#blizzard universe

[nickwheaters]

might be in the process of cooking something... maybe

[grandwretch]

a snippet from something empath steve that I'm never going to finish

Later, while Steve cleaned the snot and tears from his face, Robin watched him soberly from the toilet. She sat sideways, cross-legged on the closed seat, balanced precariously and stared up at him. Steve ignored her gaze, rubbing at his face until it stung.

"So," she said, eventually. Her words were careful, as if any poorly chosen phrase could send Steve into another spiral. "Can I ask... why Eddie?"

It was a question with many interpretations. Why care fixate Eddie, when so many people Steve had grown up with had died in the last week? Why sob yourself to sleep over someone you had barely known? What was it about Eddie that haunted Steve far beyond the vague ache of failure? Why was Steve's grief for one man strong enough to block out the pain and suffering of an entire town in mourning?

"Did I ever tell you why I fell in love with Nancy?" he said, instead of answering any of those questions.

Robin hesitated, then shook her head.

"The thing about emotions is that they don't make sense. I know I compared it to noise, before, but it's not-- It's not like a song. It's not even like a bunch of different songs played at once. It's more like being in a room with twenty radios, and all of them might change channels at any time. They all have their own rhythms, their own triggers-- And I can figure it out, sure, but it takes time and effort and sometimes I just... can't be bothered."

"Does my radio at least play something good?" Robin asked, raising an eyebrow. She was trying to distract him, tease him away from her own question-- An automatic response after seeing the pained look on his face. God, Steve loved her.

"We have the same radio," he said, waving his hand. Which was true, mostly. Sometimes, during the worst spirals he would feel a little pressure from Robin, but outside of that her emotions were felt just like his own-- in his own heart, not against his skin. "Not the point."

Robin grinned.

"Nance's mind is one of the steadiest I've ever felt. I was, like, addicted to it. Even when we were going through the worst shit we've ever been through, she was like a rock, and I-- I loved that. I needed that. And then..." Steve swallowed, his gaze flitting back to the mirror above the sink. He still looked ill, pale and gaunt. "I realized she wasn't, really. I thought she was the rock, and instead, it's just walls. I never... I never really figured out how to get past them. Probably never will."

"Steve..." Robin began, a frown starting to form on her face, but Steve cut her off with a shake of his head.

"No, 'cause, see-- Eddie was steady, too, right? So I thought, oh, good, more walls, don't want anything to do with that, and then--" Steve closed his eyes, letting himself remember the way Eddie's emotions had felt butting up against Steve's, the way the warmth had enveloped him even as he shivered through the shock and cold.

"Eddie was steady the way the ocean is steady. He was so alive," Steve continued, choking on the word, "and so warm, always moving but you could-- You could just float along on his train of thought. He was always just there, all around, pressing in. He never hid his emotions, but it didn't hurt. No static. It was like the tides coming in. I don't... I don't think I've ever felt that safe in someone's emotions, before. And I guess... I guess I'm having trouble processing that I might never feel it again."

[pocket-gems]

Blizzard Stone is both Ace/Biromantic. What does he like in a potential partner?

Well he does have one! Her name is Diamond Tear (or Dia for short).

She's passive, on a way of just "Going with the flow" without doing any real plans and not overthinking. Caring more about the moments and those around her.

She's motherly, patient and can take a long while for her to be angry. I feel like in her head "Funkytown" (by Lipps Inc) is playing on loop. She's just a simple lady.

[angeltannis]

I hope decades from now they teach Overwatch as a master class on how capitalism and the pursuit of limitless growth at all costs will inevitably break down and consume even the most creative and globally-beloved ideas until they’re bled dry of every dollar they could extract from fans

[bringbackwendellvaughn]

Profile art of Blizzard by Bob Layton for the Official Handbook of the Marvel Universe: Update '89.

[yore-donatsu]

My fingers were itching ✍️

[hana-bobo-finch]

YYAYYYYY THUNDERSTORMS

[captainseamech]

//... BTW how are feeling about the Overwatch x Transformers collab coming up in a few days lads?

[seth-whumps]

hiii me again!!

okay here is a thought that has been bouncing around in my head like a tv logo on a black screen

again, feel free to modify if its not accurate/doesnt make sense BUT

so even though morri has their limits when it comes to cold weather, i'd imagine theyre still a bit more resistant to it than your typical human, especially one that was in cryosleep for 5 years

so i propose that he and morri are on a mission in the dead of winter and theyre just pushing forward because, yknow, it has to get done, and morri is so focused on the task at hand that they don't realize that their partner is halfway hypothermic until jj makes it known somehow (i'll leave that up to you)

i love your writing so much im so excited to read anything you write ｡(^▽^)ゞ

okay so because the other one is pure fluff I made this one far more whump and angst. poor morri just gets all the bad shit huh

anyway!!! here u go bug!!!

--

The best part about being fully robotic is the intimate understanding Morrigan gets with everyday machines. The toaster isn't going to work when it's dirty, and Morri finds that reasonable. The microwave doesn't like tinfoil, and that boundary should be respected.

And cars, especially old ones, do not like being cold.

A sentiment Morrigan deeply shares.

"I know," they murmur soothingly to the engine of their pickup. They inch closer to the hood. "You just need to start. It'll be warmer then."

It's a while before they find the problem. Morrigan is no mechanic. All they have is an understanding of how things work; a knowledge of progression from problem to solution. They futz with the engine, snuggling as close to the car as they can to get away from the snow caring their boots and hoot and hair.

Finally, something shifts. "Try it now," they yell over the wind.

JJ turns the key from inside the ratty pickup.

Several, heartbreaking seconds later, he lets go. "No dice," he shouts.

Morrigan sighs. Their breath would be visible in the air, if they could see anything to begin with. Back to trial and error.

They lean over the engine and study it thoroughly. Coolant, oil, power steering, all where they need to be. Everything between is complete and utter jargon. But if they don't fix this, JJ's going to freeze to death.

Cold is the problem. Getting the car started is the solution. There is no other way to keep JJ alive.

Humans are fragile. Morrigan despises it.

"Take a break, Mor, you're bluer than your eyes!"

"Can't," they yell back. "The pickup won't stop us from freezing if it's dead."

"Five minutes!"

They ignore him, focusing instead on a section of pipes, or tubes, maybe cords, from beneath a bigger piece of plastic. Something seems out of place here.

Morrigan closes their eyes for just a second. Just enough to reach for a manual, or any piece of information they might have downloaded in the past.

"--Morri, Mor, hey, there you are, you need to come inside the car right now."

"Jace...?"

It's suddenly much, much harder to see. They can't differentiate between the snow and the light warnings across their vision. Their ears are ringing.

"Yeah, it's me. C'mon."

The balance system shrieks as they're suddenly on their side, lifted from the ground. JJ deposits them unceremoniously inside the cab of the pickup, and climbs in after, slamming the door.

Without the howling of the wind, the ringing in their ears gets far louder.

"Morrigan, you can't do this, you can't work until there's nothing left. You're gonna get yourself killed."

"Can't die," they say matter-of-factly. Not like you. "Just get replaced."

JJ's hands still from where they were trying to rub warmth back into their fingers. He sighs, and squeezes. "I don't care, 'kay? Now focus on warming up. You feel like ice."

They internally click off the cooling system, forcing the inner components to carry their heat a little further through the body. Normally this would be dangerous, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

And if Jace Vela Journey is being serious, it's desperate times indeed.

Something heavy is placed on their shoulders and they flinch, slightly, at the new weight. "Here. You need it more than I do."

JJ looks far colder without his thick wool letterman on, the tank top beneath bare in the black interior.

"Hey, no," Morrigan tries to protest, but their jaw is suddenly clattering too much to get the words out. He's human, he'll die without it, he can't--

"Give me your hands," JJ says.

They can't move. Their joints have locked, clicking like ice. He takes their hands anyway, blowing hot breath on them, massaging it in.

Morrigan tries to tell him he's going to freeze to death. His blood will turn to ice. His skin will go white and dead, his body will shiver uncontrollably and then go horribly still, his eyes will close for the last time.

It's a logical progression from problem to solution.

Morrigan tries again to speak, but all that comes out is a jumble of noise.

"Hey," JJ says soothingly. "The storm will pass. It'll be okay. Just a long night."

They try to shake their head, and it jerks uncontrollably instead, a popping in their joint. Their body is too cold to function.

"Relax." JJ pulls them against him, and rubs a hand across their shoulder. "It'll be alright. I'll warm you up."

That's not what matters, Morrigan would scream. But nothing comes out.

Nothing but a strangled whimper.

It's going to be long, long night indeed.

--

and then the storm passes and they're warm and happy ANYWAY morri is so fun to write. i love their mental pathways. and jj apparently is just incredibly huggable. i think i want to hug him

thank you for the ask bug!!! i hope this is satisfactory?

[dutybcrne]

HSR verse Kaeya ideas:

Path of Nihility, Element Ice

Fell in stride with that path due to his depression after his conflict with Diluc and belief his fate due to his family's ties to the Abyss Order may be to bring his new homeworld's doom ( in part because of his Father's final words to him ), maintained in growing to find amusement in the impossible and working towards it regardless of the fact

Has every intention to try and defy his so-called fate even still, even knowing all that effort may be for naught in the end. But at least he would like to say he tried

Tends to help people on a whim, without desiring credit for his actions or if it may help them in the long run

His abilities sap the vitality of his enemies, but consume his own when he uses his strongest ability

Due to his family's contract with the Abyss Order, his lifespan is longer than most humanoids, spanning centuries. Though not quite that of a Xianzhou native, like them, his people do still face a terrible curse to become monsters after a time, like many of the Abyss Order.

He is glad his loved ones will never live to see him succumb to it. One way or another.

Though he also secretly harbors the strongest desire to force the Abyss's immortality on them to ensure they can stay with him, and face the same fate. He has to wonder if the slumbering monster in him is to blame for that, or his own attachments

[one-winged-dreams]

I feel so fucking dead inside over this recent WoW fuckery but I have to say, going from the WoW mutual to the Squeenix mutual is not the direction I expected things to go

[shadowlinktheshadow]

late night doodles do be hitting different 😔

[cardcaptorsakura96]

A Change in Plans

Fandom: Supergirl

Characters: Lena Luthor, Kara Danvers, Alex Danvers

Summary: Kara has the perfect wedding proposal planned. However, outside forces altered what she had in mind.

Note: Did this for Fluffcember with a bonus choice of Cookies

Kara stood staring at a blue sunflower print dress that she had in her closet. It was the same dress that she wore on her first date with Lena. She smiled when she thought about it. She was so nervous about botching everything. However, the night went perfectly. They held hands while they walked to the park and had a picnic near the lake. It ended with them wrapped in a blanket watching the sunset set. The sun setting over the lake caused the lake to turn into beautiful hues of pinks, blues, and purples. It was as breathtaking as watching the marvel across Lena’s face. 

Today was their one year anniversary and she wanted to recreate that date with Lena, but with a twist. Hidden in the picnic basket, she had an engagement ring and bracelet. Sam and Alex had been spies for her and told Kara the engagement rings that Lena had been looking at when she didn’t think anyone was noticing. She was able to get it from Lena’s favorite jeweler several days ago. It was a pink heart-shaped diamond ring with a silver band. She had inscribed inside the band: You are my heart and soul. Now and forever. She went to the Fortress of Solitude to have Kelex recreate the wedding bracelet her mom had. It nearly made her tear up thinking about it. The bracelet had her family’s crest surrounded by gold. Wedding bracelets hold a special meaning in Kryptonian culture. Not only was it an announcement of your love, but it was showing the world that you wanted to spend eternity with that special someone. It was very significant because marriage in Krypton was not something that was taken lightly since divorce was heavily frowned upon. Only a couple of people in Kryptonian history have done so. Kara couldn’t wait to put the bracelet around Lena’s wrist. They had about an hour before she had to leave to pick up her custom-order picnic basket from Noonan’s, place the ring and bracelet inside the basket, and then take Lena to the park, but Kara was a bundle of energy. She thought about going patrolling to burn off some steam but changed her mind when she smelt something pleasant coming from outside the room. She followed the smell until she got to the kitchen. She smiled when she saw Lena in the kitchen taking out a tray of cookies. 

Kara bounced over to her smiling and exclaimed, “I didn’t know that you were making cookies!” 

She looked at the cookies further and noticed they were her favorite: Reese’s peanut butter cookies. Each cookie was several inches high with a soft center. 

While her mouth watered, she said, “You made my favorite.”

Lena smiled, caressed her face, and said, “It is a special day, and I wanted to do something special that showed that you mean everything to me.”

Kara smiled and said, “You mean the world to me too.”

Kara leaned to kiss Lena. Kara wrapped her arms around her and Lena leaned into the embrace. They kissed for a couple of moments until they heard a sudden pop. They leaned back, opened their eyes, and saw that they were in darkness. 

Before they could say anything else, the lights came back on again. 

Kara smirked and said, “I guess our love nearly overloaded the electricity.”

Lena chuckled while swatting playfully at Kara’s arm and said, “You are incorrigible.”

Kara smirked and said, “You know you love it.”

Lena smirked and said, “Always.”

Lena leaned forward and kissed Kara once more. They stayed like that for a couple of moments before Lena pushed herself back. Kara looked up at her pouting. 

Lena chuckled and said, “I know you want to keep going, but I want to finish making the cookies. Before they cool off, I need to soak them in the honey mixture that you like so much.”

Kara beamed. She loved the honey glaze that Lena used on the cookies. The Reese’s peanut butter cookies did taste great without it. However, the addition of the glaze brought the cookie up to the top tier.

Kara sighed and said, “I will get out of your way.”

Lena chuckled and said, “I just need 10 minutes and then you can have a cookie.”

Kara smiled and kissed Lena on the cheek. 

“Alright, I will just check my work emails for a bit.”

Lena smiled and said, “Perfect.”

Kara bounced out of the room looking for her work computer until she noticed something strange out of the corner of her eye. The door that led to the balcony showed it had ice forming on it. She went towards it, opened the door, and balked at what she saw. There was a full-blown blizzard happening outside. Considering they were near Los Angeles, this was not the norm. She quickly closed the door and called Alex. She answered on the first ring. 

“Hello,” said Alex. 

“Hey, have you seen what is going on outside?” asked Kara. 

Alex sighed and said, “Yes, I see the snow.”

Kara frowned and said, “It is not just snow. It is a snowstorm happening out there. The visibility is so low that I can only see a couple of inches in front of me.”

“I know. We got reports from Metropolis of Superman and the Flash fighting the Weather Wizard. He caused a snowstorm to appear. The Flash and Superman were able to destroy the machine the Weather Wizard was using, but the storm he created was in the atmosphere and has been heading west ever since. It has been losing force believe it or not since traveling. Metropolis got hit with 20 feet of snow. They are predicting here that we will get 8 feet.”

“Is there no way to stop it?”

“No, at this point, it will be waiting for the storm to dissipate on its own. The scientists believe that the storm will peter out around Hawaii in about 8 hours.”

Kara groaned. That nixed the perfect proposal plan she had tonight. 

“I know that you had plans with Lena tonight, but maybe you can do the proposal another time.”

Kara sighed, “Maybe.”

Read the rest on AO3

[beauzos]

i got a snow day c:

[ashintheairlikesnow]

The Least

CW: Hypothermia, environmental whump, referenced pet whump, this is genuinely a comf piece though

Follows after this piece. You can see other work Marc Sonders is in right here. For @amonthofwhump day 5, Trapped in a Blizzard

-

A knock sounds at the door, but Marc doesn’t dare move out from under the blankets, even just to answer it. He’s not even sure he can. 

He’s still shivering, muscles locking and releasing so intensely and so close together that he isn’t sure he’d be able to stay standing even if he did try to get up. All he does is briefly peek his head out from under the blankets and say, in a tremulous voice, “C-come in!”

The door doesn’t lock, anyway.

Not from the inside.

It’s made to keep him in, not keep anyone else out. Even if it was unlocked, he’d never make it back into the town before he froze out there in the snowstorm. It’s coming down too hard, too fast, and it’s so cold Marc can barely stand to breathe in the air. It’s like knives stabbing deep into his lungs.

He’s in a little shack of a space just outside of Hope, far enough away that the residents aren’t frightened of his presence, but close enough for interrogations. So far, he’s answered every question they give him, and Brock thanked him for not being trouble. He’d explained to Marc, in his friendly enough voice, that he’s never felt easy having to make someone scream.

Me neither, Marc had confessed, and Brock’s thin humorless smile told him that his attempt to connect had not exactly been a resounding success. 

Between you and the person you were doing harm to, Brock had said in a level voice, only one of you held the remote, Handler Sonders. Only one of you held a whip. Only one of you held any power to stop it.

Right, but it didn’t-... feel like-... I’m sorry. Please, call me Marc. I’m not a handler anymore.

You and I both know that handlers don’t have the option to simply quit. You remain Handler Sonders until and unless I change my mind. You see, Handler, between the two of us... only one of us has the key to that door. Only one of us can order you buried in the woods or up on the mountain.

Marc swallowed around a lump in his throat. Only... only one of us has the power, he echoed.

Brock smiled. Precisely, Handler Sonders. Your cooperation so far is appreciated. We’ll be voting on allowing you out in another few days.

Then he had left Marc here, sometime... yesterday. Just before the snow started to fall, and the temperature dropped from chilly to dangerously freezing in what felt like ten minutes but in all reality, probably took a couple of hours. Now he’s out here, in a shack-house located inside a fenced-in horse pasture. The horses are settled snugly tight into a stable, now, a big barn that looks like a painting against the view of the mountains in the distance, the forest where the secret road to the border winds through. Marc has seen people trudging in and out to keep them fed, caught a flash of heavy woolen horse blankets slid over their backs. They’re warm enough. 

It’s just Marc who is freezing, slowly, maybe to death.

Maybe that’s how they get rid of handlers out here. Maybe they held the vote, he failed, and now... this. He’ll stay locked alone in a single room with almost nothing in it. He’ll lay here, isolated, until he loses his mind. He can’t say he’d blame them, really. Not after what he’s been party to.

The key turns in the lock, the door pushes open inward, and Marc’s first thought is simply of the white.

Snow is piled up two feet high against the door, some of it spilling downward and not even melting much when it touches the little shack’s floor. That’s… probably not good. 

Heavy snow boots crunch down onto the floor, thickly padded quilted snow pants shaking white powder off, heavy gloves that barely resemble hands and a ski coat, gloves, face mask, and fur-lined hood. The figure is short, but with all that on, Marc can’t begin to tell who it is, other than to know it isn’t Beringer.

Ber’s taller than that, and he wouldn’t leave Mallie alone, not to come out here. 

Not that they’ve let them see each other more than once or twice, and it’s been at least two days since the last visit. Two days since Ber had last pressed a quick, rushed kiss to his lips and Mallie had wrinkled her nose and declared them both very gross and then cried when Beringer had to pull her out of Marc’s arms. 

Ber is probably already in Canada, honestly. They’d want to get him up to the border ahead of the storm. Marc wouldn’t hold it against him. If he took Mallie with him, well, that’s good, too, even though it makes Marc’s entire chest burn and ache and tears sting his eyes at the idea of his little girl being somewhere where he can’t see her again.

It’s okay, though. Someone else can do a better job raising her to know right from wrong. God knows Marc’s fucked her up just by making the choices he made, choices he thought would help him afford a good life for her, but what’s a good life if you’re not actually good? Beringer knew being a pet was wrong even while he was one. Marc had to figure it out from conversations over Mallie’s little head with a man who seemed to catch his attention more every day at drop off and pickup, until he realized…

He had a crush on a pet.

Not wanting him like the prospectives want them. Not wanting him like a body, but wanting to know the person inside of it. He had wanted to know who Beringer had been before, and had let himself go hunting for information he wasn’t supposed to have to find out. He’d asked about his favorite tv shows and really cared about the answer.

He’s been a bad guy in so many lives, and he never felt happy about it but a job’s a job, right? You have to make a living. WRU made it so he could have a house with a backyard for Mallie to play in, so he could take her to the doctor when she was sick and buy ridiculous cakes for birthdays. WRU had made sure he could pay for Mallie to go to private school - there’s a tuition reimbursement for half the cost, for God’s sake! - and get braces one day… 

It had seemed like a good enough trade - someone else’s life, some stranger’s, made worse to make his better. It had seemed like a good trade… until it wasn’t, any longer. Until he’d realized what it meant to have other lives torn apart to sew together your own.

Yeah… yeah, he won’t blame the people in Hope if they let him freeze to death out here. He deserves it, and more. 

The person in the doorway shoves it shut behind them, dropping a heavy knapsack to the floor and groaning with relief. Then they shove the ski goggles back from over their eyes, pull off the face mask, and Marc realizes who it is, blinking with surprise as he pushes himself up on one elbow, even as his body protests every movement. 

“Rye,” He says, and the young man’s face breaks into a wide smile. 

“You remembered my new name!”

“Course I d-did. It’s a good one. Did… B-Brock s-s-send you?” 

“Yeah. I brought some stuff for you. The others still don’t want you in the town, um, safety reasons. But with the snow…” Rye glanced at a window, watching the snow continuing to fall in great heavy flakes, so close together it felt more like fog than frozen rain. “And the temperature… you’re not safe out here, there’s no real heat in this place. The blizzard’s going to go at least one more day, we think.”

“Yeah.” Marc’s breath puffs out in front of him, making a new cloud right inside the room. “I kn-know. I’m sh-sh-shaking pretty bad, actually… And my h-h-hands feel… well, th-they don’t feel m-m-much…”

“Yeah. So I brought some stuff. You shouldn’t be, um, frostbitten or anything else just yet. You just stay there.” Rye holds up a gloved hand, and Marc settles back into the bed, watching him. The younger man shuffles around, opening up the heavy backpack - it’s one of those army-style things that can hold a hundred pounds of stuff without bursting. The Rye he knew had been lithe and couldn’t possibly have hauled that kind of weight around. But this Rye - he looked a little older, of course, but also stronger. There’s a hint of muscle to him that he hadn’t had before. It looks good, he looks… healthy. Happy.

Marc smiles, watching from beneath the dubious protection of his blankets as Rye starts pulling things out of the knapsack. 

First, a thick plastic square like fogged bathroom windows after a hot shower that Rye tapes over the single window in the shack, his lips pressed together in concentration. Almost immediately, some of the chilly drafty breeze simply stops making its way inside. 

Then, something in a box that he sets down on the little wooden table with its single chair. Marc squints - it’s little heating pads, the kind that you crack and then hold as they warm you. He nearly lunges off the bed for it, startling Rye so badly the kid trips over himself and nearly falls back into the wall.

“Sorry! I’m sorry, just, I’m s-so cold-”

“No, it’s okay, go ahead, you. I just didn’t expect-” Rye laughs, breathy and nervous. “I guess I’m still kind of flinchy from… before I ran away.”

Marc’s useless numb fingers somehow manage to clumsily paw open the box and pull out one of the packs, listening to its crack with a thin trickle of hope as he breaks it. The warmth starts slow, at first, and then all at once and he retreats back into his blankets to hold it tightly until his fingers start to tingle and burn as the feeling fully returns to them. It hurts, but it’s so good to know he can feel things that he doesn’t even care.

“I’m sorry,” He says, looking up to meet Rye’s eyes.

He’s glad the younger man isn’t that close to him. He knows he would smell, if this place wasn’t so frozen he can’t even sweat. He needs a shower, like, three or four days ago now - but really, isn’t this what he deserves? Didn’t he lead trainees with hair matted to their skulls from overwork, or a week in isolation, to the showers more than once?

Even if all he did was look down at his phone and let them have any privacy they could find - even if he never, ever had his own trainees go into iso - he still escorted other trainees as a favor to coworkers. He still saw how they looked at him, worried he would touch them or frightened that he wouldn’t. He still ignored his prickling unease every time a trainee put a hand on his arm to try and curry favor by giving away the only thing they had left to trade.

Even if he said no, every time, he still knew it happened.

And he still worked there.

Hell, he sat across the lunch table in the cafeteria chatting about TV shows and football games with guys he knew had been beating the shit out of someone who couldn’t fight back a half-hour before.

“It’s not your fault,” Rye says, shrugging.

Marc shakes his head. “No, it r-really is.” He watches Rye set up a tiny little space heater in one corner, close to the bed he lays on and facing him. When it clicks on, he’s almost fascinated by the soft buzz and the way, after a few seconds, he can feel a touch of warmth against his cheek. “I could have taken you to a safehouse, or something-”

“Wouldn’t have gone, probably. I don’t know. I don’t like to think about it, the-... the Facility. Training and all that.” Rye lays a blanket over him, one that’s silvered like foil on one side. “Juliet sent this for you, it’s hers. She’s, um. She came here and got stuck out in the cold, too, before they found her, and she says these blankets are worth their weight in gold. She keeps seven in her room.”

“Seven?”

“Seven. She says you never know when you’ll freeze and need them. I think she’s a little scared of cold, now.”

Marc nods. He’s already warming, with the tiny heating pad under the heavy blankets. His toes start to tingle, too, inside the three pairs of socks he’s wearing. “Don’t blame her. I might not be so happy with it, either. Rye, can I ask-... my daughter. Is she-”

“She’s in town, she’s safe. She’s asking for you, a lot, but Brock wants to wait until he can finish asking you questions. Then maybe he’ll have some smugglers take you up to the border or something.”

Marc swallows, his heart nervously fluttering, and forces himself to ask the next question. “And… and the person I came with. Beringer, is he… did he leave, or…”

“Are you kidding?” Rye looks up, and then smiles. His face is full of kindness, just like it was in training. He was such a good trainee, worked his ass off in his classes, just rocketed through every step. Marc had really liked him.

He’d really enjoyed the company of the poor kid he was helping train to spend his life counting pills to make sure some old lady took them on time-

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “No, I just-... did he make it to Canada before the snow? At least?”

“No. But, hey wait, don’t get upset or anything, I just mean… he didn’t leave. He stayed.”

“He… he stayed?”

“Yeah. He said he won’t go anywhere unless he can take you with him. So he’s watching your daughter while Brock figures everything out.”

Marc’s exhale comes out of him so fast it’s almost an oof, which makes Rye break into soft laughter. Marc puts his burning hands up over his face and finds he could almost sob with relief he hadn’t quite realized he would feel. He won’t go anywhere unless he can take you with him. “Thanks… thanks for telling me. It helps to know.”

“He really likes you, I guess.” Rye pulls out a thermos and a bag of crackers. “We had beef and vegetable soup for lunch. I got you some, plus there’s some cornbread in here, too. It should still be really hot. Oh, and... hold on, Juliet sent some coffee...”

“Thanks… thank you.” Marc pushes himself up to seated, keeping the blankets wrapped tightly around him, and finds his hands working well enough to hold the thermos if he keeps it balanced on his leg. The soup steams up out of it, and he inhales salt and beef broth smell with delight. Has soup ever smelled so good?

Rye hesitates, watching him, and then sits down at the little table. “Handler Sonders-”

“Please, just Marc. I quit, like I said. Or, well, I kind of walked off the job. But please... I don’t want to be called that shit anymore. I ran away.”

“Just like me.” Rye grins, and he has a bright and shining smile, the kind you find yourself answering whether you mean to or not. 

Marc shakes his head, spooning a bit of soup into his mouth and trying not to make an audible sound of happiness as it nearly burns his tongue. Outside the taped-up plastic-covered window, the blizzard is getting heavier. “Not really. You… you ran because of what was done to you. I ran because of what I did.”

“But you decided not to do it anymore.”

“... Yeah, pretty much.” 

“Well, that counts for something.”

“Does it?”

“To me it does.”

Marc takes another bite. This time he can taste the beef a little bit better, gets a chewy bite of it, a bit of carrot that nearly melts as fast as he spoons it up. “So what made you choose the name Rye?”

“I don’t know. I just liked it, the sound of it. Juliet calls me Rye Bread sometimes.” Rye smiles. The little shack is warmer now, with the little heater hard at work, the window taped, and the good company. “I don’t mind, she’s not nice but she’s, um, kind, you know? She’ll do anything for you but she might ask you why you did it the wrong way the first time.”

“I think kind is probably better than nice.” Marc thinks about Rye as a trainee, skinnier then. He’s put on weight, it looks good on him. Weight, muscle, and a brighter smile. “I tried to be nice, but what I did was… evil, not kind. Can you stay for a while?”

Rye glances back outside at the falling snow, then turns back and nods. “Sure. For a little bit. Not like we can do most of our chores in weather like this, anyway.”

“Great. I just… tell me about your life.”

“What part?”

“... everything since the last time I saw you.”

The way Rye brightens at interest and attention is sickeningly familiar, but Marc fights past it. He does want to know, to see what Rye made of himself when he created his own identity, after the Facility took the first one and he decided to shake off the second. He does want to know who Rye really is, now. 

“Uh… okay, yeah, sure. So, you remember my prospective…”

The snow falls, and Marc finds himself wishing he’d known how to walk off the job when he could have taken Rye, too, but finds that in the end… in the end, it doesn’t matter. Rye found his own way here, and so did all the others in the little town.

Marc wants to know them all.

It’s the least he can do.

-

@burtlederp @finder-of-rings @arlinthesnep @endless-whump @doveotions @emdeighamae @wildfaewhump @whump-tr0pes @hackles-up @orchidscript 

[drawnecromancy]

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Renia of Neseah

Second oldest at 41 years old, she is a painter and a traveler more than she is a princess, and only dresses this fancily when forced to. You likely won't even find her in the castle, but wandering somewhere looking like a regular ass adventurer.

Notes.

Was raised with very particular and thorough education, as if she was the heiress, just in case something happened to Laevna.

She absolutely hated it, and even if Laevna died, would not take the throne. She'd rather disappear.

Secretly dating the prince Vamir of Elfen... the grandson of Keryth of Elfen A.K.A the man who'd go on to murder her entire family, including her.

Secretly wrote a series of books that is very popular in Neseah.

She does a lot of things secretly and sprinkles out clues for her siblings and parents to piece it together, as enrichment. In another universe she'd probably make ARGs online.

After her death, she does become a ghost - like many people who died that day. She isn't capable of turning corporeal or being seen, but she does watch over Vamir to this day.