until now. “Want t’eat before heading up? We'll be up there a while.”

“I certainly don’t see why not!” Alfred has a hard time hiding the relief in his voice as he also looks up through the crisscross of limbs. Actually getting to sit after the hard trek here, and before their long climb - that’s all he wants right now.

All he wants right now is to escape these people. Last Percy checked it had only been a scant two hours since their previous stop, so by now it must be close to two and a half. It may as well be six with how fed up he is with this incessant chatter.

He would check his pocket watch yet again if it weren’t for his currently feigning a sound nap - it was all the desperate doctor could think of to achieve some semblance of solitude in the cramped carriage. At least with his pretending to doze the elderly woman across from him couldn’t try roping him into any more conversations, and is keeping her bickering somewhat quieter. The ill-tempered lawyer at the other end of his seat is no longer arguing with her old husband, instead grumbling under his breath as he glares out at the passing trees and hills. The mother with two children sat beside him has stopped trying to silence her infant son’s babbling, however. She’d of course tried, at first, before growing so weary she'd started nodding off herself. Her daughter directly next to him would probably be a nice enough child, if not for her incessant nosiness and overly-personal questions. Why children find his white hair so fascinating is beyond him.

It’s not that he’s been taken by surprise by this joyless ride - Percy had been told the journey from shore to capitol was an arduous one. It's just that he’d been tipped off about seeking out a particular coachman if he wanted to reach Yharnam faster, and so figured his own journey wouldn't be as unpleasant as the usual.

Finding the man was a miracle in and of itself what with having to search the chaotic bustle of a port town that was never meant to actually be used as a port - not so miraculous was finding he’d been but one of many to receive said "tip." If not for his papers from the so-called Healing Church, he’d have been quickly left behind to find another way through the countryside. Instead the coachman took one look at the seal stamped in crimson and asked after his luggage with a markedly kinder, even respectful tone.

“Though I detest having to work under a group that’s considered a cult,” Percy thinks to himself, “they have made my time easier since entering the country. Iosefka was right in that regard.”

A patch of rougher terrain causes the rim of his lenses to connect with the window he's leant against, the rapid series of clicks hardly audible over a string of complaints from the older couple and lawyer. Figuring he's been mercifully forgotten for the time-being, he turns just enough to ensure it won't happen again. "One would think a country with such amazing feats of architecture would bother maintaining its infrastructure, but even the streets of the last village were in ill-repair, and it was one of the bigger we've been through! Even though New Pthumeria is still recovering after that catastrophic war, it's been long enough to sort out financing such things… So why does it appear the government hasn't done anything to-"

An unnatural lurch suddenly rocks the coach, causing the doctor’s head to loudly knock into the glass of the window. The horses make a panicked racket, accompanied by a burst of protest and crying from within the cabin. With all the noise Percy decides his façade must come to a premature end; he adjusts himself as if he’d just been startled awake, retrieving the book from his lap and straightening his spectacles as he observes the others.

The old man is trying to calm his irate wife, the lawyer threatening the driver with litigation - he opts to apply his focus to the small family. Clutching her crying infant, the mother’s face is fear-stricken as she tries to comfort him, while her daughter had apparently nodded off since he’d closed his eyes, as she's somehow still asleep between them. Looking past them and the lawyer to the opposite window, Percy notes they’ve come to a complete stop in the middle of the road, the horses' nervous stomping occasionally jostling the carriage. He leans forward to get a better view of the rocky hills they’d been traversing since midday. “Have we struck something in the road and taken damage? That’s the worst we’ve had this entire ride, I wonder if this ‘short cut’ is really worth it…”

Another hard lurch hits the carriage, this time accompanied by a shout from the coachman. The outburst of noise from both passengers and horses starts anew - then turns to sheer terror as the motion swells into a fierce, consistent shaking.

Percy grabs hold of the carriage's door handle and braces a foot against the base of the opposite seat. Sudden movement catches his eye beside him and he casts an arm out across the mother and children as they start to tumble to the floor. His frown deepens as the girl wakes only to start wailing with her brother, little hands clutching his coat sleeve with white-knuckle intensity. He does his best not to glare at the uselessly shrieking old woman, or smack the surprisingly shrill lawyer in the face with his book. Glancing toward the deathly silent husband, he decides the old man should be checked for signs of a cardiac event once the tremors stop.

With a slow inhale Percy closes his eyes and tries to maintain some semblance of calm. “Since when has this part of the world suffered from earthquakes?”

The sound of chopping wood turns to white noise after a while, granting Alfred a strange sort of peace when he’s at it. Sure, he was far enough from the ground to die on impact should he fall, and yes, the cold was starting to bite into his extremities - but there was peace in the near-mindless act, similar to the cleaning and sharpening of the blades with which he worked.

The rope attaching he and Lorcan together scrapes along the bark as his partner moves further away, making him pause so as not to accidentally hit it. He huffs loudly and frowns as he watches it slink upwards.

They were meant to stick to roughly the same level, cutting off branches as they head for the top, Alfred always on the side of the prevailing winds. That way neither of them would get hit by falling debris cut by the other, and his greater weight would cancel the other’s should a gust find them. Lorcan however was impatient and foolhardy as ever; in order to move past uncut limbs he’d plant himself on one, dig his spurs in, and like a madman detach himself from the ropes and cables securing him to the trunk. Then he’d shimmy them above the limb, reattach, and keep going. It drove Alfred crazy, and he said as much every time, not that his companion ever listened. He just rolls his eyes and waves him off.

“If any rot or weakness is found all that chopping work’s for nothing, and I don’t work for nothing!”

“You’re a bloody logger Lorcan! Think before you talk - we don’t! Earn! Shit!” Alfred’s last few words are emphasized with brutal strikes from his ax, finally detaching a particularly thick limb. They both watch as it topples to the ground below, the larger man puffing from exertion.

He looks up only to meet Lorcan's gaze, his ruddy face worriedly blank before it instantly breaks into a wide grin. “You feeling better now?”

“Hah! Yeah… hah,” he huffs, replacing the ax into the loop of leather at his belt. It aches to stretch his hands after they’d been clenched for so long. “These trees… are something else. Haven’t ever… cut anything this hard before… And the sap!”

The Irishman grunts as he continues his work, head tilted. “Looks like blood, don’t it? Ghastly - lot o' the plants in New Pthumeria are supposed t’be strange. No wonder the locals are so queer. You hear about the flowers that glow at night?”

Alfred casts him a glare from around the trunk. “Don’t be like that, they’ve had nothing but hell in recent years… And yeah, I saw dried ones once. Enormous! I don’t think they were glowing though.”

“And when the hell’d you see those then?”

“During the war! Some of the Olds on pilgrimage we came across had them, almost looked like staves… I think they’re like a, a symbol of sorts, in their religion. That’s likely why you don’t see them everyw-” Lorcan’s head swings into view from the other side, face comically contorted in faux anger, causing Alfred to pause. Then he laughs. “I’m not going on about religion again, for Christ’s sake! I’m just saying-”

“Yeah, yeah - but you would’ve! You always do if your not stopped! Going on and on about your history and theohl- theh- lel- lology!”

“It’s interesting! Y'know, if it weren’t for getting the boot out of seminary way back, I'd have dedicated my whole life to that sort of stuff! I wouldn’t even be out here! In the snow, and the cold - and with you!”

The other chuckles at the mock disgust as he readies to shimmy past another limb. “And how, pray tell, did a saint like you get kicked out of priestdom?”

Alfred grunts as he takes up his ax to start in on another limb. As nice as the silence of their work was, keeping up a good humored ribbing was enjoyable too, so long as they could keep it going for a while - and from getting out of hand. "I'd say it was my asking too many questions they didn't like - they said I was 'profanely lacking in forbearance and temperance'. What bullshit that was - I've plenty of patience! I was the only boy there what didn't ever fall asleep during sermons! Not once! And I never hit anyone while I was there, 'least not 'til they told me I was kicked out… Or maybe, I don't know…" He starts chopping, gruffly speaking between swings. “ Maybe… it’s got something… to do with… how much… I enjoy… taking… limbs off of things!”

With a bark of laughter he watches as the branch plummets down to join the others with a resounding crack. Once he quiets down to catch his breath he decides not to look up to Lorcan - the utter silence from him is really uncomfortable for some reason.

Alfred decides he's tired of talking. “Alright! No more gabbing - you can’t go rot-finding and I can’t go limb-cutting as well when we do!”

“…Fine by me, let’s get thi-”

An intense sense of unbalance suddenly causes them both to tightly cling to the trunk. Much of the snow still laying on the limbs above comes plummeting down, causing Alfred to yell and cover his head. Furious, he swears Lorcan had done it on purpose for telling him to shut up, but on looking up to yell he sees the redhead is covered as well. Shaking needles and damp snow from his curls and shoulders, the Irishman wildly looks around. “What was that?! You feel that too?”

“Yeah,” Alfred says more to himself as he takes in their surroundings as well. The trees around them are also missing their snowy coverings, and a good deal of bird cries are growing distant. “…I don’t know, but it wasn’t just this one tree! Let’s get this done and get down, being up here can’t be better than down there!”

“Right!”

Watching for a moment to make sure the little man is properly reattached before continuing, Alfred hears something strange as he goes to start chopping again. Almost like a cavalry charge from a distance. Looking to the horizon in confusion, the noise grows louder as the smaller branches on his chosen limb begin to tremble. There's a sharp intake of breath from above right when Alfred realizes the tree is vibrating.

“It’s an earthquake! Hold on t’something!”

With no sizable enough branches nearby Alfred hugs the trunk, gritting his teeth as rough bark grates into his face - not a second later the tree starts shaking in earnest. A low, wavering groan comes from all around as they begin to shudder and sway violently. A few of the smaller, less-anchored trees begin to tilt and fall around them, creaking and cracking as they crash to the forest floor. Limbs snap as they’re torn off, some finding their tree on the way down. Both men are nearly dislodged at a particularly brutal impact that rains more needles and the remaining snow down from above. As quickly as the tremors had come they stop, the unnatural noise dissipating into an eerie silence.

All Alfred hears is the cry of more birds, the settling of trees, and the pounding of his own racing heart. Breathing fast as he slowly lessens his full-body death grip, his eyes go to the line leading up to where his companion had been. He waits, for a sound, or movement… The outspoken little guy was always the first to start hollering when things went to shit. Alfred swallows hard as he tries to see around the trunk after a few minutes of staring at the unmoving rope. “Lorcan…?”

No response.

“Lorcan!”

“…Aaalf…”

The blond heaves a sigh of relief. “Lorcan! Are you alright? Did you get hit by anything?”

The redhead’s voice is weak, barely audible. “…Alf… Alfred, I- …I’ve pissed m’self…”

Alfred is utterly silent for a moment before he's overtaken by frantic laughter.

Lorcan has to bite back what sounds like a sob to furiously shout down at him.“Fuck you Alf, t’is not funny! That was the scariest thing since- oh fuck off you!” When his face comes into view he's glaring through tears, face reddened not just from the cold.

With tears in his own eyes Alfred manages to quell his laughing fit enough to speak. “Ah ha-I’m not, not laughing at you pissing yourself! Lorcan I thought you’d-! Ah damn, just- Bloody hell that was… was something else…”

“Aye…” Lorcan’s anger abruptly dissipates, leaving him spent. He leans out of view to judge the damage, twisting around to look behind him where another tree had managed to snap a ways up its trunk. Alfred goes to brush his head and shoulders free of needles,  amazed neither of them had been hurt. Rubbing a hand through his short beard he finds a patch smeared with dark sap and picks a chunk of bark from it with a disgusted groan. Grimacing at the prospect of having to wash it out, he’s surprised to see actual blood when he pulls his hand away. Another dab finds the source, roughened skin on the cheek he’d had pressed to the trunk. “Wonderful! Likely got bits of bark in my face to go with the blood-sap in my hair! Lovely! A few more years of this work and I’ll be a bloody tree myself at this rate. Cap’n damn well better buy me a drink for this, I swear…”

“Alf, what is that?”

“What? What’s what?” Looking up Alfred sees Lorcan with his head tilted oddly, squinting at the distant slopes hidden beyond the clouds. Maneuvering for a better view, he tries to see anything besides more rocks and trees. “I don’t see anything.”

“Not see, hear! D’you hear that? Like a, like a rumble? Not like before…”

Now that it’s mentioned there is a faint sound. Alfred hadn’t noticed it at first, but there is definitely a strange rumbling coming from higher up… A hint of movement catches his eye just below the clouds, about the same time he realizes the rumbling is getting louder. He goes numb from the inside out.

“Oh Christ! Lorcan, it’s an avalanche!”

"T’is not! Don’t you even kid about tha- Oh fuck all that’s fast! What d’we do?! We’ve nowhere t- ”

“Brace yourself! Hold on!”

He has to shout to be heard over the now deafening roar. The whisper of movement Alfred had seen has become a billowing wall, already devouring the outer edge of the forest. Trees are forced to unnatural angles before disappearing entirely, some simply being ripped up and taken along.

Alfred can barely hear Lorcan’s screams as the mass of white engulfs them. Their tree lurches toward the slopes before furiously whipping in the opposite direction. Debris and ice batter Alfred from every angle as he hunches as much as possible against the trunk. Gravity seems to pull at him more from the side than below, his upper half awkwardly twisting around the trunk as his lower half stays put, anchored by his spurs. Grinding and crunching joins the tumult of the avalanche, not surrounding them as before but coming from somewhere nearby. Alfred lets out a startled shout as he’s suddenly jerked over and upward. Now almost properly upright, the world feels eerily still outside the relatively gentle swaying of their tree. Seconds pass, maybe minutes as Alfred shakes, too terrified to move. The pounding in his ears is maddening as he blindly tries to comprehend what’s happening through the cover of dust-like snow that now hangs in the air.

The roar of the avalanche is quickly lessening, but the cracking and crumbling from below grows ever louder, more consistent. A cry escapes Alfred as his perch jerks downward, a deep groan resonating through the massive trunk. There’s deep thudding, popping as the tree begins to erratically tilt lower. The groan escalates into a shriek of shredding fibers as the descent quickens. Roots snap and wood splinters as rock and ground give out. A scream tears through the air from somewhere above. Alfred is numb save for a distant sense of fear.

They plunge down through the white haze, the sounds of splitting wood and shattering rock the last he hears before the world goes dark.

As glad as he’d been when they started moving again, Percy was well and truly at his wits’ end. He needs out of this carriage, desperately.

Once the tremors had ceased he saw an opportunity before him and took it, venturing out under the guise of checking on the driver. The man was already down and calming the agitated horses, and only knew as much as anyone else - there'd been an earthquake, a bad one at that. What new information he could share with Percy was that such events weren't a rarity in New Pthumeria. Due to the vast, ancient networks of labyrinthian passages and carved-out rooms that run deep underground, an earthquake or two was to be expected, especially with the more recent exploration efforts funded by the Church. However this one appeared to be of natural origin, and possibly closer to the surface than typically occurs.

It was all well and good to get a better understanding of his new home-to-be, but this knowledge ended up being of no help for his ensuing headache. Others had come out and started demanding answers, which in turn became a prominent focus of their revitalized need to talk. 

The fact the doctor had been the first to venture out had the old woman and even the mother in some bizarre sense of awe, as though getting out of a coach was a heroic deed. A deed they deemed worthy of incessantly bringing up. Again and again. Even the grump of an attorney, who had been the second person out to survey the damage, wouldn’t shut up about the earthquake. He went into fervent detail of what charges could be pressed or what sorts of damages could be caused, on and on. None of them would shut up, be it amazement, complaints, more bickering, superstition - whatever.

And they wouldn’t let Percy sit silently by. No no, they all but demanded he be a part of the never-ending conversation.

“Damn social conventions and damn terrible infrastructure! I’d just walk the rest of the way if it weren’t for these roads being so treacherous!” A muscle below his eye begins to twitch as he refrains from heaving a sigh during a particularly dull account from the old man about a previous earthquake. The old man who, unfortunately, did not have a cardiac event, and has already told this story, twice. At the start of his now third telling, the little girl next to Percy had shared such a weary, side-eyed glance with him he felt he may have assumed her young age incorrectly. At least she could get away with falling asleep again… Perhaps if he gets the driver to stop he could join him at the front; certainly there had to be room for at least two up there…

Just as he considers calling out, there’s a muffled yell, and then another. Soon the coachman shouts back only for a chorus of dampened, vaguely aggressive-sounding voices to respond. Try as he might Percy can’t make out much through the windows, all the chatter having fogged them over long ago. When the coach begins to slow to a stop the doctor finally lets out the tremendous sigh he’d been holding in for the past hour.

It could be innocent enough, or it could be highwaymen about to rob them - it may even be something entirely unique to traveling in New Pthumeria. But whatever is happening now, it’s giving Percy a chance to away from these people, and he was not about to miss it.

As soon as they’ve come to a full stop he gently loosens the sleeping girl's hand from his arm and loudly clears his throat to cut off the boisterous griping of his fellow passengers. He gives his most genial smile once he has their attention. “I think I’ll take a step out and see what’s the matter - if the driver needs any more assistance and the like. Excuse me.” With that he swiftly opens the door before any of them can argue. A blast of chilled air invades the cozy space, eliciting another bout of spirited protests as he steps down onto the muddy road. The door is swiftly pulled shut behind him as he takes in his surroundings.

If Percy were to guess, they were at the edge of some sort of large makeshift camp, erected in a man-made clearing along one side of the road. Of all of its components a ramshackle building is closest, roughly hewn logs making up most of it with a heavy canvas draped and tied over for a roof. Not too far from one of its entrances is a fire pit with a large pot hung above the center, seemingly made of a large, burned-out stump. Wooden tables and benches are set up past the little cabin, and beyond that lay a number of canvas wall tents, the sort meant for long-term use. Here and there are neat piles of equipment, most of which were obviously meant to fell the massive trees towering above them. “A logging camp then. How quaint.”

Or it would be, if not for the constant shouting and air of panic permeating the place. Percy walks around the carriage to question the driver, only to find his seat vacant. The horses snort as he walks by to begin his search for the missing man, only to immediately discover the reason for their sudden stop.

A good ways ahead, the road has completely disappeared under a massive amount of snow, mud, and debris. Enormous, shredded portions of trees and sizable boulders are partially submerged in the blockage, likely torn away from the higher slopes as the apparent landslide made its way down. Percy knits his brows together and frowns as he follows the path of slanting and broken trees up the hill. This wasn’t going to be another delay like the earthquake that triggered this disaster - oh no. This was well and truly a dead end. They were going to have to turn back for the last stop. Percy closes his eyes at the realization and tries to keep a slow, steadying breath from being exhaled as a string of curses.

Were this journey a sentient being, he’s now certain it holds some grudge against him.

The sky is a blur of white, brown, and grey, vast spires of it trying to reach the ground. Alfred tries to look down but his head won’t move. So he closes his eyes and tries to remember. It’s very hard so he gives up.

His head hurts. A lot. Like every other part of him but worse. His chest too, every time he breathes in. His arms are in the air funny and want to stay that way. One of his feet is stuck, the other one heavy as it pulls his hip at an odd angle.  His fingers are full of pins. The more he weakly turns his head the more he realizes how blurry his vision is. One of his eyes won’t open right. Squinting, he sees a broken, snow-dusted tree hanging in the white of the sky, rocks floating in the air near it.

Alfred squints harder. Trees don’t stay up, they fall down - he makes them fall down, he would know. Forcing his arms to his waist is harder than it should be, but he finds bark and something else, something that swings out of his grasp at first. Rope, it was a rope. He hangs onto it because it’s important, even as he scrambles to adjust himself. He’d been upside-down for some reason. Probably why his head hurt so bad.

Now that the sky is the ground again everything makes more sense. Alfred clumsily kicks his leg at the trunk to get the spur in. His free hand finds the taut rope and cable keeping him attached. Why was he still attached? The tree’s already been cut down. It was horizontal at least. Mostly.

His head hurts even more once he manages to pull himself into a more upright position, finally getting the spur back in. His harness cuts into him oddly with how he's forced the tethers to twist. Waiting only makes the pain different, not go away, so Alfred stops waiting. He sticks and unsticks his spurs to shimmy his way up to the top. It’s really hard. He’s never climbed a tree this way before. Once there he lays back and gasps for breath - getting up here hurt his chest a lot. It hurts to breath and his head was hurting even worse. Everything is spinning without spinning. The side of his face is numb and hurts at the same time.

He tugs at the rope he’d been clutching because it’s important to check it from time to time. As he pulls it in he runs out, finds an end that’s frayed and splitting. When he pulls the other way he just tugs at where it’s attached to his belt. Alfred feels panic well up, so much so that he starts crying. He's not sure why, but it feels right. He lays there and cries until he forgets why.

Wiping his cheek free of tears turns his palm red. Now he's not sad, just really confused. The same hand runs over his face and into his hair, which is sticking up in a strange way. The whole thing comes back red. Alfred frowns.

Then there's sobbing, faint but sort of close. High-pitched and breathy with hitching moans mingled in. He jolts upright with fear and elation and dread, starts working his way down the sloping trunk toward the desperate sounds. The ground suddenly drops farther away than before, making him pause for a second as he tries to see what’s down there. Snow and mud and a lot of shredded, broken trees and rocks, but no Lorcan.

“Lorr-keh!” That’s what was important! His friend Lorcan, who’s crying again! He must be drunk, it’s the only time he ever cries like such a baby. Alfred wants to know what’s wrong, if he has to fight someone again for messing with the little guy. He wants to find him. “Lorceh whe’re you?!”

The sobs cease for a moment, about the same time Alfred’s tethers catch on something that keeps him from going any further. It didn’t matter, he’s at the end of the tree. It looks to have snapped on whatever is keeping it up so high, a huge gap of massive splinters sticking up every which way between the two halves. The half Alfred wasn’t on is at a very different angle, the top of the tree resting on the ground far below. Hanging from the shreds of wood on his side are the same sort of rope and cable keeping him attached, one end lightly swaying. Alfred feels the panic coming back. “Lorc’n, answeh me!”

“Alf… h-here!”

Alfred looks down, sees the tree he was on had crushed one of its limbs between it and a really tall rock. Between the remains of the limb and rock he can make out a shock of fiery curls. “'M' comin’!”

The tethers keeping him attached to the trunk are undone on one end and tied to the stump of the stripped limb that had stopped him before. Alfred grabs the loose rope and cable from the splinters before easing himself over the curved side. He's hanging close to a smaller smashed trunk leaning against the rock tower, too far below Lorcan to see him. With a few kicks he gets swaying enough to scramble for footing on the rock beside it. Dizziness hits him hard and his chest fills with fire, but he holds. Huffing, puffing, and grunting from pain, he scales the jagged rock up. Bits of the destroyed limb are tossed out of the way or pushed aside once he reaches the top. Alfred’s face spreads into a tired, lopsided smile upon reaching his friend. It lessens the longer he looks.

There’s a lot of blood. It makes a long trail down the rock from beneath the giant tree, dripping down the bark in rivulets. Alfred hears his name as a hoarse whisper, but he’s too busy craning to see more. He can see the smaller man’s upper half, and his hips and a leg, but only the top of the other leg. Lorcan’s trousers are drenched deep crimson where it disappears under the giant tree. Alfred’s brow furrows. There wasn’t any space between the rock and the tree for a leg. Where’d his leg go? “Lorcah, where’d’ur leg goh?”

A sob is the only response he gets. Alfred isn’t sure what to do now. He needs to know what to do so they can get down. Why were they up here anyway? He considers asking but Lorcan screams when he tries to move.

Alfred is scared. His friend’s leg was gone and he was really hurt and couldn’t move. Pale fingers turn bright red as they scramble at bloody bark and rock as Lorcan starts breathing faster and faster. And now he’s wheezing, eyes bulging out and pleading as he stares at Alfred. The look makes Alfred want to cry again, even harder. But it reminds him of something.

Other men with the same tears and look in their eyes. Laying in grass and on stretchers, wearing uniforms a lot like his. Screaming and crying and groaning and staring like he could do anything other than get them here. Then other men hovering over them with cold, hard knives, pliers, saws. And as he watched the staring stopped and eventually the crying and screaming stopped too. One way or another.

A bloodied hand fumbles to the loop of leather on his belt. It finds cold, hard metal, worn wood. Alfred looks at all the different lengths and strengths of line he’s got on hand. Then he looks down and focuses as hard as he can to gauge the distance to the ground. He looks back to the injured man who’s still wheezing and crying.

Alfred watches him for a while. Then gives as reassuring a smile as he can, and pulls out his ax.

The foreman, or at least the loudest, most directive man in the camp, is how Percy finally finds the missing coachman.

Past the tents and hidden from the road by yet to be cleared trees, a smaller clearing had fallen victim to the path of the joint avalanche and landslide, much like the road. However here and there among the snow and debris were bits of canvas and roping, bent saws and men. It was likely where the troop had started their work in earnest and where many of them were when the disaster struck. Even as Percy nears the source of the angry outburst he’d heard earlier, there’s efforts to dig out those still trapped and to salvage lost equipment. He waits for a chance to enter the heated conversation from a short distance, watching the scene play out.

Their coachman, despite being a head taller, practically cowers as he’s yelled at by a stout, older Irishman. A dark mass of muttonchops streaked with grey cover his ruddy cheeks, a cap on his head and walking cane in his grasp. Upon further inspection, however, Percy notes the cane isn’t held, but hooked over an ungloved hand that appears to be carved from wood.

“I don’t give a rat’s arse about your itinerary! Road s’not my problem neither, not whilst I’ve men buried under! You want digging out, dig out yourself!”

“Sir, I haven’t the man power needed to clear the way, not at all! Ah… S-surely you know of the Healing Church? I work directly for the Church, and I’m sure upon learning of your assistance in-”

“I don’t give a damn about that fucking cult! My men’s lives and livelihoods are at risk here! ‘Less this Church comes running with shovels in hand, the lot o’them can shove off!”

With that the contractor turns away, back to directing the closest men where next to dig. The driver remains as he was, mouth opening and closing as he tries to find anything he might say that could help his cause. He must realize the futility of continuing as he quickly turns in the direction of the carriage, almost walking right into the nearby doctor. “Ah! Oh you…! D-Doctor, I’m so sorry for the inconvenience, I-”

“INCONVENIENCE?!” The foreman whorls back around, positively fuming as he limp-marches closer. “We’ve men dead here you bloody blighter! Inconvenience my left-!” The men he’d been ordering grab hold of his jacket before the Irishman could come any closer, voices a clamor of gibberish as they try to calm their boss. The coachman stumbles backward at the explosive reaction, his face a mask of mortal fear.

Percy lays a hand on his arm to steady the man as much as to get his attention. “The other passengers should be informed of these new circumstances, don’t you think? Only right they know what’s happened.”

“Ah right, r-right yes…” The driver looks back to the carriage before giving the retreating foreman and his men a final glance. As he trudges his way back to the disgruntled travelers, Percy remains behind to consider his options. Casting his own glance to the lively Irishman now a ways away, his thoughts are interrupted by a blast of incensed outrage from the coach, horses whinnying in response. The physician sighs.

That’s that then.

Percy picks his way through mud and piles of debris to where the man in charge has stationed himself anew to sling orders. Even before he’s within reasonable earshot a hand is thrown up to stop him. After finishing with a few men, the foreman turns to give the doctor a withering glare as he inspects him. “If you think you can d’any better than that blowhard coachman, you can’t. Get outta m'face, now.”

“I’d like to offer you my services, actually.”

The foreman wasn’t at all prepared for that. His bushy brows furrow before flying up to be hidden by his cap as he turns to fully face the newcomer. “Is'at so? And what the hell could I use the likes o' you for, then?”

“My name is Dr. Percival Hewlett, a physician. If you’ve uncovered dead men then you’ll uncover injured men, if you haven’t already. I believe I can assist in keeping them from joining the former.”

“And what are you wanting?”

Percy knits his brows together. “Beg pardon?”

“No one does anything for free and I haven’t any way t’promise you’ll be payed for your services. If it’s money you want, I’ve none t’spare.”

“Ah,” for a moment Percy thought the man was going to start haggling right then and there. “Well, let’s just say you’ll be doing me a favor. All I request is accommodations, sustenance, and assistance when needed for my work.”

“…That’s it? No payment?”

“I won’t say ‘no’ should that somehow become a possibility, but it isn’t a requirement. I simply request to stay until the road is cleared to Yharnam and I can be picked up by another passing coach.”

The contractor’s suspicion is almost palpable through the look he’s giving. “…Why?”

“Hm? I’m a doctor, you’ve injured men. Certainly tha-”

“Bullshit. Why d’you give two shits about the lot o' us? Going back t’wherever you came from before showing up here is the wisest choice for you! So why?”

“…Sir,” he has to pause as the twitch near his eye comes back. Percy inhales slowly and exhales through a plastered-on smile. “I’ve been in that carriage - with the same incessantly argumentative, garrulous, prying people - a total of nearly nine hours now. As I said, you’d be doing me a favor to let me stay.”

At least now the man looks contemplative and no longer ready to chase him off. The smile on Percy’s face started cracking as soon as he put it there, but he doesn’t care. He’s at his wits’ end - not the best introduction for a physician, but true nevertheless - and he was determined to extricate himself from his maddening ordeal. The stout foreman’s eyes pass between Percy and the coach beyond, the ruckus cast up by its passengers still loud enough to be heard from where they stand. The hand of flesh and bone strokes one of his muttonchops as he eyes the doctor more thoroughly. “… It could be months before the road is cleared enough for travel, and there's no promise of how fast word’ll spread when it is cleared. Besides, we’ve already a doctor-type on site.”

“I readily accept the likely possibility of remaining stranded here for some time, and will continue to assist where I can once your men have recovered. I’m certain the doctor you’ve on hand would be grateful for the help and more than, than willing to- to-”

A commotion is spreading among the men nearest to the camp's far edge, causing a great deal of distraction. As their screams become more fervent some begin frantically waving in their direction, while others go running up the hill. By now the greying Irishman has turned to see what has the doctor’s attention. Neither can see the source of the men’s agitation or make sense of their jumbled voices. Percy thinks he can make out a name - Ralph? Fred? - when he finally spots the cause of their sudden frenzy.

A man is stumbling out of the forest with something large slung over his shoulders, a vibrant trail of blood in his wake through the snow.

Less than a second passes before Percy turns toward the carriage to shout, “Coachman, I need my chest! Now!”

The foreman turns back to him, eyes wide. “You're hired, call me Cap’n! Good God we thought they-! Sweet merciful-! Mick and Toby, hey!” He waves at the men working nearest to the carriage, who bolt upright on hearing their names. “Help the driver get that luggage over here, and be gentle with it!”

“To the tables - both the chest and the injured!”

“Right! Bring it over there, to the benches! Hoy listen up! Bring ‘em over there, the lot o' ya! Hey-!”

The Captain’s bellowing falls to the wayside as Percy hones in on readying for possible surgery. First and foremost he centers on creating as suitable a workstation as possible as he hurries to the large tables. His jacket is thrown onto one of the benches and his sleeves rolled up as he looks for the cleanest surface, the chill in the air forgotten. A tall balding man wearing a raggedy apron peers out from the cabin, looking past him as the Captain gives him his orders. The older man meets Percy’s eye with a nod as he wipes his hands. “What do you need Doctor?”

“Get as much water boiling as you can. Find all the sheets and linens in camp, tear them into strips and boil them. And if you’ve a relatively clean apron you won’t be needing back, that would be marvelous,” the physician calmly calls back, glancing up to cast a smile his way.

The cook looks unnerved by the doctor's out of place demeanor but spares no time starting his tasks, rushing to the firepit to add more wood. As soon as Percy starts clearing off a table another man appears beside him, immediately stepping in to help. He’s young, pale as the melting snow, and utterly terrified in his recently bloodied clothes. Percy considers him as they move a few benches together. “You’re the resident doctor, I presume?”

“A-ah, I’m- yes…,” he stammers in an unfamiliar accent. The boy quickly glances over his shoulder toward the Captain, desperately looking back to Percy when he sees the man’s back is turned. “I’m not though! Not yet! I’m still just a student!”

Percy had guessed as much. “Can you handle watching a surgery?”

“Yes sir, I-”

“Can you follow directions under duress?”

“Yes sir, just- I’m better fit for- to do less intensive procedures, sir!”

“So long as you keep up with what I say you’ll do fine. Now, help me get this table wiped down. Once my medicine chest is brought over have them set it on these two benches, here. Open it and familiarize yourself with the contents and how it’s laid out - you’ll be handing me things as I ask for them.”

“Yes sir!”

All too quickly a large group of men become visible between the tents, the bloodied man propped between them. He’s hardly able to walk as they struggle to keep him moving, but one of the burlier men quickly breaks away to run towards them. Whatever the injured man had been carrying is nestled in his arms, one of his shirt sleeves rapidly staining red - another person. It was another person, this one in far worse a state.

As the distance closes and the full extent of the newcomer's injuries become apparent, a deep frown fixes itself on Percy’s face.

“How could an avalanche cause this?”

#bloodborne #bb #ripper!au #alfred bloodborne #alfred the executioner #executioner alfred #percival hewlett #donc-desole ocs #original content #oc #part 1 is literally a third of the overall number of scenes in this fic #that doesn't particularly denote the actual length of the rest of it but still GEEZ

[hiyo-silver]

Behind Blindfolds

Nobody expected the world to end the way it does until it starts. It was always thought to happen all in one go but instead it drags on for years of feigning really living when all they're doing is surviving. In this situation maybe, surviving is really losing.

Summary: The group realizes that they can't go on forever with just what's in Stan's house, and they have to find a way to venture out of the home and out into the world for supplies.

Chapter 1 2 + ao3

Taglist: @fuckboykaspbrak @Thesquidliesthuman @rachi0964 @beepbeep-losers @bigbilliamdenbro @jalenrose11 @sleepygaybrough @itandstrangerthingsfanfic @boopboopbichie @peachywyatt @aizeninlefox @sockwantstodie @ahoybyeler @yooonbum @coffeekaspbrak @sedanleystanley

Rations start to go down and now everyone’s moods are even lower. With two women growing children inside of them, of course the food goes quick. Better than starving the fetuses when they’re this far along. It would only make the losers feel inhumane. But their morality doesn’t make them run out of food any slower.

“You know we’re all just gonna die here, not of It, but of our own human needs. Frankly, human bodies are awful and I’m ashamed to have one,” Stan says, straightening his baby blue sweater on his torso as he paces the living room back and forth. They may all be in the worst time of their lives, but he still insists on fully dressing up, down to the polished black shoes. They click on the wood floor, it only reminds them how the clock is ticking.

For now they’re thinking of what they could do, “We could try and make a run for it? Make our way to the store, run with as much as we can carry,” Richie suggests, of course the hyperactive one suggests the one that takes the most physical activity. “We could even keep the blindfolds on, we’ll find our way there eventually,” his voice gets quieter and he shrugs embarrassedly as he gains the looks of doubts from his peers.

“Richie, how do I say this? You’re fucking stupid,” Eddie says, his voice coming loudly from his chest. Beverly hasn’t seen his hot head come out this badly yet, but it’s clear Richie is used to the behavior. “Even if we somehow could get there at some point, we’d expend too much energy! We need to manage ourselves better now, it’s not like we can consume all two thousand calories we need!” he rambles and paces even more angrily than Stan does. He’s had to be careful all of his life because his mom, but now he’s stuck here being careful again because of a monster he can’t even lay his eyes on. He can’t size it up, and that’s what scares him the most. He wants to know what he’s dealing with.

Richie slumps in his chair, picking at the skin around his fingernails, biting at it once he can’t do much more with his hands. He just wants to keep occupied, though Eddie’s ranting doesn’t phase him too much. They’ve known each other for a while, he’s been on the receiving end of this rage on more than one occasion. If he’s being honest, it turns him on a little, and that’s why he’s trying to ignore it.

“What about with some sort of camera night vision goggles? You could see what’s around you but maybe since it picks up heat signatures it wouldn’t get… that thing,” Ben suggests, his voice comes out nervously, he’s not much of a leader himself. But his writing has gotten him some ideas, if it works in the real world it’s all the better. He chews his lip as he watches Mike consider the idea.

“It could work, but we can’t risk it. Even some ghosts pop up on camera. But it’s something to try. Stan, can we test it out somehow? Any ideas?” Mike asks, letting his warm brown eyes meet with Stan’s hazel ones.

“Mike, you fucking idiot, ghosts aren’t real. My security system only picks up heat signatures for that very reason. It’s a lost cause though, Hanlon, we can’t risk it,” Stan says, sitting in his recliner with a huff. He really feels as if it’s hopeless. He hates when his perception of things change, change in general messes with him badly. He’s in shutdown mode with his anxiety, without his Patricia to comfort him like she had for years of their life together.

“Believe what you want, Uris,” Mike says, straightening up from where he’d leaned on the counter, walking around the kitchen island as he thinks. “Your control stuff for the cameras is in your office, right?” he asks, obviously very seriously considering it. He’s always had a self sacrificing attitude. He’s basically the most valuable member of this team aside from Bill. At the moment the two of them are damn near in a real power struggle. They both just want to be partners in this, but have too big of egos to actually let it happen.

“Michael, don’t you even think about it,” Beverly says, her voice smooth despite her fear. She doesn’t want to lose any of them, especially someone who plays such an important role in the group. She doesn’t want to see anyone else die, particularly someone she’s learned to be close to by now. But there’s no avoiding it. Risk one of them or risk all of them slowly and painfully.

“No, Bev, my mind is made up, if something happens it happens. If nothing happens, I can help save you guys, and your baby,” he says, going about the usual hero spiel. He gestures to her, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. “But we’ll make it so nothing happens,” Mike says, opening his eyes again. “I know how, I just need your help.”

They all get up from their spots basically in sync, coming together to help him. He has them get rope and duct tape, to which Richie comments sounds “kinky.” they bring everything up to Stan’s office, though Stan stays downstairs in his spite. He knows it won’t work, they told him to stay there because they don’t need his negative energy.

They tie his back to the back of the leather chair, taping his arms down to the arm rests. They tie his legs together and then tape them to the chair as well. They want him completely immobile, it’s for his own safety. If he can’t move he can’t get hurt, right? He looks at Beverly as the others leave the room and wish him luck.

“You’re so strong, you’ll make it through this,” he says, his eyes welling with tears. It’s like he knows what’s to happen to him in the span of the next few minutes. “Now, little red, make your way downstairs to where it’s safe. I’ll see you guys all soon.” Beverly nods, evading his tearing eyes with her own. She turns and leaves the room, shutting the door behind her as he’s left to do what he knows he has to.

He pushes the button to turn on the computer. The screen comes up, panels of the security cameras coming up, mostly all aimed at the outside of the house, it’s fine at first. A bright light passes over the screen, his eyes flicker in response. He blinks quickly and shakes his head, he thinks he was just seeing something.

It’s only a few more moments until it gets worse. He feels pressure on his throat and in his ears. He sees another kind of light and lets out what he can of a scream. The group hears it from downstairs. They’d already been on the edge of their seats but the scream makes them jump into action. They grab blindfolds from the coffee table. They need to save him but they can’t see whatever has got him. It would only be counterproductive.

They push and shove each other up the stairs, throwing the door open, finding him on the wood floor, still attached to the chair, the chair had fallen with him with a crash unlike anything they’d heard before. The thump of a body combined with the fall of a heavy chair is a sound like no other. They fight to get the computer turned off without looking, and they finally do. It all feels like a blur of yelling and pushing. This must be what it feels like to be completely hopeless, Beverly believes. She’s the first one to remove her blindfold.

She sees him lying there, his eyes wide open, all black, his sclera covered with something dark, which she realizes later, realizes in the near future, was blood. There was blood coming from his ears, bruising all around his neck. It looks like a goddamn crime scene. She doesn’t want to be so emotional. She’s pregnant and hormonal, she’ll blame it all on that, but she falls to her knees and sobs. Eddie has to pull her out of the room by her shirt sleeve. They close the door, they don’t know what to do about his body. Probably nothing. They’ll probably just never open that door again.

They spend the rest of the day in complete silence, they dim the lights. It just feels right to them, they need to spend time honoring his life, and the man he was. They still need food though. Grief doesn’t stop time, even though it feels like it. They sleep together in the living room, but when morning comes they need to talk about what to do about their supply. It may be insensitive, but that’s survival. Sometimes survival breaks morality, especially in cases like this.

In the beginning there is no conversation to this meeting. Until finally Kay speaks up, “If we’re going, I want to go. It’s partially my fault that the food is running out. I need to help,” she says, looking around to see the reactions and opinions of the others. She’s met with disagreement.

“No, you’re more vulnerable,” Stan spits out. He’s still not the happiest about Beverly and Kay and their unborn babies. He thinks that they just make it harder to move on with the idea of dying. New life connected with the idea of dying is never a pleasant combination.

“What if we c-couldn’t see out of the c-c-car windows?” Bill asks, looking among the group. A plot hatches in his head. He’s used to ignoring his grief, which is probably why his mind is clear enough to even come up with a plan. For the rest of them his avoidance of his problems almost seems like a superpower.

“We could cover the windows like the ones in here, right?” Eddie suggests, crossing his leg over his other knee in a pattern that mimics a number four. Now they have the ball rolling on what they could do. It seems in natural order for Eddie to follow Bill’s lead, he’s obviously got an amazing and creative mind, he and Bill both do, they could put it to wonderful use. In this scenario and otherwise.

“Right!” Ben jumps into the conversation, it gave him another reason for his novel. As he listens now he scribbles in his notebook with his dull pencil. It makes Beverly smile, at least he can find inspiration in this. Watching someone benefit somehow makes this all that much easier. Keeping their hopes up is the best they can do now.

“We should get to it,” Richie says with an enthusiastic slap to his knee, getting up to his feet. He still never fails to try and be a beacon of sunshine and smiles for the group, he’s decided that’s his mission. He may not be the smartest when it comes to living, his mom still cut his food for him up until the day that he ended up in Stanley’s house. But jokes, he can do jokes.

They all head for the closed garage. Stan’s car isn’t the nicest, but it is good enough to still drive. They find cans of paint on the shelves, no more cardboard though, it’s all been used up for the inside windows. Paint will do, though Stan whines and complains about how he’ll never be able to use his car again. As far as they know though, the situation may never return to how the world was before. The idea of getting food now seems much more important than trying to get a new car when this is all over. God they can only hope it’ll get any better soon.

They go to work slathering thick layers of paint over the windows, they’re scared that missing a spot could be their entire undoing. It’s almost cathartic to paint on something that in their old lives would never be okay to ruin this way. It makes them feel powerful, they definitely needed that before the journey they’re bound to make later. It’ll take more than luck, confidence is the best they can do. Driving blind isn’t of skill, just of throwing away their fear and just going for it.

“Well, w-we’ve been avoiding this b-but. Who o-of us are going?” Bill asks, looking among his group, his blue eyes don’t shine so much in here, they look more like a dreary and dark gray. He doesn’t just look sad, he truly seems to be nervous in a way the others have never seen him. “I’m d-definitely going. I’m driving,” he states before anyone else speaks up.

Beverly raises her hand slowly, “I really need to get out for a while. I’m going stir crazy,” she admits, trying not to be ashamed of wanting to go, but it doesn’t stop it entirely. Bill nods in her direction, letting her know that he’ll allow it. It’s as if he understands her endlessly restless spirit.

Ben cowers near the door to go back into the house. Bill stops him as soon as he realizes though. “Hey! Y-you worked at the supermarket, r-right? Means you kn-know the security system. N-need you,” he says, gesturing for Ben to come back into the group.

“Eddie, R-Richie, you guys too, we need Eddie’s t-tactfulness.” Bill says, then he looks at Kay and Stan, “You guys st-stay here,” Bill commands.

#it stephen king #it movie 2017 #it 2017 #it movie #it book #my fics #it stephen king fanfic #it fanfic #it bill denbrough #bill denbrough #it richie tozier #richie tozier #it eddie kaspbrak #eddie kaspbrak #it ben hanscom #ben hanscom #it mike hanlon #mike hanlon #stan uris #it bev marsh #it beverly marsh #beverly marsh #stanley uris #it stanley uris #bird box #behind blindfolds #bird box au

[capricxs]

😉 for charlie/zebby

😉 Pull my muse in by the hips

even if the smell of the whole gym was a bit intense and quite hard not to notice, she was determined to keep her stature casual. she’d never really ventured in here casually. it was mostly for the quick stop ins. this was a midday surprise and she figures that the stench must not pass until later in the evening.

her little heels start to click against the concrete, which makes her pretty easy to notice when it’s mostly sneakers squeaking. eyes begin to peel and she gives a wide smile to the strangers. of course, charlie doesn’t actually notice. it’s not until someone climbs between the ropes to shove him, pointing in her direction that he actually stops practicing, his partner stopping as well.

“hey,” he says, breathless, “what are you doing here?”

zebby, without much fail, looks good every day. though she figured if she was going to make a trip to visit him, at a place where everyone would see, she’d make herself extra presentable. which was mostly just in her short shirt and clinging sweater, matched with her rosy cheeks and full lashes. even if she didn’t have very long legs, they were still on display.

“i wanted to say hello.” she shrugs. “make sure you were coming home in one piece.”

he grins, taking off his gloves to drop them on the mat and jump down from the ring. “you brought snacks.”

“i couldn’t have left without them even if i wanted to.” she blushes, holding out the tin. “i don’t think i’ve brought treats here before so your friends should like them.”

“well what about me?” he mocks a pout.

zebby shakes her head, twisting to dig into her purse to pull out multiple plastic bags. “i brought you some of your own, and some other snacks. there’s more at home, too.”

charlie takes everything off her hands and leans in to kiss her temple.

“you are very sweaty.” she says.

“that rarely stops me, and you rarely mind.” he looks down at her, and his grin hasn’t left, which only makes her insides churn.

“it is… very nice to look at, but you’re a bit stinky.” she pats his arm gently when he pulls away.

“well i’m sorry, i’ll keep my stink away from you.”

people begin to flock over. of course, zebby can’t recall if she’s ever met any of them, and ends up reintroducing herself to all. if she had met them before, they were very nice about her introducing herself again. it was a relief to be around kind people. but the cookies were gone in moments and she put the tin back into her purse and followed when charlie put his hand on her back.

“did you find your way okay?”

“no,” she shakes her head, brushing a strand behind her ear. “i didn’t do any of that, i just took an uber because i was too nervous to risk it.”

“zebs,” he sighs, “do you want me to spot you?”

she shakes her head. “it was a pool. i got to talk to some very nice people so i didn’t mind.”

he looks at her for a moment, gauging her response. finally he settles and gives her a smile back. “i’m sure you made new friends in everyone.”

“yes, actually! one of the ladies was very nice and i follow her on instagram now. she does some modeling and says i should do a shoot with her.” 

“that would be fun.” he nods. 

“i agree.” she nods, her fingers playing with the hem of her skirt. “may i watch you practice?”

his eyebrows raise, watching over her. “you want to?”

zebby nods, grinning wide. “i never get to watch you fight, maybe if it’s safe i can see this at the least.”

he presses his lips together, “i guess it should be fine. we’re not going too hard today so i think we can manage.” he takes hold of her arm. “but i don’t want you to push yourself, okay? no one’s going to be mad if you leave. i wont be mad if you can’t watch.”

she nods. “i know. i just never get to see what you do.”

“okay.” he leads her to one of the seats, opening one of the tiny bags to take a few of the carrots and eat them quickly. “i’ll be another hour, then we can go home.”

“we can get pizza on the way back?”

“that sounds good to me.” he leans down to presses down to kiss her forehead again, brushing back some of her hair and smiling before getting back into the ring, calling out to one of the others, who follows.

she watches, for what feels like forever. it certainly isn’t exciting, as it’s not a true fight. there’s fists thrown and quick feet movement but there’s stopping every few minutes and low talking that she can’t make out. they go back and forth for a while and she sees charlie land a few hits, but considering his sparing partner is heavily padded, it makes the scene look more like hitting marshmallows than something brutal. it was equally nice not seeing him get beat to a pulp.

most of all, she enjoyed being part of this thing in his life. it’s one thing to go to his fights and hide in the locker room until her comes back bloody and beaten. this way she can see what he does, see how he moves. it’s elegant but terrifying. he’s dangerous but so in control. he truly loves what he does, and cares about every movement and thought that goes into it and she sees that. the fact that she now can visualize it, every fine detail from watching his chest rise and fall to the intensity of his eyes to his muscles flexing and moving as he throws his punches and dodges the ones throw to him, it means so much to her.

when he’s done, there’s a bit of quiet celebrating, and he comes back to stand in front of her, panting and far more sweaty than how she came. “i’m going to wash up.” he states. 

“okay,” she nods.

“you going to wait here?”

“no i’ll come with.” she bends to pick up her purse and stands. “that was very cool to see.” she says as they walk towards the locker room.

“yeah? it’s nice to hear you say that.”

“it was very technical and procedural and i thought that was very fascinating.”

he chuckles, “yeah, i guess it does kinda look like that.” once in the locker room, he takes out his bag and grabs his towel. “it felt good knowing you were watching. i wanted to look good.”

“you did. i was very impressed.” she grins with a nod. 

charlie slips behind her, starting to peel from her clothes. she’s still modest in the sense that she keeps her eyes away. she’s seen his body countless times and she’s sure that he probably doesn’t mind in the slightest, but she wanted to give him the courtesy of some privacy from her wandering eyes. she knows if she did look she wouldn’t help but stare.

“zebby,” he says behind her, but then takes hold of her hips to pull her against him. her breath catches in her chest and she lets out a small gasp. no doubt the sweat of his body was seeping into her clothes but she could still feel every bit of him against her. his nose nudged away some of her hair and his lips kissed under her hair before saying. “you going to come in with me?” his hands pull at her skirt until they slide under, feeling the skin of her hips. “you show up looking how you do and watching me that long and it’s hard not to want to touch you.”

“oh boy,” she sighs, feeling her breath picking up. “if i come out with wet hair, they’ll know.”

he stars to kiss along her neck, “you brought cookies, zee, i don’t think they care what we do.” his hands rub over her skin. they’re firm, but tender, and it only makes her chest tighter.

“you’re very convincing.” she swallows.

“i’ll take that as a compliment.” he grips her hard, pressing her hips into him and sighing against her skin. “i could always wait until we get home.”

“no no, now is good.” she nods, setting her purse on the bench and slipping out of her shoes, pulling her sweater over her head. 

“only if you want.”

zebby shakes her head. “i very much want.” she nods, turning around to slip from her bra, tossing it with her sweater and wiggling out of her skirt. she barely gets naked before he’s lifting her and carrying her to the shower, giggles filling her body when he starts kissing her chest before they’re under the water.

#loxleys #* otp: zebby & charlie.

[theculturedmarxist]

     By    Eric London    

       25 February 2019  

On February 22, the World Socialist Web Site published an article, “The Jussie Smollett controversy: Must all accusations be believed?” The commentary argued that the collapse of Smollett’s claim to have been attacked by racist thugs in Chicago exposed the right-wing character of the #MeToo campaign, which asserts that the accuser must always be believed, lack of corroborating evidence notwithstanding.

One reader, commenting on the article, wrote that the WSWS was hypocritical for calling Smollett a liar while defending his presumption of innocence in the criminal case against him.

“So Smollett is a liar but also has the right to the presumption of innocence?”, the commenter, Urfubar, wrote. “This can’t both be true. You can’t presume someone innocent of a felony you just declared guilty of a felony. Either Smollett is a liar who falsified a police report, or he’s innocent until proven guilty. Pick one.”

This comment provides the opportunity to further probe the anti-democratic rationale and reactionary implications of the #MeToo campaign.

As a preliminary matter, the WSWS opposes Smollett’s former supporters who are now rushing to condemn him just as blindly as they rushed to believe him three weeks ago. We oppose the criminal prosecution and the premature decision by Fox to write Smollett’s character out of the show “Empire” before his guilt has been proven. The efforts by the media to make an example of Smollett before he has been found guilty are hypocritical and serve to confuse, not clarify.

However, the facts that have emerged make clear that Smollett lied about the January 29 attack. He claimed that two white men he did not know hit him, poured bleach on him and put a noose around his neck.

Dozens of security cameras at or near the scene of the alleged crime failed to show any attack, and the two men seen leaving turned out to be brothers, who are friends of Smollett and of Nigerian descent. The brothers had bleach (which Smollett alleged was thrown on him) and magazines with missing pages (Smollett alleged he received a death threat with letters cut out of magazines) at their home.

Financial records also show that the brothers purchased the same piece of rope that was later found on Smollett’s neck, which the pair is shown on closed-circuit video buying at a store. Phone records show that days before the alleged attack, Smollett texted one of the brothers: “Might need your help on the low [i.e., in secret]. You around to meet up and talk face to face?”

The WSWS correctly characterized and condemned Smollett’s selfish, careerist behavior, which only feeds the growth of the extreme-right and casts doubt on future allegations of right-wing vigilante attacks.

But does this mean he forfeits the right to be presumed innocent? Does it mean he is necessarily guilty of a crime?

The answer to both questions is “no.” Smollett has the right to challenge the charges against him in court and the evidence presented. Moreover, even if the defense accepts the specific allegation—that Smollett filed a false report—a trial such as this, in the course of a vigorous defense, invariably raises issues as to the significance and context of these facts, which could lead to a verdict of not guilty.

For example, §5/26-1(5) of the Illinois criminal code penalizes anyone who “knowingly… transmits or causes to be transmitted a false report to any public safety agency without the reasonable grounds necessary to believe that transmitting the report is necessary for the safety and welfare of the public.”

Central to Smollett’s legal defense could be his state of mind. To be guilty of a crime, a defendant must have the requisite level of intent. In this case, he must “ know ” there is no “reasonable ground” to believe the report is “necessary for the safety and welfare of the public.”

This presents a complex question. Did Smollett perhaps convince himself in the present political climate that his race and sexual orientation justify his actions and make them “reasonable?” Did he think bringing attention to bigotry and right-wing attacks was “necessary” for the public welfare, even if this particular “attack” was invented?

Or, was Smollett blinded by ambition and acting under a passion and pressure that so clouded his judgment that he could not “intend,” with clear mind, to carry out a crime?

Could he argue in court that he was operating in conformity with the conventions of a sick and corrupt society that encourages professionals to use their racial and sexual identities in opportunistic ways? Could he say he was an avid reader of the New York Times, which tells him it is “reasonable” to assume accusations must be believed no matter what? Could he say that the #MeToo hysteria has made the reasonable unreasonable and the unreasonable reasonable, and that he can’t tell which way is up?

The prosecution will claim, as the proponents of #MeToo always argue, that the accused is a monster and that monsters always have evil intent.

But Smollett has the right to exercise all the rights that flow from the presumption of innocence. He is protected from the state by the Sixth Amendment, which grants him the right to present his case to a jury and cross-examine the Nigerian brothers to examine their motives. If the case goes to trial, Smollett’s attorneys will have the benefit of voir dire to keep prosecutors from loading the panel with prejudiced panelists.

The Fifth and Fourteenth Amendments mean the judge may bar jurors from reading the New York Times so their ability to objectively hear testimony does not become clouded by the media hate campaign. The judge will tell jurors to ignore evidence, even if it is relevant, if its probative value is substantially outweighed by a danger that it is unfair, prejudicial, confusing or misleading.

How critical these protections are and yet how dangerous it is that none of them are available to the targets of the #MeToo campaign, whose lives and careers are ruined in the court of public opinion! The #MeToo proponents explicitly call for believing all accusers, having adopted the slogan “I believe.” Asking for corroborating evidence is “victim blaming.” Asking accusers about their intentions is “victim shaming.” If the accused claims innocence, it is presented as further proof of guilt.

It is precisely in such cases, however, that presumption of innocence and due process are so critical. Even in cases where everything appears clear on the surface—or, especially in such cases—it is in the course of a trial that the underlying complexities emerge.

The campaign to reject these basic democratic conceptions has been deliberately whipped up by the most powerful and profitable media corporations, working in conjunction with Democratic Party strategists and the editors of newspapers like the filthy New York Times. To advance their own money-grubbing, right-wing agendas, these powerful forces are creating a hysterical mood by playing on the prejudices, emotions, insecurities and ambitions of the affluent upper-middle class like keys on a piano.

Passionate public moods demanding vengeance have long been the vehicle for the most dangerous assaults on democratic rights. Hundreds of African Americans were lynched based on allegations by lying white women. One such woman, 85-year-old Carolyn Bryant Donham, is alive and free today. The lie she told in August 1955 was “believed” and, as a result, 14-year-old Emmett Till was tortured and killed, his mangled body dumped in the river.

Progressive politics has always fought such right-wing popular sentiments, even where the accused is clearly guilty. In the famous 1924 death penalty case of Leopold and Loeb, defense attorney Clarence Darrow argued against hanging two young men who admitted to murdering a 14-year-old boy. The newspapers were demanding the boys be hanged and attacking due process as an obstacle to justice.

In a democratic society, Darrow said, the court must ignore the clamor in the press and the reactionary hidden agendas of those braying for blood. It meant, instead, “that you must appraise every influence that moves [the defendants], the civilization where they live, their living, their society, all society which enters into the making of a child.”

The same principle was captured by Theodore Dreiser in his masterpiece An American Tragedy. Clyde Griffiths’ defense attorney, Belknap, made an appeal to jurors inundated with hysterical calls to sentence young Clyde to death:

“And I venture to say that if by some magic of the spoken word I could at this moment strip from your eye the substance of all the cruel thoughts and emotions which have been attributed to him [Clyde] by a clamorous and mistaken and I might say (if I had not been warned not to do so) politically biased prosecution, you could no more see him in the light that you do than you could rise out of that box and fly through those windows.”

Irreconcilable opposition to such witch hunts in the face of popular pressure is the trademark of principled socialist politics. Leon Trotsky insisted that socialists are socialists only insofar as they maintain “complete and absolute independence of bourgeois public opinion.”

Writing in 1922, the co-leader of the Russian Revolution described bourgeois public opinion as “composed of two parts: first, of inherited views, actions, and prejudices which represent the fossilized experience of the past, a thick layer of irrational banality and useful stupidity; and second, of the intricate machinery and clever management necessary for the mobilization of patriotic feeling and moral indignation, of national enthusiasm, altruist sentiment, and other kinds of lies and deceptions.”

These words may as well have been written about the #MeToo movement, which genuine socialists rightfully oppose.

#jussie smollet #metoo #social justice #democracy #theodore dreiser #an american tragedy #progressive politics

[swordsandsorcerypodcast]

Mordigrim

Take a step into the mind of our group’s Human Warpriest of Groetus as he goes through his daily morning ritual. A Warpriest is a Fighter/Cleric hybrid class. Groetus is the god of the endtimes, he is depicted as the skull-faced moon above the Boneyard in which all souls venture to after death and it is said that Groetus will usher in the End of all things. As I’m sure you can guess, a devotee of Groetus might be just a touch mad. Mordigrim was created by and will be played by Brad. Told from the point-of-view of Mordigrim himself this short piece is an introduction to the character so that you can get to know him a little better before we begin our Carrion Crown Adventure Path.

Without further ado, say hello to Mordigrim.

“They do not see what lies ahead when sun is faded and moon is dead.” - Gollum

______

I'm awakened by the sound of a single bird chirping on my window sill. The sun is not yet above the horizon but the soft glow of the inevitable daylight is just bright enough to illuminate the bird. I must have forgotten to close my window again. My throat and sinuses are dry and sore from breathing in the cool night air, the fireplace must have died out hours ago. I feel an ache in my back that instantly reminds me of just how old I am.

Forty-eight years ago I was born into a simple farming family a couple miles outside of Ravengro in Canterwall and I was given the name Mortimer Grimwauld. My family was known locally as “the Grims” and my name was quickly shortened to the nickname “Morti Grim” and eventually bastardized by the local accent to be “Mordigrim”. I always preferred Mordigrim over Mortimer, so I never protested the title. My father was a lifelong farmer, working in the fields from dawn until dusk. My mother was a devout cleric of Pharasma, she spent her free time caring for the locals of Ravengro. My older brother was a town guard and taught me how to fight. My older sister was a widow before I even hit puberty, she spent the remainder of her days helping to take care of me and our family home. All of them were killed twelve years ago.

Forty-eight years on this planet. I’ve had forty-eight years to prove my worth to Groetus. I don't believe I've earned his favor yet. I can only hope that I find what I'm seeking soon, I think another four or five decades of suffering in this world would be far too cruel. My eyes were opened to the truth of Groetus the day my family was slain. It was then that I came face-to-face with undeath and realized that the Endbringer is the only champion capable of ending such a scourge forever. Many think that the encounter drove me insane but they are wrong. I have only been truly sane since Groetus first revealed to me the truth of this world; this life is not our true life at all, it is merely a test. I long for the Boneyard and even more so for my reward that lies beyond.

I sit up in my bed and look over at the bird. He’s so small, so delicate, so blissfully unaware of how cruel this world is. How can he sing during times like this? Why does he not seem to fear me? I could easily crush him in my hand, his bones would shatter and crumble as easily as the egg shell he crawled out of. Yet here he sits singing me a beautiful song about the rising sun.

Perhaps he’s not unaware after all. Perhaps he knows exactly how cruel the world is. Maybe that is precisely why he sings for the daylight, a praise for the end of a long night. Maybe he knows as I know that Groetus is coming. Maybe he too sees that this world that we live in now is like the night and only after the Last Moon falls will the sun rise over a brighter new world. Only those strong enough to survive the night will be shepherded by Groetus to see the sun rise over our new world, the world that we righteous champions of the night will shape and build. Perhaps he sings not only for the sun but also in celebration of the glorious end of the wretched night.

I dress for the day. Black pants, heavy black boots, and a lightweight black tunic. I gather my armor and place it over my clothes, I have a knot in the pit of my stomach that tells me that today will be a day of danger. Atop my armor I wear a grey tabard with pale blue trim and a black skull on the front. Lastly I put on a thick black leather belt and a long black overcoat that nearly reaches the ground. My thick white beard is long and unkempt, it reaches to my stomach and the only care it's given is a braid on either side of my mouth. My hair, though bald on the top, is tied into a single thick braid that reaches down the entire length of my back. I've not cut either since I began my journey toward my true life and I don't bother fussing with either of them unless one of the braids happens to come undone.

I retrieve my traveling pack, filled with supplies, weapons, and my sacred fetishes. I then make my way over to the fireplace and with the poker I find a still-glowing ember, carefully place it in my fire carrier, and cover it with a layer of ash. I close my windows and step out into the cool dawn to begin my daily ritual. Outside of my door is a long path that leads through a densely wooded area and to the town of Ravengro. The ground within the woods is littered with dried sticks, limbs, and leaves. I begin collecting a number of small kindling sticks, then a few slightly larger twigs, and just a handful of medium sticks. I don’t need much. I return to my home and walk around to the east side of the building where I have long ago dug a 3-foot wide hole in the ground. The hole is filled with the ash of countless fires and is surrounded by a wide circle of dirt. I remove my hot ember from my fire carrier and place it in the center of the hole and then place the kindling, twigs, and sticks on top of it. Within minutes my small wood pile is flaming.

I sit next to my fire, facing the rising sun, and begin preparing my daily spells. I focus on protection spells this morning. Something tells me today will be the start of a long journey. I received a letter that informed me of the death of Professor Lorrimor. Today is the day of his funeral. Lorrimor had approached me years ago after my family was murdered by that undead abomination. Once every few months for the past twelve years he has visited my home to study me and any effects the undead might have had on me. He has always warned that one day I would have to face my fears again. Lorrimor’s only interests seemed to be in those abominations and their effect on myself and my fellow residents of Ustalav. What that thing was...and what it did...I don’t know if I’m prepared for another encounter. However, I must do whatever is necessary to prove my might to Groetus. Especially if it means destroying one of those...things. Nothing deserves a second life not granted by Groetus, a false life. Anything that lives after dying, no matter how soulless and empty that false life may be, is an affront to the will and work of Groetus.

I look down at my fire, it has calmed significantly. I must have gotten lost in thought again, I don’t know how long I’ve been sitting here. This is but one of my traits which my neighbors attribute to a supposed mental affliction that I most certainly do not have. They think that my reverence for the Endbringer is surely madness. They do not understand what lies beyond. They have not looked into the eyes of a creature living a false life. They do not know the depravity and despair that lies there. They do not know how desperately this world needs to be Ended and cleansed so that we may start anew.

They look to Pharasma for protection against the undead. They are fools, all of them! When Pharasma reads the last name in the book of life it is Groetus who closes that book! It is Groetus who opens the next book! It is Groetus who brings the end and the beginning! It is Groetus! Pharasma is nothing but an orator, a mere herald in comparison to the power that is Groetus! Only the Endbringer himself will end this cursed life and bring the Last Moon to wipe away the undead hordes and every other evil in this world once and for all!

My fire is gone. It’s nothing but smoldering ash now. I was lost in thought again. From my pack I collect my shield, my two kukris, my holy mask, and my sacred skull. My shield is a light steel shield with blue trim around the edge and a black skull painted on the surface, I place it on the western edge of my fire pit. My two kukris are well-sharpened and quite heavy for their size, I place one on the north edge and one on the south edge of the pit with their blades pointed toward the darkness to the west. My mask looks like the top half of the face of a skull. It is made of thick boiled leather with the details of a skull structure carved into it, open eye and nose holes, and no jaw. It is painted ghost-white and has a leather strap that runs around the back of my head to hold it on. I place it on the eastern edge of my pit, looking forward toward the light of the sun. My sacred skull is my most holy fetish and I carved it long ago from the wood of an ash tree. It is a simple jawless skull and I carved a tunnel through the nose of it and out of the roof of its mouth so that I could run a bit of rope through it.

The local townspeople often fear my appearance. They are offended by my many skulls. They believe the skull is a symbol of death. I know better. The skull is the symbol of life. Only by looking through the eyes of death can I see the beyond, the true life. This world is ending and rightfully so, this world deserves its death and it is nothing to mourn for. It is only the next life that matters and only by going through the End can we reach it. This world burns hot, it is a raging chaotic fire of life destroying itself faster and faster the hotter it burns. When nothing is left but skulls and ash, then we may truly know peace. Only those who championed true life in this world will be chosen to write the next book of life and I intend to earn my place amongst them.

I use the sacred skull to stamp out any remaining embers and mix in the older surrounding ash to cool the remains of my fire. I rub ash all over the surface of the skull and then tie the rope to my belt. I then dip both of my hands into the ash and cover my face with it. I do this every day and now my nose, all around my eyes, and my forehead are stained a deep shade of grey. I pick up another handful of ash and spread it over my items around the pit. I gather my pack, place my shield on my back, sheath my kukris on my belt, and place my mask on my face. I am ready for my journey.

I look to my window sill and see that the bird is still sitting there, still singing his song for the light of the sun. He seems entirely unbothered by my ritual or my presence. The sun is now above the horizon and it is time for me to make my way to the town of Ravengro. I look back at the bird one last time and in that exact moment I see a black cat jump up and snatch the bird from off of the window sill. In an instant the bird’s song is ended by two sharp fangs quickly sinking deep into his throat. I take it as reminder to myself that I can’t make the dangers of the night simply disappear by worshipping the light, I must be both willing and able to fight back against those dangers as well. I thank Groetus for showing me this truth and I begin making my way down the path through the woods.

#pathfinder #tabletop #rpg #paizo #carrion crown #original character #warpriest #groetus #short story #swords and sorcery