maybeitsalivescribbles

[maybeitsalivescribbles]

Take your mind off things (websites list)

In case someone needs it, here’s a bunch of sites with fun stuff to avoid doomscrolling. This post has several good links but many are broken, so here’s a list of my own.

TO EXPLORE

Here you can find museums virtual tours

Here you can find natural wonders virtual tours and 360° photos (with music)

Here you can explore the Solar system

Here is the scale of the universe (just click, it makes sense)

Here you can explore the deep sea. Neal.fun have some other pretty cool stuff in general.

TO MAKE

Here’s an easy cookbook for people with no spoon (the authors made it free)

Here are ten hot drinks to make

Here you can learn how to do origami

Here’s a tuto to make a plush with modeling clay and paper towels. (Nicky Case makes also very cool mini-games, but be warned if you can to see more, some can be dark. )

TO LISTEN

Here’s a ASMR positive affirmations video (18 min). If you don’t like this one there are plenty of others, and several types (just relaxing sounds, roleplay, etc)

Here’s music generated by Wikipedia edits

Here’s a customizable white noise website

TO WATCH (photos/videos)

Here’s gifs for breathing exercises, for example this one:

Here’s a playlist of short and incredibly satisfying stop-motion shorts (less than 5 min each)

Here’s a playlist of a cooking show making giant mundane stuff

Here’s some winning photos from Nature’s Best Photography competition

Here you can watch live cams and spy on animals from the Montery Bay aquarium

TO PLAY

Here’s a Bubble Shooter game

Here’s a Memory game

Here’s a quiz (every click gives money to charity)

TO READ

Here’s an adorable webcomic about 2 foxes in love (yes, it’s queer)

Here you can find free audio books (also movies etc)

Here you can read online/download public domain books

[maybeitsalivescribbles]

Dear USA readers, I’m so sorry. Take your time to mourn, try to self-care as much as you can, stay alive.

To those who voted blue, thank you for fighting.

[maybeitsalivescribbles]

TTD - Bonus scene

(It's a small thing, but I thought you'd like some fluff in these trying times.)

*

“Witness, if you will, a creature destroyed the agonies of illness. Alas, once a powerful monster threatening all humanity, now they stand here helpless, struck by the hand of fate, slowly dying of congestion, with no flowers at their feet but a bunch of used handkerchiefs.”

Hero, who walked through the living room, carrying a warm bowl, gave their expert roommate opinion:

“Bullshit. You have a cold. Your nose is barely red.”

Villain didn’t even give them a look. Clenching their dark robe, their hand pressed on their heart, they kept on:

“Truly a miserable fate for someone who was destined to rule the world. Darkness is closing in-”

“That’s literally your power. You control your shadow...oh, why am I debating with you.”

It had been two days that Villain had that fateful cold, but if you’d asked Hero, it seemed like an eternity and a half. Not only Villain had to nest into the living room’s couch because their own room was full of scraps of metal and wood for their current invention – whatever that was – but they were bored.

That meant incessant monologues. Long, convoluted monologues. Never ending monologues on their couch that was losing its shape slowly but surely.

When Hero was going back home, after a long day of helping citizens and affronting their boss, they had to hear about the agonies of having a common cold and oh, how the mighty had fallen. Hero had never felt specially mighty themself, but sometimes they wondered if murder in these circumstances was not regarded as legitimate defense.

Was a voice extinction too much to ask?

They bit their lip and held out the bowl to their roommate. Two skinny hands held it and a yelp was heard:

“It’s hot!”

Hero collapsed on a chair, unfolding a blanket nearby:

“As hot as the fiery flames of hell. Or something.”

An audible growl emerged from the black mist that clouded their roommate, but in Hero’s book, that was a win.

They fell asleep, the blanket on their lap. No monologue woke them.

*

Check the These Two Dorks Masterlist or Tag for more snippets with this Hero and Villain. This is how they met and now they’re roommates.

Or back to Hero x Villain Masterlist.

[maybeitsalivescribbles]

Guess who's back. (semi-back, I'm going to take it slow for a while)

*

Now, Detective was quite sure he had locked his office.

He stopped dead in his tracks, watching the door that was slightly opened. The last time this had happened, he’d found himself in front of two guns. The time before that, he’d found himself against a Villain, who didn’t need a gun. His own weapon was of course safe and locked in a drawer somewhere. He rolled his eyes at himself and listened intently. There wasn’t a sound. He threw a glance by the opening, ready to jump back and run.

His place looked blissfully intact, but now that he was closer, he heard it. Someone was breathing unevenly. He stepped forward. A head popped from behind his desk.

Well, well, well. Wasn’t this new. Detective let out a sigh half of relief, half of annoyance, and snapped:

“This isn’t a nursery, kid.”

He went round the desk to find a skinny teen huddled on the ground, their arms around their knees. They were wearing one of these stupid red capes that told everyone in the city they were special with powers, ooooh, aaaah. From the traces of tears on their face, they didn’t seem to feel especially happy about it.

Detective leaned over them, frowning. He’d already met that child. He snapped his fingers in an attempt to remember:

“You are, you are- oh, you’re that Sidekick kid, right? The sidekick of this hero, the one with the stupid boots.”

They nodded.

“So what’s the problem?”

“I don’t want-” Sidekick sniffed. They took a handkerchief from the desk, blew their nose, and kept on: “I don’t want to do this anymore.”

Detective was opening his mouth to ask why this would be his problem, but Sidekick added quickly:

“ I thought I could...hide here for a little while? Hero won’t find me here. I didn’t steal anything, honest.”

“Except the handkerchief.”

“You can have it back.”

“Thank you, I’ll live with that loss.”

He sighed:

“Tell you what, what about I phone your Hero and tell them what you’ve decided, so you can sort it out with them?”

The teen froze, looking at him like a deer in the headlights. Detective raised an eyebrow:

“That bad, uh?”

Sidekick nodded once, avoiding his gaze.

“Did you already tell them?”

“Yeah…”

“And they said?”

“That if I tried to leave, I’d be found dead on the road.”

Detective paused.

“Ew.”

Yes, that was what he’d said. An eloquent man, Detective. In his defense, that was short to the point at least, not to say accurate. Child abuse was icky.

He didn’t ask anything else, mostly because he wasn’t particularly surprised. Once or twice he had to deal with clients Hero had “saved”, and it hadn’t been a pleasant experience. Hero was the kind of person that didn’t mind saving the day if they were the one saving it, so they could reap the benefits after, no matter what happened to the others. If the kid shattered the illusion that they were perfect, well. This kind of people was willing to go very far to protect their image, especially when they could blame on any villain passing on the streets.

Sidekick, knotting their hands together, whispered:

“I thought you could...maybe hide me for a little while?”

Detective blinked. He asked with a mild voice:

“Tell me if I’m wrong, but isn’t your Hero the one who makes the ground shakes just by walking?”

“Yes?”

“The one who can crush people with a pinch?”

“Yes.”

“The one who can punch buildings?”

“Yes…”

Detective looked thoughtfully at his fists and his gun, all that he had – when the gun wasn’t forgotten in his office. He shrugged:

“No worries then. Just checking.”

Sidekick bit their lip, looking at him like a kicked puppy. Detective scratched his head, embarrassed. The silence was lingering for too long. He patted his pockets to look for something, anything, but there were just a pair of handcuffs and some old receipts. As a last resort, he generously held out his flask to them:

“Take a drink, kid. You’ll feel better.”

Sidekick looked at it with a wary look:

“I’m fourteen.”

“Eh, there’s no age.”

The teen took a little sip and yelped in surprise:

“It’s...cocoa?”

“Yep.”

Sidekick drunk a little more, then held it back to him:

“ I thought it was whiskey or something.”

“Psch, as if! With people shooting lasers with their eyes or whatever, I don’t need to get plastered. I need something stronger than booze to get through the day.”

Detective crossed his arms and sighed:

“Okay kid, you’ve won. Let’s find a place for you to sleep.”

[maybeitsalivescribbles]

Febuwhump 17) Hostage Situation

(tw: team whump, captivity and some fights going on – I made a cut because it’s long but honestly it’s more adventure than horror)

*

Fighter had too much hair over her face. The band that’d held her ponytail had snapped when she’d been caught. That was the least of her problems at the moment, but she didn’t like it. Mediator noticed. Mediator had an unnerving instinct for this kind of things. He pulled out a brush and gently arranged her hair behind her ears.

“Still can’t believe you have that,” she said with a wan smile.

Mediator raised an eyebrow:

“I have an afro Blondie, you wouldn’t understand. Yours doesn’t get dry once an hour.”

“Maybe I should do like Leader and buzz them off.”

The mention of their Leader made them stop for a second. According to the number of meals they’d had, he’d been taken out of their cell since at least two days and they had no news since. Their guard had refused to tell them anything.

A couple of days ago, the team had been sent into enemy territory to negotiate. Mediator would have swore then that it’d went very well, and he wouldn’t have been wrong. But while Enemy Leader, their Leader and he were fiercely debating, he hadn’t seen that a guard had pointed a gun on his head, whereas none of the participants had been allowed to bring a weapon. Fighter though, who never paid attention very long when negotiations were going, had noticed. Her first kick had disarmed the man, her second had gone right into his rib cage. Five guards had rushed toward her, and she’d been on her way to knock down the fourth until she’d seen the gun against her Leader’s forehead. They’d immediately been accused of betrayal and sent into jail, then the latter had been dragged...somewhere else. By mutual agreement, they’d tried not to talk too much about this with the Mediator, especially since the guard was obviously listening to them. Sometimes frustration was stronger though, and her teammate whispered:

“I do not understand why that man shot. Weeks of work undone. Why?”

Unable to shrug, Fighter twisted her mouth:

“Sometimes men break.”

The guard had caught on and groaned:

“Or maybe he was sick and tired of hearing you talking shit -”

“Don’t even”, snapped Fighter.

“And you keep your mouth shut, you monster. Do you know how many are still hospitalized ?”

“Good.”

Mediator laid a hand on her knee and shook his head. Fighter gritted her teeth. He was right, it was no use to argue. That was wasting her strength. By what she could only call pure pettiness, the guard had ordered her to be covered in chains, like a gladiator in an old peplum. If he’d wanted to get on her nerves, she was sorry to say that it’d worked. Not being able to move her arms at all all this time had grown to annoying into painful and sometimes just short of unbearable. His teammate, who hadn't been deemed dangerous enough to be tied up, had helped her the best he could. He'd been very delicate and caring as always, but it was maddening having to rely on someone else for eating and other things.

Their bags had been confiscated, but trust Mediator to keep a whole array of objects on him. He never carried any weapons, but aside from the apparently very important brush, he had a pack of gum which had been useful to forget their hunger, and a tiny crosswords magazine which they’d used to kill time. They'd carefully avoided the sensitive subjects. They'd mostly bickered about what was the Wordle of the day they were missing out, a little bit because they were unhealthily interested in the game (that’s what Leader pretended anyway), but mostly because the guard was not-so-politely bored to death by their spats. Fighter had never been a great talker, but Mediator was, and all in all she was really grateful for his presence.

Still, Leader was missing. Mediator had the same train of thought as her, because he whispered a moment after:

“ I'd even gladly listen to his dumb hand puns.”

She couldn’t help but smile. Since Leader had lost his right hand in a mission, his delight and first priority had been to make this everyone else’s problem. A thousand “this got out of hand” had been answered every time he’d been asked how he’d lost it. Mediator and Fighter had applauded him at first, until they’d slowly realized he had no intent of stopping there. That had only been the beginning of an unceasing storm of hand jokes that would have made middle-schoolers groan in agony. Of course, if you’d roll your eyes even a little about that, this grown man would look at you with puppy eyes and whisper with a false tremolo: “Are you oppressing me ?” Basically, only the fact that they both loved him to pieces had prevented his teammates from pulling out a mutiny.

Mediator’s eyes were shining with tears.

“If I’d been convincing enough -”

Fighter did her best to bump his shoulder with hers.

“Don’t think like that,” she gently admonished. “It will get us nowhere.”

“Right.” Mediator sniffed. “I’m sorry. It’s just – that it’s been a while.”

“You’re tired. You should rest a little.”

He nodded and curled up next to her:

“Wake me up if you need anything.”

“I will.”

She didn’t. It was another one who jolted him awake. A tall, bulky and bald man barged into the room, his hands tied behind his back, accompanied with another guard with a sour face. He made an entry as solemn and dignified as usual:

“Heeey kiddos ! Did you have fun without me ? Eesh, can’t say that you did. You look terrible.”

Fighter made a deep sigh of alleviation. Mediator woke up with a gasp and ran towards the bars:

“Leader !”

It was him all right, and it was a huge relief to see him alive and on his feet. He looked fortunately intact. There was not a scratch to be seen on his face. His walk was strange though, like he’d been drunk, and his gaze was unfocused, gleaming with fever. He suddenly stopped, making the guard behind him start, and squinted his eyes:

“Fighter, what the hell are you wearing ?”

She laid down her eyes on her chains and made a face. Leader glanced at the cell guard:

“Seriously, who gave you the right to wrap up my girl like that ? I only have zip-ties and I am their chief ! It’s so goddamn unfair !”

Everyone was unsettled by that yell. He tripped on his feet and nearly fell, but caught himself in time. He burst into laughs before beginning to shake from every limb, leaning his back against the bars for support. Mediator tossed a terrified glance at Fighter; sure, Leader was always a little bombastic, but he’d never sounded that manic. What had they done to him ? Fighter had a look of grim understanding on her face.

“Sleep deprivation,” she mouthed to Mediator.

Leader whistled at her:

“That’s right, give this woman a prize ! Two fucking days, folks, and not a single drop of coffee !”

As he turned around, he had his back to Mediator, his fingers fidgeting wildly behind his back. With a dry gesture he’d already made before, his teammate pulled off the prosthetic hand, leaving the zip-ties to cling uselessly to the left arm. Leader giggled and punched the guard as hard as he could. The latter, who was unprepared, was instantly knocked out. The other rushed to the rescue and met the same fate.

“You do not fucking touch my team.”

Leader’s voice sounded sane now, only very tired. When he faced his teammates, his eyes were as cold and sharp as a steel blade.

“Mediator, gimme a hand, would ya ?”

Mediator literally did that, holding out his prosthetic back to him. In return, Leader threw him the keys found on the guards.

“Brief us,” asked Fighter.

“Sure.”

Mediator knelt next to Fighter and opened the lock of her chains. Leader sighed and put his back against the wall, his eyes half-closed.

“You okay, boss ?”

“Take a wild fucking guess,” answered the aforementioned, wiping the sweat from his forehead. “Anyway, long story short, they wanted a pretext to keep us hostage until our beloved Chief relented to their demands. Said beloved Chief being what she is, she threatened them so bad they decided they needed to negotiate again, so their Leader is out with his own counselors and stuff. Meaning, he’s not here right now. Meaning, we’re out of this junk. I’m not gonna stay and play the role of the fancy trinket. We’re far too expensive for our own good.”

“On that point, I agree,” said Mediator. “But um, does that mean the negotiations I worked so hard for were for nothing ? And then they still went back to negotiating ?”

“Sorry, my guy. At least enough people heard them, maybe it will make them think. Then again, their team is made of guys thinking that handcuffing amputees is a great idea, sooooo…”

He threw out his hands in a frustrated gesture. Mediator frowned with a cold determination:

“It’s only the first try. I will make them listen.”

“Sure, yeah, but for now we bail. Fighter, how do you feel ?”

Kicking the chains far from her, she rolled her massive shoulders, stretched with a groan of pain, and made her knuckles crack, a small smile on her face:

“In the mood to go to work.”

“That’s what I like to hear. Come on kiddos, let’s take a walk.”

*

The Fighter is the Badass Lady from here, with her teammates making a cameo. I still don’t know that the Team does for a living except getting into Situations™ and rescuing themselves, but they love each other very much so that should count for something.

Back to Whump/Horror Masterlist.

[maybeitsalivescribbles]

Still Whumptober retrospective. She's My Girl and I really want to write her and her teammates into situations one of these days.

AilessWhumptober 23 - 5 Hostage

Near Unbreakable 1/2

Summary: This badass lady is the Second-in-command of her beloved team. She can kick anyone’s ass and the tiny Whumper is obviously no match for her. So when she volunteers to stay with the guy for one day, nothing bad is gonna happen….right ?

badass whumpee/protective caretakers/pathetic whumper

tw: hostage, lady whump, torture (implied), death threats, locked in a small space

***

“You ? It’s you ?” burst out Leader to the grinning face of Whumper. “You’re the one who are supposed to meet us ? Oh, the deal is off. Let me offer this instead.”

He drew out his combat knife, his face grim.

“You give us what we want and I don’t gut you like a fish. On second thought, I might do it anyway.”

“Do that and see how this is going to work out for you,” purred the tiny man. “You promised to let a hostage for the day to my team, and I guarantee you that you won’t like what will happen if you don’t.”

Leader's hand clenched on his weapon:

“I agreed because I thought you were fired and starving somewhere like you deserve.”

“Well, life is full of disappointment. I thought that after our little meeting, you would die of blood loss.”

Some teammates couldn’t help but glance at the right arm of their Leader – the one that missed a hand. The man had a small smile of contempt. His knife glinted.

“Come and see for yourself how helpless I am, coward.”

The Mediator, who was the diplomat of the team, squeezed his shoulder.

“I don’t think this will be necessary. In our negotiations, we have made very clear that if we found a single scratch on the hostage, we would retaliate once we were done. They agreed on this, they even proposed to give us the potential offender.”

“Oh, I see,” groaned the Leader. “So they were counting on the sadistic bastard to go berserk on one of my men so they could get rid of him by giving him to us, while keeping their hands clean ? It that what that means ?”

“I thought he was dead,” whispered Mediator. “We all thought he was. Am I calling them ?”

“There’s no time ! We need to do this today ! Let’s go back, team. We’ll find another way.”

He was going to turn around, but another hand on his shoulder stopped him. He looked up, up and up to meet the eyes of his Second-in-command.

“You’ve just said it,” she softly said. “There is no time.”

“So ? ”

“Don’t sweat it, boss. I’m gonna stay with him. You don’t need me to finish the mission.”

“No. No way. Absolutely not. You are not doing this.”

“ Then what ? People are counting on us. We can’t fail. I can do this. Besides ” -she rubbed her thumb and her index together - “ I could snap him in two between my fingers.”

“Well great, you’ll do this after the mission, as a treat – come on.”

“It’s just for one day. I’m gonna be all right.”

Leader was going to retort, but he glanced at the scowling face of Whumper, who stared at the mountain of muscles that was his Second-in-command. He was still repulsed by the idea, but a small part of his mind was entertained by the idea of letting alone the tiny, slimy bastard with someone who could break coconuts with her bare hands. Besides, she was right. There was no time to lose, and doing what was planned was the quickest way to finish the mission.

“If I might interrupt,” sniveled Whumper, “that doesn’t seem quite logical to me. You have to admit, Leader, that Mediator has made a big mistake in negotiating. He did neglect my resurrection and I resent that. He should be the one to stay behind.”

His eyes examined the small, thin Mediator with something that looked way too much like hunger. Leader, Second-in-command, and other Teammates took a step forward.

“Come and take him”, they retorted at once.

Whumper recoiled, his hands raised in a gesture of surrender.

“ Fine, fine. The huge lady it is.”

The Leader examined her, a worried expression in his face.

“ I don’t like it. I hate it. You sure about this ?”

She nodded, her eyes soft:

“Trust me.”

“Don’t get cocky. The bastard is rotten as hell. He will try to stab you in the back.”

“He won’t be able to. Rely on me, please. The stakes are too high.”

Leader narrowed his eyes at Whumper.

“One scratch”, he grunted. “One single scratch. And you’re done.”

He squeezed the arm of his Second-in-command:

“And you, toughie, we’re getting you back in one piece at sunset. This is a promise. And an order.”

“I got it, boss.”

He hugged her grumpily, and so did the other members of the team, promising they would be back for her as soon as they could, as if they were going for an easy stroll themselves instead of a dangerous journey. The Mediator hugged her the tightest of all.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered in her ear.

She tapped his cheek playfully in answer, and soon after they were all gone. Whumper and Second-in-command were left alone, staring at each other.

“Nice home you have,” she said. “You play base ball ?”

“No, why ?”

“Oh, so you don’t need that bat on the grass, then.”

She picked it up. The wood creaked when she broke it on her knee. She threw the two parts away from her and stared at Whumper, who looked at her with wide eyes and took a step back.

“I get it lady, I get it – you’re scary. How about a non-aggression pact, uh ? You don’t touch me, I don’t touch you. On second thought, I don’t even want to be near you. Tell you what.”

He pointed at her at a cute little hexagonal structure on the garden, with transparent walls.

“ This is my winter pavilion, where I go to read sometimes. I put a lock on the outside because some kids kept stealing my gardening tools. How about you stay there for the day ?”

She shrugged:

“Fine. But first you’re calling your chief. And then you’re taking a picture of me and you send it to them.”

“Is that really necessary ?”

“Yes. I’m making sure they know we fulfilled our end of the deal. I’m not letting you lie and put my team in jeopardy.”

“You’re no fun,” sighed Whumper, “but as you wish.”

The call being made, she went to the little pavilion and allowed him to lock her in. He had taken care of putting away the gardening tools before, which had made her roll her eyes, so she had plenty of space for herself. She sat nearby a little pile of books, but there were all botanical guides, and none of these interested her. Soon enough, she rested her cheek on the hardcover and went to sleep. Dawn had barely broken.

She woke up with a throbbing headache. Grunting, she held out her hand, groping for her bag. (Whumper had tried to suggest she could do without, but she had given him A Look and he had not mentioned the subject anymore. She had already left her weapons behind but as far as she was concerned, she didn’t need them and it was the only compromise she was willing to make.) Pulling out her flask and taking a sip, she winced. The water was warm. She forced herself to drink a little, but her stomach growled in disagreement. Still, she drank. The Mediator was very adamant about making his teammates stay as hydrated and well-rested as possible. In fact, he was the only reason why her flask was full to begin with (and her bag much too full of snacks).

She stared wishfully at her phone, but she had no one to call. It would have been useless at best and dangerous at worst to distract her teammates or signal her presence in any way to anyone else. Besides, the reception here seemed not very good. She poured a little water on her hand and rubbed it on her temples and neck. That relieved her a bit. Since it was officially the morning now, she wondered if she should eat. At the thought, her stomach turned into a knot. The idea of eating anything solid made her wince. Frowning, she touched her forehead. It was burning. She clicked her tongue, her throat already dry, and watched outside.

Whumper’s garden was nothing to be proud of. There were some cacti here and here that seemed to do well - they looked even taller than her - but the rest of the plantations seemed wilted. Burnt, even. She glanced at the yellow grass, then at the sky. It was a magnificent blue, without a cloud on the horizon. Even inside, she felt the scorching of the sun, so she looked for a little shade. There was none. Every furniture had been taken away. There was only the pile of books. Grunting, she put a cap on. It was not optimal, but it was better than nothing. She accidentally touched the walls and recoiled. There were white-hot. On the other side, there were the gardening tools, and finally she realized something. A detail.

She wasn’t in a pavilion. She was in a greenhouse. And she was going to understand how an ant felt under a magnifying glass very soon.

The sequel (prompt Heat Stroke) is here.

[maybeitsalivescribbles]

Still in hiatus, but reblogging this for whumptober. If you're into musical whump...

AilessWhumptober 23 - 22 Punishment

Encore 1/5

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Summary: Classical gothic horror story in five parts. During a tour, a pianist is invited by a noble of the region. Unfortunately, this count has very high standards and a peculiar definition of hospitality. And he's very, very angry. Oops.

pianist whumpee/count whumper/reluctant whumpers

tw: bad things happening to hands, broken bone, lots of passive-aggressive accusations

***

The pianist repressed a yawn. As always after a concert, he was getting pretty sleepy, especially since it was his first day into this city. All he wanted to do was go back to whatever hostel chamber had been chosen for him and collapse into his bed.

No, no hostel chamber. Castle chamber this night. One of the nobles of the region – a Count Something-or-whatever – had proposed to host him. Why him and not the other members of the orchestra, he had no idea, but he could not refuse. It should have been flattering, even if to tell the truth he was a little wary. The last time he’d been hosted in a castle, the owners had kept him awake and had chatted with him until dawn. He really, really needed his sleep.

He dozed off in the carriage, not taking any interest in his surroundings, barely glancing at the lonely castle lost on the moor. He straightened his back, put a polite smile on his face, thanked the two men who let him in, took his bag, and prepared himself to meet the master of the place.

A gray-haired middle-aged man, pale and languid, stared at him from his couch, and did not get up when he saw the visitor coming closer. Maybe he was as tired as his guest was. After salutations, the pianist asked him for permission to withdraw into his room, but the count raised a finger:

“Wouldn’t you keep me company for a while ?”

The pianist’s smile frost a little, but he obediently sat on the hard chair which was pointed to him, and waited. There was a silence.

“Um,” he ventured, “weren’t your lordship at the concert tonight ?”

“I was,” answered the count, still looking at the ceiling. “I left after the first part. Your part, sir. I must confess I was anxious to hear you. I heard you were one of the rare virtuosi able to play Islamey on stage.”

“It's true. It is rather challenging.”

The count seemed to muse upon his answer in silence.

“Do you love the piece ?”

“It has its beauties. I like it.”

“But you don’t love it. I suspected it. You don’t play with much passion. Have you learned it for the challenge of it ?”

“Partly, yes.”

“Ah. You do like putting on a show, don’t you ?”

“I am a pianist. It is my work. I take pride on it, as I think I should.”

“I suppose you should,” nodded the count. “If I was among those amazing men able to play that wonder, I would be proud. So imagine my surprise when I realize you weren’t one of them.”

The pianist's right eyebrow nearly met his hairline. There was no answer to this – well, there was no polite answer to this, at least.

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand,” he finally said.

The count snapped his fingers. One of his domestics – a tall, huge man – stepped out of a shadowy corner of the room and handed to his master a music sheet.

“Let’s see – ah, yes. Sixteenth page, sir. Third bar, second time, first semiquaver. What do you see ?”

“It’s a natural A.”

“And what did you play ?”

The pianist’s stomach twisted a little. Now he understood. While he had had every intention of playing the A on stage, the beat had been so fast he hadn’t had time to stretch his fingers properly, and so he had merely brushed the key instead of pushing it. Consequently, no one had heard it.

“I couldn’t play it.”

“No sir, you couldn’t. At the beginning of the time, no less ! It was an error so huge I thought I was imagining it for a bit, unfortunately there was no doubt.”

The count seemed very agitated, so the pianist tried to placate him. Without taking into account the fact that he wasn’t going to get any sleep if his host decided to yell at him all night, he could sympathize with someone who cared that much about his performance.

“What a great ear for music you have, your lordship”, he softly said. “Not many people could have heard that.”

“I love the piece. Do you understand ? I love it.”

“I’m sorry I’ve disappointed you. Tomorrow I’ll do better. The first show in town is never the greatest performance, I’m afraid. The beauty of live performance means that there’s always a risk that artists would make mistakes, and unfortunately it happens to everyone.”

“I do not pay to see so-called artists make mistakes, sir.”

“You pay to see a human performing. That includes his style and eventually his errors. You have to embrace it, or else you won’t be able to enjoy yourself very much, in my experience.”

“Is it your sincere opinion on the subject ? ”

“It is.”

The count straightened up a bit, and made a vague gesture of the hand; he was pointing at a piano. His guest groaned internally.

“It is evident I was wrong since the beginning, then. Would you show me, sir ? Play it once more.”

“With all due respect, your lordship, I’ll be able to make a better performance tomorrow, after a night of sleep.”

“Nonsense ! Didn’t you just tell me that errors didn’t matter and it’s all a proof of authenticity ?”

Well, that’s what I get for being genuine. Repressing a sigh, the pianist stood up to advance toward the instrument, but the count stopped him once more.

“Wouldn’t you like the music sheet ?”

The pianist hesitated. Normally, he knew the piece more or less by heart – that was the only way you could perform it, in his opinion - but with his error from earlier, it could prove useful. He held out his right hand to take the pages from his host, and started a little when the count seized his wrist, his thumb on his palm.

“ You have beautiful hands, sir. Such long fingers ! I expect you must have strong joints, too.”

The pianist had not time to wonder about the last sentence. Again, the count gestured, this time for his servants. Instinctively stepping back, his visitor bumped into two men who had appeared behind his back.

Two huge, huge men. They grabbed him by the arms without a word. Muffling a moan of surprise and pain, he turned his head as much as he could to look at them. They averted his gaze, their mouth tight in an expression of disgust and regret.

“What are you doing ?” he yelped.

Then he glanced at the count again, and this time his words stayed stuck in his throat. His host had pulled out from nowhere shiny little pliers that he dreamily examined.

“The little finger should be enough, to begin with,” he whispered.

It didn’t matter that the doors were closed and barred, or that the land around belonged to the count, or that he had no idea of the way back to the town – the pianist tried to run. Although the guards were twice his size, he nearly escaped them in his panic. Clenching his teeth, one of them finally forced himself to squeeze his throat. The visitor collapsed for a few seconds, gasping for breath; the count, who had watched the struggle with annoyance, crouched in front of him, inserted the right hand’s little finger between the jaws, and in a firm motion, bent it backwards. There was a delicate cracking, and a howl of horror that was only partly due to pain. Panting in shock, the pianist cradled his right hand, his eyes fixed on it like he couldn’t believe what had just happened.

“Y-You broke it ! I won’t be able to work for weeks !”

“Nonsense”, said the count. “An expert such as yourself ? Why, I’m sure you could play without hands at all ! I’m sure you will be able to overcome this little technical difficulty. The piano is yours, sir.”

“W-what ?”

“I’ve asked you to play Islamey, if memory serves.”

The visitor gaped at him in disbelief.

“That’s not possible anymore ! You broke - !”

“Yes, yes, I’m well aware of it. But I have no doubt that your mistakes will make your version all the more endearing.”

The pianist opened his mouth to answer, to protest, to say anything that could delay that absurd demand, but instead he stayed silent. He stayed deadly silent when the count pulled out a tool from under the couch and showed it to him.

It was a saw.

Shuddering, the pianist managed to sit at the piano and stared at the pages – the eighteen of them. The notes pressed against each other, intertwined in a technical nightmare that left his fingers sore, even in normal circumstances. Maybe he could have managed to perform a normally difficult piece, his ring finger compensating for its broken neighbor. But it was no ordinary piece; no human on Earth could manage Islamey in its original version without two hands in perfect condition.

What choice did he have, though ? He began as well as he could. Tears of pain and effort fell on the piano’s keys. The count hummed in approbation, meditatively staring at the ceiling, playing with the pliers still in his hand.

“Don’t worry if you don’t convince me right away,” he whispered. “After all, you have nine tries left.”

*

The sequel is here.

[maybeitsalivescribbles]

Hey guys, unfortunately the hiatus will probably continue in October...it sucks because I'm gonna miss tons of writing challenges, but I really won't have time. I hope to be back in November.

(Friendly reminder that there are already 100 000+ words of fiction on this thing though, so if you want to binge the archives, now's the time!)

Take care of yourselves, and send me prompts if you want to. I'll work on them in a month, fingers crossed.

[maybeitsalivescribbles]

Sicktember 23 : Cold Case

(15. Sick in an Inconvenient Place + 24. “Did you just sneeze?”)

The detective's throat hurt.

Without leaving from sight the stuffy room, he massaged it slowly. His eyes were drier than usual, too. He blinked furiously. All for nothing, of course. No one was there yet; just him, a stupid little private eye freezing in a stupid little store that wasn’t heated. At least this time he was inside while it was snowing.

He’d already made good decisions in his life. It had happened ! Accepting this case had not been one of these. Not because of the case itself, oh no; it was – or at least, he hoped – rather simple. No corpse, for a start. That was a nice beginning for an inquiry. The client himself was much more of a problem. It was the first time that the detective had a rich collector among his clients, and if he was lucky, he’d be the last before long. The phone call that had begun it all had been one-hundred twenty eight (128. Honest.) minutes long well before his opening hours. The client had spent the first thirty seconds to explain that one of his greatest treasures had been taken from him, that was to say a priceless painting, and the rest to describe how miserable he was and the impacts on his social and financial life. Two hours left more than enough time to become salty, so the detective had asked:

“If that painting was that priceless, isn’t its place in a museum ?”

The client’s voice had become as frosty and hard as the weather outside.

“This painting is in my family since generations. Haven’t you heard, sir? It was stolen in a museum, because I lent it for an exposition.”

The detective had rubbed his temples and glanced at his alarm clock. 8:15. He’d never been at his brightest before 10 AM. Especially when he had been woken up toward 6 AM, all for a painting and some guy who was taking him for some kind of therapist. Yes, he’d heard about the stealing. Only he’d paid it no attention. It wasn’t often that rich guys were coming to him. The biggest mystery, really, was why the client had called him, but he’d needed the money, so he’d gone to work. A quick examination of the museum had told him that the thieves couldn’t have gone out by the main entrance or by the exit. There had to be a third way. Crime was always on the rise in this time of the year, and police and him didn’t get along too well, so as always he’d had no one else to help him. The museum security hadn’t been understanding either, so he hadn’t been able to make a very detailed search. Fine. He’d left out the place, and had tried to determinate if it’d been the only theft done in the same style, no matter how insignificant. It had been a laborious search, to enter all these stores only weeks before Christmas. He’d been shouted at, he’d been slapped once, and he’d been so very, very cold. While the days were going by, it’d been harder to get out of bed. He’d felt his throat hurting, his stomach growling, and sometimes he’d felt feverish. Used tissues piled up in his bin, and it took gallons and gallons of tea with honey to make him feel a little better. There was no time to rest, though. His medical appointment kept being postponed. The grumpier he was, the harder he wanted to catch the thief. Mostly though, it was because the client would not leave him be. Every day he called to complain. There was no polite way left to get him to shut up. The detective made his morning coffee while the phone whined on the table, and he’d only occasionally turn his head to add a “hmm” or “sure.” It wasn’t like he could turn it off altogether. Unlike what the collector seemed to thought, he actually had other clients.

Still, his work had paid off. All signs pointed to a little antique store next to the museum. He was pretty sure now that there was an entrance that connected the two buildings – and, if he was lucky, the painting might have been still in here. Judging by its description, it wasn’t something you could hide or carry easily.

After a bit of breaking and entering – he swore he’d pay for the damage - he’d settled in there and crouched behind an authentic-genuine-I-swear post-prehistoric chest of drawers. The perk of being small – or, as he’d liked to call it, a very reasonable height – was that in the middle of all these objects, he was invisible. He’d been waiting for a long time now. Hours and hours in the dark without moving too much, without getting asleep, without doing anything but watch. It’d been tedious. But the ray of light he could peek at just now told him that it hadn’t been for nothing. Said ray of light belonged to a flashlight that belonged to a long, bulky shape in black.

There you go.

The form extirpated itself from a hole in the stone wall, that had been hidden before by a bookshelf. One slightly slimmer shape followed up, then a tiny, tiny third that made him tilt his head in confusion. Maybe it wasn’t a child. He hoped it wasn’t a child.

Three whole humans. Right. Sure. His throat hurt a lot more all of the sudden, and it wasn’t because of the cold. He’d better believe he was as invisible as he wished, because the first one had something in their hand that very much looked like a gun. Of course, he had his own. That wouldn’t do much good because it was loaded with blanks. The only thing worse than risking being killed was risking killing another person. He wasn’t sure he could bluff against three. On the other hand, if he wasn’t noticed, it was his early Christmas present. He was paying them a visit just the night they were making another trip to the museum. What for, though ?

“A good thing we have done”, mumbled the first one. “That painting would have ruined us.”

Wait, what ? The second shape seemed to slap lightly the third, who whined in protest and stepped back.

“How was I supposed to know it was a fake ?”

Wait. What.

“Yeah, let the kid alone,” neglectfully said the first shape; “good thing someone had a brain cell inside his skull and checked with Dr Garner.”

The detective took note of the name, but he was still too flabbergasted to precisely hear what they were saying. So that was why the police hadn’t been that interested into that theft and the museum security had given him the cold shoulder. They must have known. Bastards, they could have told him ! Else he wouldn’t have been risking his neck for a fake painting that had been given back. As for his client, he’d never killed anyone in his life, but he was very much tempted to at least try to strangle him a bit.

Still, those bozos were going to be arrested. He didn’t like the kind of fire they carried around. He liked even less the kind of guys who bullied kids. He couldn’t catch them now if he wanted to live a little longer, but he wasn’t in a rush. He just had to wait for them to drop a clue.

So he stayed and stayed and stayed. He barely dared to move and had no idea of the time. Fortunately it was December and dawn wouldn’t break before very long. The thieves were still taking their sweet time, though. Oh, they spilled the beans all right. They let out names and addresses and other things that could be easily checked. He had them. He had them good. It was worth it. Sure. But there were also long, long silences that reminded him that it had been hours since he was in the same position and there still wasn’t any heating and the slightest noise would mean a bullet in the head. His throat was killing him but as long as it was the only thing killing him, he would be fine. Right ? Right. He could take it. He was a persistence hunter. The ache in every muscle in his body and his burning forehead and his vocal chords on fire meant nothing, so long as he got out alive with all those precious hints.

And then, the first shape took a step back and accidentally knocked down a table. It was far too close from him for his taste, but he was relieved to see it didn’t affect the little barricade of furniture who protected him. He let out a big sigh, unaware of the dust cloud that the table had moved, accidentally breathing it.

The second shape started.

“Did you just sneeze?” they asked awkwardly to the first.

“No,” answered the first, drawing out a gun, passing so very close to a shadow huddled into a corner with his hands on his mouth and nose and his eyes wide.

“I didn’t.”

*

Back to Hero x Villain Masterlist (I know I'm reaching)

[maybeitsalivescribbles]

Sicktember 23 - Alt 3, Pounding Headache

Thief squirmed in their chair. They were tied up, but they were scarcely aware of it. All that mattered in the world was the throbbing pain in their forehead. They would have given up a lot to be able to rub it, even if that would have done nothing.

“Is it possible to remove that light ?” they whispered, closing tightly their eyes.

Villain gave them a cold stare. Without a word, they slowly pushed a button on the lamp, increasing the brightness as much as they could. Thief grimaced. They heard their heart pound inside their temples.

“First, explain why you failed to get the files I asked for.”

‘I didn't fail !” they protested weakly. “I took everything there was in the safe. It’s not my fault it wasn’t at the place you’ve told me to steal.”

“I wonder,” whispered Villain. “Unless someone was warned before you stole anything. I have to admit, you’re much too close to Hero than I’m comfortable with.”

“Close ? They always send me to prison !”

“You always escape. And they never hurt you.”

“Well, they’re a hero. I don’t think they’re going to punch you if you don’t begin first.”

“So why was the safe empty ?”

Villain had suddenly raised their voice. Thief moaned in protest.

“I don’t know !” they squeaked.

“Well,” grunted Villain, “now my plans are canceled, I can be patient. You’ll stay tied up until you spit out the truth. I have no indulgence for traitors.”

Thief just hummed in answer. It was harder and harder to focus on the conversation. They let themself slump into the chair, leaning their head back to try to relieve the pain. Villain hit the table with their fist, which made them start.

“Dammit, what’s wrong with you ? You should pay a little more attention when I’m threatening you! Do you understand your position?”

“Yep. Sitting in a chair.”

They didn’t even mean to be sarcastic; they were half-conscious by now and were just babbling words. Villain took it very personally, though. Their gloved hand slapped Thief on the face, but they barely felt it. It was nearly a welcome distraction from the other ache. Villain grabbed their chin and demanded once more:

“What’s wrong with you ?”

“Migraine.”

“Really.”

Villain let go. Thief heard them stepping away, then there was a click. One second after a radio burst into song. Thief gritted their teeth.

“Petty jerk,” they mumbled.

It was like someone had set fire inside their head now. Maybe they screamed a little - bubbles of light exploded behind their lids – there were shouting and loud noises everywhere - and they passed out.

It was not for long, though. The first thing they were conscious of was the silence. Blissful, merciful silence. Something – someone – was tugging gently at their wrists. They dared to take a look. The lamp was switched off. Inside the barely lit room, they could see bodies laid down everywhere. Villain themself was on the floor, unconscious.

Well, that took a turn.

With a definitive snap, their hands were cut free. They tried to push themself back up, but their skull was too heavy, their limbs too weak. They blinked and watched Hero becoming visible again, without moving an inch.

“That’s really weird to see you still like that,” the latter said, keeping their voice low. “It’s because of Villain?”

“Nah, it just happens sometimes. You were there all along ?”

“Yep. I’ve followed you.”

“I’m going back to prison, then.”

“I don’t think I’m going to bother with you this time. After all, you’ve just stolen worthless sheets of paper under coercion. I don’t think that counts.”

“They’ve turned against me so fast.”

“Color me surprised. I’ve already told you to stay away from them. But I’ll have all the time in the world to lecture you...”

They gently lifted Thief up, laid them down on a couch, and unfolded their scarf on their closed eyes to keep them from the light.

“...Later.”

*

Back to Hero x Villain Masterlist

[maybeitsalivescribbles]

It's been one year !

These Two Dorks Masterlist

Hero is a down-to-earth, mild-mannered person with not much power, Villain is a Drama Monarch who uses their impressive powers to commit deeds of pure evil (sometimes they steal food). They get along surprisingly well in a world that doesn’t like either of them very much. 100% platonic relationships, as dark as Villain themself (meaning it’s mostly fluff, but sometimes, ah well.)

First meeting (Part 1, 2, 3,4): A dark and brooding villain schemes in their terrifying lair! A bold hero steps in to challenge them! Gasp! It’s thrilling! It’s...it’s actually sort of fine, really, until Supervillain decides to ruin the day.

And then They Were Roommates™ : Behold as Villain invades Hero’s lair and amazes them with their sense of interior design.

You’re a jerk when you’re sick: No, Hero is not that sick. They don’t know what Villain’s talking about. The first snippet I wrote about these two. (originally for Sicktember)

Anxious Stomach: Hero’s boss shows up. (originally for Sicktember)

Dastardly Hug: You mean Villain invades Hero’s personal space while impeding their moves? Now that’s evil.

True Evil (part1, 2 ,3, 4): There are skeletons in the closet, and not only the plastic ones Villain keeps between their dark robes. The angsty one.

Of hair and shadows: Domestic fluff is back.

*

Back to Hero x Villain Masterlist

[maybeitsalivescribbles]

Don't ask why I see this two months after, but:

- Platonic relationships please please please

- More playing with accessories, costumes, secret identities, the struggle to master superpowers...I know I don’t do that enough myself.

- Most of all, MORALITY conflicts. I want to see heroes confronting villains, villains confronting heroes, and come back thinking “I don’t know what is good or evil anymore.” They got a good look on the other side, or even at their own side, and what they saw changed them.

There’s a lot of “oh but the villain is not really evil so that’s okay.” I get that. This is the queer disabled website, of course “oh but what if this strange person scorned by society was just... misunderstood?” is going to be appealing. I can’t throw the stone, I have a whole series where the hero and the villain click in 0,00002 seconds.

But that scenario comes with its own questions, too. If the Villain is not evil, then what happened and why are they in this role? Was it their decision? Was it forced on them?

It’s even worse if either of them have a crush or feel that this person from the other side is THEIR person. I mean, I’d have a crush on someone who I’d consider as cruel and twisted, I’d never sleep at night and have an existential crisis. I’d spend a while questioning my own judgment. I so rarely see that. No matter if your character is going to reject the other because of their principles, or if they’re switching sides to be with the other, or a secret third thing, there’s going to be a struggle.

I really want more of that.

Question

Are there any prompts, tropes, scenarios or ANYTHING that you don't see much / want to see in your superhero or heroes and villains fiction?

[maybeitsalivescribbles]

Day 31: Bonus Day

Cape

“Your suit must include a cape,” cut the Designer dryly. “If you’re a Hero, you have to wear a cape.”

Hero squirmed uncomfortably:

“But- didn’t the Edna Mode School of Thought say-”

The end of this sentence died on their lips as Designer glared at them, waving dangerously with their scissors gliding in their hand:

“I know what they say. Do you fly?”

“N-no?”

“Then most of the risks are averted. All clothes have dangers, if you put it like that. You can trip on a scarf or on new shoes too.”

“But capes do nothing.”

“Excuse me? The propaganda has come too far!”

Designer rubbed their forehead:

“Look, if you’re cut from help and backup, trust me, you’ll be grateful for the extra fabric. You can carry things or a person with it. You can rip it apart for bandages. It can be used as a shock blanket or a way to protect anonymity. ”

“I-I didn’t think about that-”

“Exactly.”

Designer stepped forward and poked at their forehead:

“So you’re gonna walk out to the world with your shiny new suit, you’re going to heroically cover a citizen in need with your crazy useful cape, and you’re going to look damn good doing it. Understood?”

“Y-Yes, Designer.”

"Don't be ungrateful to the Cape and its wonders. Or it will end you."

*

Aaand that makes 10 snippets. Thanks for the event @augusnippets, it's been fun !

Back to the Hero x Villain Masterlist

Whump/Horror Masterlist

[maybeitsalivescribbles]

DAY 28 – Body control

“Don’t worry. Can you believe that the others were for torturing you? No, no. You’d complain, you’d struggle, you’d plan an escape, it wouldn’t do. I am for efficiency. You can resist as much as you want. All the better for me. The more you fight, the more I know how your body works, the more I know how I can tie you up. You can’t see my knots, neither will anyone. So, let me tell you how they’re getting tighter, tighter, tighter. You’re wrapped up from your toes to your hair. Every thing is connected to me. Let me show you. Wave. Bow your head. On your knees. Very good. What a nice puppet you are. We’ll train a little together, and when you’ll waltz in wherever your friends are, wherever your family is, they’ll see no difference.

They’ll all think you did it.”

*

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[maybeitsalivescribbles]

DAY 22: captivity/recapture/tearful goodbye

“So…” said Hero, tuning to their team, “I guess this is it, then.”

“It there really no other way?” asked Sidekick, grabbing their arm. “Are you sure?”

“Not that I think of.” Hero patted their shoulder with a faint smile. “But you’ll find something.”

Behind them, Villain was waiting, their arms crossed, but no one looked them in the eye. For the moment, they were something in the background, something to be forgotten. They felt that so well that they cleared their throat and raised their voice:

“And some people say I take too long for my monologues. I agreed to let you two minutes for your oh-so-moving goodbyes, not an eternity. Supervillain is waiting.”

Hero dryly nodded, but then Teammate rushed into their arms.

“We’re going to get you back,” they whispered into their ear. “It doesn’t matter how, it doesn’t matter when-”

“It kinda matters when,” corrected Hero. “To me, at least.”

“Yeah-”

“I mean, sooner would be nice.”

“I’ve ruined my solemn promise, haven’t I ?”

“I get the intent.”

Instead of disentangling each other, the other Teammates joined in. Exasperated, Villain clapped. Everyone yelped in pain and stood away, leaving Hero alone. They turned toward their foe, their hands raised:

“All right, we’re going to Supervillain.”

“We need to make a stop. They want you chained up.”

“Of course they do.”

*

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Whump/Horror Masterlist

[maybeitsalivescribbles]

DAY 20: Homemade meal/favourite treat

The crowd observed Superhero, still panting after their fight. There was this moment of incertitude that always came after a victory. In that brief, fragile instant, a woman took upon herself to break the silence. She was holding out a plate as proudly as she was carrying a crown:

“There,” she said to the winner, “as promised. You’ve finished your work, you deserved your reward.”

“Mooom-”

“What is it, darling?”

A wounded and vaguely worried expression appeared on the little woman’s face:

“ It’s still your favorite, isn’t it?”

“Well yes, but-”

Superhero threw a helpless glance at the crowd, then at the semi-conscious Supervillain’s body at their feet. After this fight, the villain wouldn’t be able to use their power for a while. It was a complete victory, a real triumph... and as if summoned, the second they thought they could take a deep breath, their mom had popped from the shadows.

Not that she had powers. She was just like that.

“I’m not quite finished,” they pleaded. “I have to tell people they’re safe, smile for the cameras-”

“Of course darling, you can do that, I won’t bother you. I’ll stand aside.”

She took a few steps away, but everyone was still looking at her. It had been years since Superhero was used to be a public figure, but for the first time since a while, they felt themself blushing.

Supervillain noticed. They were bleeding, they were powerless, but they noticed. Superhero could see their smirk amid the bruises.

“Momma’s kid,” they simpered. “You are pathetic.”

Superhero looked at the plate. Their mother was absolutely right: it was their favorite. A perfect French silk pie, full of cream and chocolate. Then they stared at Supervillain’s smug face, and the next course of events was obvious.

“Do you want a slice?”

“And this is only a temporary- what?”

Supervillain stared at them in disbelief, began to laugh- and then stopped. A little woman just had popped in front of them, a dangerous glint in her eye and a huge knife in her hand.

Supervillain took the slice. The evil monologue would have to wait.

*

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[maybeitsalivescribbles]

DAY 19: Chipped

“ Newbie! How did you-”

Team Leader, who was about to rush towards Newbie, abruptly stopped on their tracks. The newest teammate had shaken their head, and their frozen, terrified attitude warned them that there was something terribly wrong. People couldn’t escape from Villain’s headquarters that easily. So they stood still too, gesturing to the others behind them to do the same, and they waited. Newbie bit their lip, seemed to think for a minute, then signed “chipped”.

If I tell you I am, they’ll kill the other prisoners.

Leader nodded briefly, then chuckled humorlessly.

“So! You thought you could come back like this? After all you’ve done?”

Newbie tilted their head, raising an eyebrow:

“I thought that escaping would more than make up for it.”

What are you doing?

Improvising, signed Leader back before scoffing out loud:

“Oh, you thought so, uh? Well, you forgot one detail: you throw yourself into danger without my orders. What does that make you, what do you think?”

Newbie stumbled on their words, and didn’t have to make much effort to sound upset:

“I’ve just come back from prison and-”

“You’re used to it, then. Put them in a cell. Maybe that will teach you proper discipline.”

Newbie nodded with pursed lips, then passed through them. Some Teammates moved to go with them.

“And no talking”, precised Leader to the others. “I want them to learn their lesson one for all.”

They watch the door closed on them. Leader sighed:

“I’m really sorry,” they said in an empty room.

*

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