#first aid burns

[silence-ofthe-llamas]

More Mech Au-Au!

Swindle-orientated chapter, with sprinkles of TexAid.

Swindle smiled at everyone.

He smiled at those he was happy with, he smiled at those who had pissed him off, he smiled at those he was making deals with, the list was endless.

The only time he didn’t smile was when he was on his own. The door would click closed behind him, the lock automatically engaging, and the facade would slide from his face.

This all had to be worth it. It had to. He’d risked so much already, he was gambling at stakes he couldn’t pay. Failure would mean death, death for all five of them, and as such, failure was unacceptable.

He’d promised Onslaught.

Vortex was a source of pride for him - a prototype mech who had survived against all odds, plumping up his resume handsomely. The only surviving AI from that round and the round that came after - against all odds, Vortex had persisted. He hadn’t self destructed like his own cohort had, he hadn’t lost his sense of reality, he didn’t completely lose himself. He remained exactly who he was, for better or for worse. The discussions of destroying him once he’d begun to show his more aggressive tendencies were terrifying, sending Swindle scrambling for ways to extract Vortex from the mech. They didn’t get this far just to be treated like they were disposable. Had they forgotten that they were real people they’d trapped within the metal? What did it matter that they were slated to die anyway? That didn’t mean they could just be destroyed when they became inconvenient, there was supposed to be a due process. They were owed that much.

Swindle hung up his hat and ran his hand through his hair. Fuck. They’d gotten so lucky with that boy – Felix, right? That was his name, and Swindle has a vague recollection of his name meaning luck. Good for them that he lived up to it – they were lucky that he was persistent and determined, lucky that Vortex seemed to like him. His teammate liked to play with his food, and it seemed he was settling in to give First Aid a good long chew. Which was good! It meant Vortex was unknowingly buying himself some more time whilst he looked for ways to extract him and put him in something else. Anything else would do at this point - shit, he could be his toaster and burn his toast for eternity. At least he’d still be alive and he wouldn’t be left alone again.

Shit. How depressing. How did this become their only option?

Swindle kicked off his shoes, neatly placing them away onto the rack, and shrugged off his jacket

“I want to make them burn in hell.”

He’d done it because he had to. He took no pleasure in what happened to his team after he gave the wrong people the right intel - but it was this, or they’d all be dead. Like, dead-in-the-ground-dead. Skullfucked by maggots dead. Not on ice, not in giant suits of armour with guns and swords bigger than buildings, dead. Dead and forgotten, and it would be all five of them. Nobody alive to fight in their corner, nobody to keep them as safe as they could, nobody to do what needed to be done.

The screams didn’t haunt him like they used to. While they were still alive, skulking around the research centre with tags and monitors and cables and cameras on them at all times, people did terrible things to them. Trepan was the most frightening. He was enraptured with the idea of creating super soldiers. That’s what they’d tried at first - they’d needed warm, fresh, and living bodies - and who would notice if a mercenary group went missing? Everyone would just assume that they had died, and that would be that. They wouldn’t even look for their corpses.

Vortex had been the most difficult one for them to deal with. He was rude, unruly, and dished back what he was given. At one point they’d had to strap him down Hannibal style just to give him his injections - after they’d removed his prosthetic arm when he’d slashed through the restraints and three researchers with the hidden blade, he’d taken to biting down hard enough to rip chunks of flesh from the researchers instead. Vortex would laugh through the blood that dripped down his chin, but he’d always ended up screaming.

Brawl was freakishly quiet. He would press his palms to his temples, his eyes dull and face gaunt. Swindle would never admit how it made his insides churn, how guilt had ravaged him into sleepless nights. They all screamed, they all cried through the agony of it, but it was the worst when they were quiet. His team wasn’t meant to be quiet. They were always doing something, saying something. Vortex was always pissing off Blast Off, winding him up like a younger sibling did to an older one. Brawl was always playing music far too loud in his headphones. Onslaught was much quieter, but he was his own kind of orchestra of sound. A gun being cleaned, turning pages, the squeak of leather.

They weren’t in the research facility. They were shadows of themselves.

Onslaught had always given Swindle his looks though. No blame. No fault given. Thankful. They’d made a promise, after all. They’d agreed that this was what they would do, how it would happen. Anything that gave them longer to figure out what the fuck they were going to do.

The experiments were a failure. All it gave them were broken men. But that only gave them perfectly usable test subjects for something else, for another failing project.

Trepan had asked Swindle personally who he would volunteer as their first test subject. Who did he think had the best chance of success? Who did he think would make the best immortal warrior?

The cockroach, he’d replied. Vortex was fucking impossible to kill. He’d seen him getting himself blown up multiple times. He’d had to pay to fix his face, he’d had to pay to fix his spine, he’d had to pay for that damn prosthetic and every single hospital stay to stitch him back together. And not once had the man been touched by death. If a nuclear bomb were to fall on them, he was convinced Vortex would emerge unscathed and demanding a cigarette.

He was also extremely resistant to control. He despised being told what to do. Onslaught was an exception because he had actually made an effort to build a rapport with him, it was a relationship built on mutual respect and understanding. And Trepan? Every single scientist in this building? Vortex would rend them to dust and ash if they even entertained the thought of controlling him.

It was a hopeful moment, a glimpse into an optimistic future. Vortex would lose his humanity, but they would all regain their freedom.

But good things didn’t favour terrible men.

Fuck, he wanted a cigarette.

The photoshoot with Blurr was overrunning. It was already eleven o’clock at night - they’d been at this since 10 in the morning, working hard to get their perfect shots. The photogenic mechanics (paid actors). The intelligent engineers (more paid actors). The trustworthy medics (yet more paid actors). Their only non-actor was Blurr, but even then he was just their show dog. He wasn’t actually a pilot, not in the traditional sense. He wasn’t deployed, he was paraded.

Blurr would want to talk after, to natter away about something or other, to get a drink together and maybe a bite to eat, but Swindle just wanted to go to bed. He was tired. Exhausted. Going into his teammates lockers to grab a photograph had just dug up old memories from where he’d buried them, and he’d woken up with Vortex’s screams in his native tongue ringing in his ears, unable to get back to sleep. He could still hear it between the sounds of the camera shutter.

First Aid seemed to be a nice enough kid. He got on well with others, he did his job without complaint, and he was efficient. He didn’t dally around when he was to clamber into Vortex, he was quick and to the point - and, Swindle noticed with growing curiosity, he studiously avoided touching his controls.

If only the pilots were smart enough to pick up on that. Shame, really. It was starting to get real expensive to keep this quiet.

So it was with quiet horror that he watched as First Aid was trapped within the cockpit, the medic accompanying him collapsing to the floor as blood spurted up the glass from where his leg used to be.

He found himself hissing through his teeth. Don’t do anything stupid, Tex!

When First Aid stumbled out looking like his first pilot he’d ever had did, Swindle felt a grim mood take over him. How hard was it to fucking behave? To not do something so unbelievably stupid? To not get himself killed? Apparently it was too much for Vortex to fucking control himself.

But First Aid had been okay. The next day he was as chipper and chirpy as ever with full recollection of the previous day. He’d thought it was funny.

And that’s when Swindle knew that the boy was their chance. If he could survive Vortex, if Vortex was allowing him to live, then they had to seize the opportunity they could.

Nobody listened. Nobody fucking listened. They were repatriating children in biohazard bags, not even a hand left intact for their loved ones to hold as they said goodbye, and they weren’t listening to him.

They needed Felix Anwyl in that mech. Now. He was sick of watching lambs being offered up for sacrifice. Vortex was a malicious bastard but even he would get bored of it all eventually - and from where Swindle was standing, he saw a much better chance of getting their brothers online if Vortex settled down and stopped acting like he was possessed by the devil.

Seeing Felix sprinting towards Vortex in a pilots suit that didn’t fit him, Swindle discretely cleared the way. He distracted the officers with him, had them avert their eyes for a second to let him pass. He redirected people, he gave distractions, he delayed who he could to buy First Aid much needed time to get to the mech before that cadet took a single step inside. Vortex would kill them for the intrusion, he’d explicitly had enough of it and was demanding what was his. His words in the morning memos were enough.

Swindle was out of options. He needed to get First Aid into that mech before they stamped the paperwork to render the supposed AI obsolete and for the scrap heap.

He didn’t have a toaster ready for him yet.

Prowl had looked thunderous on the catwalk. So had Pharma. He had to fight to keep his grin at bay - he had to press his hand to his lips to hide it when Vortex began yelling ‘mine’ through the walkie talkie.

Oh, he really liked this one.

Pharma had kicked up the biggest fuss. He didn’t want to lose his precious medic.

Swindle checked his file. First Aid hadn’t been on any major medical assignments since the previous year, and there was no record of why. No particular displeasures, no signs of any faults or major errors, any need to retrain, or competencies lapsing and requiring reassessment. Pharma had just decided to force First Aid away from his job in some bizarre, inexplicable act.

He’d grabbed him by the collar and hissed into his ear that the blood was on his hands. That if he wanted to keep First Aid, then he could be the one to clear the mech out, that he would be the one to write to the families and explain what had happened.

Pharma had opened his mouth and begun to say something about a punishment, but Swindle placed his finger to his lips and shook his head.

“It’s not on his record.” He reminded him, tapping the file. “Do you want to incriminate yourself? Right here?”

And so he’d received the stamp of approval that evening. The ink was still wet as he shook Pharmas hand, the man holding his too tightly.

First Aid seemed to like Vortex too.

Pilots didn’t usually go and hang out with their mechs. They liked to be near them – apparently there was something about the connection that had them bond in such a way that they liked to be close to them, that they’d feel drawn towards them, but First Aid’s seemed to be almost excessive. At every free opportunity, he was there. If you couldn’t find him, the advice was to check Vortex – he’d probably be in the cockpit reading a book or listening to music, or he’d be elbow deep cleaning out the joints from the gunk the clean up crew didn’t manage to get. If it was a meal time and he wasn’t in his room or in the cafeteria, he was with Vortex.

His secondary role on base was still, technically, a medic – but Pharma had made it clear that he wasn’t welcome back in the medical bay. He’d made his bed, so to speak – if he wanted to be a pilot, then he’d be one, but it was at the sacrifice of his oath to medicine, so he wasn’t allowed to perform it. He was left to spin his wheels, to attend training sessions when they could run them for him (it was an open secret that he wasn’t a pilot, but a secret it was) and scratch his arse until the alarm went off and he was marked for deployment.

Swindle didn’t know that Pharma could hold such a grudge. He’d made a mental note to never piss him off.

A few times, when Swindle couldn’t sleep and was on a walk, he’d seen First Aid slipping into Vortex. He’d raised his brows at that.

Swindle didn’t know how Vortex hadn’t squished him yet.

Vortex fell back into the Shatterdome, rain thundering down on his armour sounding like the roar of a passing train. Sparks erupted from the gaping hole where his shoulder used to be, two of his back blades torn free and the remaining hanging on by rapidly breaking cables. The mech fell to its knees, catching itself on its remaining arm, its visor flashing a single message over and over.

OBJECTIVE ONE: PROTECT THE PILOT.

For the first time, Vortex had obeyed the objective embedded into each of their mechs. Protect the pilot. More than that, he’d brought him straight back to them.

Swindle watched him in quiet awe.

Wow. He really liked this one.

When the radio had cut out in a roar of static, Swindle had half expected Vortex to stay out on the front and continue his slaughter like he usually did when his pilot died, but instead he watched as the red dot that symbolised Vortex on the screen instead turned around and began sprinting back to the Shatterdome, ignoring all of the targets around him, ignoring when a quintesson got a good hit on him, barrelling past the other deployed mechs. Mission Control received multiple communications from the other pilots out in the field, confused calls from the crews of the helicopters monitoring from above - Vortex wasn’t responding. Vortex was moving entirely independently - his pilot was unresponsive and his life signal was so weak it could easily have been the electricity from the cables exposed to the elements being detected instead.

His walkie talkie crackled as Vortex looked directly at the large room Mission Control sat in overlooking the hangar. A voice he hadn’t heard in years ground out.

“He dies, everyone dies.”

Swindle swallowed hard, and nodded.

“Tex?” The voice was weak and unrecognisable. Swindle realised it must have been Felix. He was alive and conscious enough to speak - Swindle was already waving off people trying to get permission to do things, motioning for them to just get fucking on with it.

“Get that pilot out!” He hissed at them.

“It’s going to be okay.” Vortex promised. Swindle didn’t know his voice could get so soft.

“Stay put, Tex. Don’t move a muscle and unlock your emergency escape, the medics are here.” Swindle spoke into the walkie talkie. He received a few weird looks from those around him, but he ignored them. He’d field their curiosities later - for now, he had to focus on keeping Felix alive and figuring out how they were going to safely contain Vortex.

Fuck. He wished Onslaught had been activated. He’d know what to do. For a brief moment he wished their positions were reversed. He’d have handled all this shit so much better. Swindle would never tell him or ever admit it, but Onslaught was always the brains of the unit, he always had a plan. He’d probably have had all of them activated by now, brought the whole team back together again.

He chewed his bottom lip until it bled, the taste of copper stinging on his tongue.

The medic had to live. He had to. There was no protecting Vortex if he went on a murder spree - they could just about justify the pilots being pulverised inside of him, the difference between the cost to spec up and build and test a mech that was his equal vs the cost to train a new pilot was extraordinary. Vortex could, in theory, chew through a few hundred more pilots before they’d start to wonder if they should have just built a new mech. But to destroy a whole base?

Yeah. No. It would be significantly more difficult to justify it as a misidentified ‘protect the pilot’ protocol. Sure, he could argue that the base failed to save his pilot, but how would the mech know? Why did the mech identify the Shatterdome as a target? Clearly it was faulty, glitched, and needed to go.

Vortex was not one to be reasoned with. Swindle knew that all too well. There wasn’t going to be the opportunity to talk him down from his decision.

They succeeded, or they failed. That was it. One or the other. Felix survived, or everyone died.

God, he prayed that Felix was as much of a cockroach as Vortex was.

[koumystic]

Power couple thing: carrying around an object and taking it out unexpectedly just in case the day you have to tie up your subordinate or burn alive the king of demons

[mango-mya]

Btw every time someone depicts Anya as super shy and timid and cowardly an angel loses its wings and then dies

[bberry005]

season 2 of the pitt taking place on fourth of july is so funny. the cases they're gonna get are about to be ridiculous. one time i had to use my wilderness first aid training on myself because i was collecting sparklers from 8 year olds and held the hot part against my finger ON PURPOSE. they better lean into how hilarious that shit can be instead of it just being traumatic case after traumatic case because it's a holiday for the drama

[klanced]

katie your lawyer au tags have me on my knees I never thought guys in suits doing stuff would seem interesting but wow…wow. your mind

Thank u Anon this AU is incredibly indulgent for me.......... ok time 4 more world-building.

I think @heynhay's original idea of Keith & Lance working together at the same firm is best. For both plot reasons but also for my own morale LOL

So everyone works at a fairly large private firm that splits its practice and has some of its associates doing profit-driven law (i.e. corporate or finance) which subsidizes the public interest/service work that the other associates do.

The firm is like "Altea & Daibazaal LLP" or something. Yes I am implying that the firm was started by Alfor and Zarkon. Yes I am implying that Allura and Lotor are nepo babies.

I know I originally said that Keith and Lance were law school rivals but I've changed my mind... (RIP to the law school rivalry dynamics

Instead I'm making it so that Keith and Lance are the same age but Lance has been practicing longer because he went straight into law school after college. Whereas Keith started working after college and got like a Master's degree in Social Work or something before deciding on law school at 26. (I just think Keith is the kind of person who goes to law school later in life.)

Okay onto the specific Klance dynamics... Keith and Lance are both pushing 30 and are also literally lawyers so they are professional and serious about their work... But there is wiggle room for them to still be rivals :p

Lance and Keith are both junior associates at the firm. Lance has seniority because he's been at the firm longer but he's still a year or so away from formally becoming a senior associate.

Lance really, REALLY wants to make partner and he sees Keith as his biggest threat/rival because Keith is Shiro's little brother, and Shiro recently made partner at the firm, so Lance thinks Keith might be a nepo hire. Also some of the senior associates recently left the firm so now Lance is stuck showing Keith the ropes and he's lowkey super bitter about it.

Basically TLDR Lance starts off Not Liking Keith at all for various real or imagined reasons and begins a work rivalry with him. Keith doesn't actually GAF about making partner because he's only planning on working at the firm for a few years to help pay off his student loans, but Lance doesn't know that. However, Keith is a naturally very competitive person, and he also likes having Lance's attention, so Keith immediately goes all in on the rivalry.

Lance, internally: "This Fucking Guy."

Keith, internally: "I am so good at flirting."

The first few months are rough between them. However both are also incredibly productive in their work.

The romcom part of the AU kicks in once the two of them have to start working together on a huge high stakes civil case and they're both like wow.... *twirls hair* he's so competent.............. <3

Anyway misc. things:

TBH I have no idea what kind of law Keith and Lance might private practice... I'm also really torn on what Shiro, Allura, and Hunk would practice hdjsksdhedf

Pidge is hired on a fellowship for either environmental law or data security/privacy law.

Coran does employment law.

Keith went into law school planning on going into public interest/not-for-profit legal aid and swore he would never, ever do corporate law but then he saw his student loans and was like. Hm. Okay maybe some Biglaw is okay. And that's how he ended up at the firm.

Keith:

[rcbertleckie]

ive seen manny die so many times at this point i should be desensitized so why do i feel like staring at the wall for 8 days straight

[shyspider]

Chapter Summary: You survive Skywarp's teleportation, and try to manipulate your way towards your self-imposed responsibility. Sunstreaker and Drift exchange words.

Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Fandom: Transformers - All Media Types, The Transformers (IDW Generation One) Relationships: Soundwave & You, Shockwave & You, Skywarp & You, Rumble & You, Frenzy & You, Starscream & You, Prowl & You, Hot Rod | Rodimus & You, Drift | Deadlock & You, Sideswipe/You, Sunstreaker/You Characters: Soundwave, Shockwave, Starscream, Megatron, Skywarp, Thundercracker, Rumble, Frenzy, Ravage, Buzzsaw, Lazerbeak, Flatline - Character, Optimus Prime, Prowl, Bluestreak, Jazz, Omega Supreme, Wheeljack, Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, OCs, Background & Cameo Characters, You, Reader Additional Tags: Angst, Human Experimentation, Action/Adventure, Gunfire/firefights, Minor Character Death, Fear, Kidnapping, Graphic Violence, Manipulation, Trauma, Incorrect assumptions, Fluff, Developing Friendships, Romance (background), polyamory (background), Rescue Missions, 80s setting, Outer Space, biological mutations, Resurrection, You are a Medical Scientist, You/Reader has a name (kinda stuck with it now), You/Reader has a background for plot, Enemies to Friends, Captives to crushes, suggestive content, Sexual Content, Marked/Skippable explicit chapters, longfic, Hurt/Comfort, pre-MtMte/LL storyline, Canon Events rearranged, Implied/Referenced Character Death, attempted redemption, PTSD, Blood and Injury, Additional Warnings in Author's Notes

[johntorrington]

just put electrical tape on a hangnail in case you guys ever wondered how butch i am

[kittyrosecatqueen]

Hello🤗❤️

I hope you are well🌹

Can you help me get my voice heard

and share my family's story?🙏🏻

Can you Reblog my pinned post from my blog or donate 10$?

By helping to reblog my story, you could

save a family from death and war.🌹

Thank you very much🌸

🕊️❤️🌹🙏🏻

You sent this exact ask already, two separate times. Are you actually in desperate need that you don't know what else to do, or are you not who you say you are? If it's the former, I can try to help find you someone who's better able to help. If it's the latter...why?

[verysaint-tropez]

So he has dyed black hair, a leather jacket and a whole bunch of small eye tattoos

That's a look girl

[drinkthemlock]

a 23 year old girl literally DIED at the taylor swift show in rio yesterday bc the organizers prohibited people from bringing water from home into the stadium and sold 300ml water cups for 8~10 FUCKING reais in a heat of 40° C (104° F)— while it was feeling more like 60° C (140° F). This can’t be fucking real.

these people (the company organizing the show) should be tried for manslaughter/attempted murder bc there was literally no reason except utter greed to prohibit ppl from bringing water and selling water at such a price. absolutely no fucking reason. the singer had to literally STOP THE SHOW at some point bc there were ppl passing out from dehydration in the pit. in fact more than ONE THOUSAND people PASSED OUT FROM DEHYDRATION in that fucking show. Bel Rodrigues (famous br book influenced and swiftie) was one of the people who became sick during the show and said the nurse at the first aid stand offered Clonazepam to “calm her down” because she was near passing out from the extreme heat. Clonazepam is the main agent in a heavily restricted drug only administered with a medical prescription in Brazil, it being usually prescribed for people with anxiety or epilepsy bc it slows down your heartbeat, and the nurse offered it to her at a concert. I don’t think I need to explain how fucking dangerous that is.

And today the show was rescheduled for Monday 30 MINUTES before it started “to protect fans from the heat.” Girl? There where ppl there since 10 AM (the show was scheduled for abt 6 PM). These people had already been in the scorching heat all day. If they really cared about the poor girl who died they would’ve cancelled the show yesterday or at least early this morning. This was ultimately for nothing. Also!! There were a bunch of fans from other states, including the girl (and remember, Brazil is a gigantic country— traveling from one state to another is like an international trip for some people, esp poorer people who can’t afford a plane ticket and have to travel by bus, in some cases it being over a day’s journey), and even other countries— two of my friends were there today, and they met two Chilean girls who had plane tickets back home purchased for tomorrow.

Also, since this has triggered some prejudiced attacks from non-brazilian fans of taylor swift, it must be said: this is not the fans’ fault, this is not Rio’s fault, this didn’t happen because the show was in Brazil. It happened because the organizers (the organizers that taylor’s team chose, btw) are greedy pigs. And that’s it. A law might be passed prohibiting shows from disallowing bringing water from home and demanding that it is sold for free during them. Which might be the only good thing we’re getting out of this.

… and this all ties back to the one thing everyone fears: global warming boiling. I’ve lived in Rio my entire life, though I may be young, and my family has lived here since the 1920s and earlier, so they can confirm: it didn’t use to be this hot. It’s so hot, all. year. long. This year there was practically no winter! While part of the country is burning, the other being buried underwater because of out-of-season torrential rains. And it’s only gonna get worse.

[serapheseraphim]

Oh yeah there’s a chance that at some point in the future I’ll be involved in a group Mouthwashing cosplay with my friends in which I am Curly post-crash. I have never cosplayed before in my life.

[quivering-quill]

This is your reminder that you should not ice burns!! Ice is generally for injuries where you want to decrease blood flow, and decreasing blood flow to a burn can further damage the tissue. You should instead run cold water on it (ideally, since it stays cold), soak the area in cold water, or apply a cold wet cloth.

[bare1ythere]

The frustrating thing about university is that while I'm learning a lot about My Major it leaves me with very little time to dedicate myself to much else

[shyspider]

Chapter Summary: Confirmation is received: You are not where you're supposed to be. Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Fandom: Transformers - All Media Types, The Transformers (IDW Generation One)

Relationships: Soundwave & You, Shockwave & You, Skywarp & You, Rumble & You, Frenzy & You, Starscream & You, Prowl & You, Hot Rod | Rodimus & You, Drift | Deadlock & You, Sideswipe/You, Sunstreaker/You Characters: Soundwave, Shockwave, Starscream, Megatron, Skywarp, Thundercracker, Rumble, Frenzy, Ravage, Buzzsaw, Lazerbeak, Flatline - Character, Optimus Prime, Prowl, Bluestreak, Jazz, Omega Supreme, Wheeljack, Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, OCs, Background & Cameo Characters, You, Reader Additional Tags: Angst, Human Experimentation, Action/Adventure, Gunfire/firefights, Minor Character Death, Fear, Kidnapping, Graphic Violence, Manipulation, Trauma, Incorrect assumptions, Fluff, Developing Friendships, Romance (background), polyamory (background), Rescue Missions, 80s setting, Outer Space, biological mutations, Resurrection, You are a Medical Scientist, You/Reader has a name (kinda stuck with it now), You/Reader has a background for plot, Enemies to Friends, Captives to crushes, suggestive content, Sexual Content, Marked/Skippable explicit chapters, longfic, Hurt/Comfort, pre-MtMte/LL storyline, Canon Events rearranged, Implied/Referenced Character Death, attempted redemption, PTSD, Blood and Injury, Additional Warnings in Author's Notes

[acourtofquestions]

Hearth to hearth, the Flame of War went.

Over snow-blasted mountains and amongst the trees of tangled forests, hiding from the enemies that prowled the skies. Through long, bitterly cold nights where the wind howled as it tried to wipe out any trace of that flame.

But the wind did not succeed, not against the flame of the queen.

So hearth to hearth, it went.

To remote villages where people screamed and scattered as a young-faced woman descended from the skies on a broom, waving her torch high.

Not to signal them, but the few women who did not run. Who walked toward the flame, the rider, as she called out, "Your queen summons you to war. Will you fly?"

Trunks hidden in attics were thrown open. Folded swaths of red cloth pulled from within. Brooms left in closets, beside doorways, tucked under beds, were brought out, bound in gold or silver or twine. And swords-ancient and beautiful—were drawn from beneath floorboards, or hauled down from haylofts, their metal shining as bright and fresh as the day they had been forged in a city now lying in ruin.

Witches, the townsfolk whispered, husbands wide-eyed and disbelieving as the women took to the skies, red cloaks billowing. Witches amongst us all this time.

Village to village, where hearths that had never once gone fully dark blazed in answer.

Always one rider going out, to find the next hearth, the next bastion of their people.

Witches, here amongst us. Witches, now going to war.

A rising tide of witches, who took to the skies in their red cloaks, swords strapped to their backs, brooms shedding years of dust with each mile northward.

Witches who bade their families farewell, offering no explanation before they kissed their sleeping babes and vanished into the starry night.

Mile after mile, across the darkening world, the call went out, ceaseless and unending as the eternal flame that passed from hearth to hearth.

"Fly, fly, fly!" they shouted. "To the queen! To war!"

Far and wide, through snow and storm and peril, the Crochans flew.