#she screeeeeeeeches | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

madstronaut · 9 months ago

Text

omfg an update on an ongoing fic!! srsly lemme get my lipstick so i can give all my writers big fat kisses all over your faces <3

GAH I READ THE WHOLE FIC FROM THE START SO I CAN SAVOR IT AGAIN <333333

“There were brief, longing glances, but not much else.”

AAAAAAAAAAAH CHEWING ON THE BARS OF MY ENCLOSURE AS THE CHILDREN SAY

I also love this budding side bromance of graves x sputnik lmao ofc his all-American male ass would love the whole existential concept of sputnik and want to befriend him and make kissy noises at him

AND HIM CALLING NIKTO NIKKI? GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOD when i am in full babygirlification mode i call simon sisi keegan kiki and konig koko <3 <3 <3 <3

i would watch a yin-yang buddy cop show of nikto and graves’ adventures

i also like the idea that oh yeah paperwork was what was keeping nikto and sputnik apart LMAO nooo no no not the fact that hes a fucking hyena but he didnt fill out line 15 on form 10B and forgot to get his superior to sign it and also you were supposed to send a carbon copy not the whole thing and why didnt you check off Box C but you did incorrectly check off Box A and-

i now headcanon velikan as the paperwork king of shadow company

also the audacity of savanna puppy - you’re lucky your hot sir yupyup

i love once again the smol details of reader noting nikto’s eyes aren’t as bloodshot anymore and him babytalking (yes i assume when u swear at a pet its equivalent of babytalking in russian) sputnik <3

also i enjoyed reading (i swear i love torturing myself through fanfic sometimes) the imho very proper mood whiplash of what i assume facing down real conflict/firefights must be like with the mishmash of thoughts running through reader’s head but in the middle of musing about death and survival she goes “YO FUCK MY BOSS SRSLY I WILL STAY BIG MAD AT YOU FOR STOPPING ME FROM GROPING NIKTO AND VICE VERSA ALL I WANT” truly a whole mood

also real hero of the day here is sputnik lets face it, he gives nikto a bit of REM cycle boosts in the PM, tames shadow company CEO phillip graves, brings lost reader & co back to the team after the ambush, comforts her after she has a good cry, brings what i assume is a present to reader LMAO (cats bring dead rats and birds, dog bring sticks, and hyenas bring mauled terrorists, idk i dont make the rules here ok)

and OMG THE HUG? WITH NIKTO RUBBING HER BACK OFFERING HER COMFORT THIS TIME? AND THEN OMG THE KISS!! THE FUCKING KISS!! I SCREEEEEEEECHED MY FUCKIGN HEAD OFF LIKE A GODDAMN BANSHEE

I CAN DIE HAPPY RN I SWEAR TO GOD AND THEY HAVEN'T EVEN ACTUALLY KISSED YET LMAO I TELL YOU THE POWER OF FANFIC

sending so many *chefs kisses* your way keykey!!!!

Gun Run

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 |

I'm so sorry this is late !! I couldn't write it when I was intending to because I felt super bad. I hope you enjoy lol

Cross-posted on Ao3

It had been radio silence between the two of you, since the incident. There were brief, longing glances, but not much else.

He didn’t look awful, thankfully. His eyes looked tired, you could tell. After seeing him truly well-rested it was easy to see the difference, but they weren’t red and puffy. The biggest difference, however, was the beast that stayed behind him, just at his heels.

Velikan had explained it to you - a fluffy animal he had gotten after a mission with his last PMC. Sputnik, he had named it. The hyena was making quite the splash with KorTac at the moment.

You stood, far enough away to make sure König noted you weren’t standing next to Nikto, watching as Graves was absolutely mesmerized by the creature. The blondish American man had meat laid out in a stretched open palm, watching with wide eyes as the hyena licked it up.

“Man, Nikki!” Graves chirps, “You should have mentioned you had one o’ these before,” He stands, elbowing the Russian man in the kevlar-covered ribs. Nikto grunts, stepping back.

“I did not have him with me,” Nikto explains. “There was an issue with the paperwork, and he was living with a friend of ours.”

Graves opens his mouth, but he's interrupted by the loud rumbling of Velikan… rumbling. You can't be too sure of what noises he was making this far away. Graves makes a face of acknowledgment as he nods.

“So, he’s trained for the field?” Graves asks, prodding more even though he's been told not to. You're sure he's aware of what happens to people who push Nikto.

“Да, he is,” Nikto responds. “With any luck, he’ll be with us this next mission, but we are yet to be granted approval,” He continues, throwing a glare to the corner that houses the Colonel.

The Austrian man stands with his arms crossed, a glare in his eyes too. But, as Graves away from him - after hardly even looking - with a scoff, they soften briefly. Velikan pats his commander’s back, gently gripping at his shoulder with a low mumble. Graves sighs.

“Do I gotta?” He asks, and Velikan nods. “Fine.. but I am expecting to see that savanna puppy in action soldier!” He orders as he's pulled away. The rest of the Shadow Company follows as well.

“Don't call it a savanna puppy,” Mace grumbles as they pass you.

A call comes from down the hall in response, “That's what they are!” Before more muffled grunting lets you know Velikan is scolding him. Or maybe laughing. He's too far away to tell. The room is silent, still without Graves. You feel more than one pair of eyes on you, and you shuffle awkwardly.

You throw your hand up in a half-wave, slipping out of the room behind them. You’re unsure where exactly to go, trying to decide between the shooting range or the barracks. You had some paperwork to do, didn’t you? You sigh, trying to calm yourself down. It had been a long few weeks, and it was only going to feel longer.

The setup for the mission is the same as always, a messy rush of people trying to get all of their gear in order. You pull your gun off of its brace on the wall, checking it over briefly. You pull the magazine out, double-checking that it’s empty even though you know it's empty - you haven’t forgotten any details about the last time you touched it. The first time you touched him.

Your eyes flick over to the side, watching Nikto get himself and Sputnik ready. The beast shakes as he tries to put the special kevlar over its neck, and you can imagine that he’s huffing soft swears in Russian to it. Graves watches intently, seemingly wanting to help. Or at least talk to Nikto about it. Velikan seems to have a sharp watch over the both of them. It almost makes you feel bad, since he has so much on his plate without you asking him to babysit Nikto too. You can only imagine what his therapy sessions are like having to take care of Graves all of the time.

You don’t have the time to dwell, though, O’Connor’s voice cutting through as he calls for everyone to hurry the fuck up and get in line. The sound is familiar and oddly comforting, and you can't help but feel the excitement start to fill in the cracks between the stress, anxiety, and fear you’ve been feeling. Those feelings aren't abnormal before you go out, but it's been significantly worse. You usually don't have to be so cautious of how you act and who you hang out with. But König's watchful eyes and judgment of your relationships have been keeping you on edge. Even with your other coworkers, you've been more distant. You take your gun, making sure to check it out as you move to stand in your place.

"C'mon, come on!" He yells, clapping his hand as he chants to get the whole squad ready. It takes a few more minutes, but you end with the group you're going with.

König, Nikto, Izzy, Graves, Velikan, Valeria, and you. A second team was going as well: O'Connor, Hutch, Horangi, Stilletto, Oz, and Mace, but they were to be moved separately. Orders are barked to both groups, everyone piling in their respective cars. You sit in the very back, next to Izzy. In front of you is Nikto, Sputnik at his feet, and Graves, with Velikan in between them.

The whole ride is uncomfortably silent, with soft music playing over the radio occasional instructions from Valeria on where to go, and the crackle of conversation from the other car. O'Connor is hard to hear back here, and you’re unable to make out what he’s saying, only his accent. Sometimes Graves leans over to try to get Sputnik’s attention, kissing at him, only to be swatted away by Velikan.

The ride is long, but the mission should be easy and simple - in and out. It was a rescue mission, as far as you were aware. It doesn’t matter, really. Your job was to go in, secure the area, secure the thing or person, and get out. And you were damn good at your job, you’d like that on record.

You have to drive through a very populated area to get to the building holding it, compared to most of your missions, but it isn’t something that bothers you much. And it makes sense with most of whom you were placed with, like König and Graves.

König pulls through an intersection, the chatter of O’Connor coming through the hand radio attached to a pop-socket on one of the vents. It all happens at once, very fast, the car behind you is hit. You hear the pain through the radio, and the whole of your car lights up.

“Pull over, goddamn it, pull over,” Valeria snaps, swatting at the shoulders of your Colonel. Graves mutters curses, trying to squint past you and Izzy to see the other van. Velikan’s door swings open, a gun shoved out of it. Nikto’s eyes meet yours, wide and panicked. You nod at him, assuring him you’re okay.

This wasn’t going to be as easy as you thought.

Gunfire is loud - something someone who had never fired a gun before would never understand is that it transcends sound; even with the proper ear protection, big guns shake your bones and change the beat of your heart. You’ve been around it many, many times, but even now you feel how the shots from your coworkers shake up your rhythm and push the air out of your lungs. It’s the only thing that tells you someone on your side is still firing because you can’t see anyone.

You curse, falling back under the flimsy cover of a tipped-over newspaper dispenser - something you were incredibly surprised to see - and release your magazine, shoving a new one into place. With that, you’re out of preloaded mags, and any extra ones are in the long abandoned car fire of the extra car.

You’d seen Hutch get out, pulling Horangi along with him, and you were sure you had seen glimmers of Mace’s gear somewhere around, but that left three members in that car unaccounted for. You shake, taking a deep breath. This was your job. You could die, your friends could die, you had signed up for it. You cast a glance at your own abandoned car, all the doors wide open and all of its contents gone, having been ransacked.

You sniffle, taking a deep breath. You were going to die today, you take a deep breath. You have to accept it. It was hard, but you had to accept it was going to be your last day. Your last mission. You close your eyes, taking a moment to think over everything that’s happened for the past weeks. You should forgive König, even if you can’t do it to his face. You shouldn’t harbor any resentment in your last moments.

Or maybe you should, fuck that guy. You swear again, letting your head fall back against the metal. Your eyes open, looking over the gun in your hands. You start to move, shifting so you can flip back over and start firing again. Just before your head can poke back out into the line of fire, you hear a gentle whimper from behind you. You flip back, eyes wide as you see it. The fluffy, tan beast is next to you, sniffing at your legs.

“Oh, hey,” You speak, sliding back down to offer your hand. “What’s up, buddy?” You ask, looking around. “Where’s Nikto, huh?” It sniffs at your hand before brown eyes meet yours. “Take me to Nikto, okay?” You ask it, and it stands there for a moment before it sets off. You throw your gun up, over your shoulder, and rush off after it. You hear and feel as bullets wizz past you, but they mean less than the thoughts swirling in your head. Was Nikto okay? What about your other coworkers? Was it only you and Sputnik now? Fear rises in your chest at the thought that the beast you're chasing is leading you to the dead body of your.... whatever Nikto is to you.

You feel tears start to form in your eyes, but you try to force them away. Remember your training, all the years you spent trying to turn this off. You have to be solid and strong. You can't cry in the face of who you're hired to kill. There is no time to mourn the losses you feel, because by the time they sink in, you’re off to your next job. There's been so many times that stuff like this has happened.

You can't have it happen again. You're going to stop it, you have to. Your feet hurt by the time you hear it.

"There ya are, puppy!" Graves' voice calls out, and you stop for a moment. Did Graves just call you puppy? What? You stand still, barely registering how Sputnik rushes to the American man, his tail wagging quickly. Graves beams, rubbing the hyena's sides roughly. "Good puppy! Goodboy! You did very well!" He baby-talks it, which helps everything click into place. You sigh, walking forward.

It seems you’ve found some of your comrades, but several of them are still missing. Horangi seems passed out, propped up against a wall. Hutch has wrapped himself up, watching a screen intently. You see Mace on the other side of the alley, gun pointed up. Velikan is with Graves, trying to coach him in something through his muffling mask.

You pant, wiping your face as you look around, “Where’s Nikto?” You ask, And Valeria, and Izzy, and König, and O’Connor? But you don’t voice the rest of the questions, not yet at least.

“Looking for you,” Hutch responds, turning to you with a grin. Sputnik breaks past Graves to jump at the other man, sniffing at his face. Hutch puts a bandaged arm around him, hand on the hyena’s back.

“What?” You swear, looking around. Your hand goes to your mouth, biting your lips. “Do we… wait? Can we wait? I mean, they’ll come looking for us, won’t they? Whoever we’re fighting?”

“That’s where Izzy is,” Graves replies, turning to you. “On the inside, takin’ ‘em out,” He mimics aiming his gun. “Think Valeria’s there too, maybe König,” He lists off, tapping at his face.

“So, what do we do?” You ask, looking at him. He was the one who knew what to do - he had been in charge more than once, and that had to account for something.

“Wait,” Graves responds. “Regroup, until we can form a full assault,” He turns away. “Just wish everyone will stop runnin’ off.”

The sentence alone keeps you pinned to the ground where your feet are. You want to run off, you want to try and find Nikto, but instead, you fall back, sitting on the ground. You sniffle, finally letting your tears meet your eyes. It sucks, crying in front of so many people, and in the middle of the battlefield.

You don’t want to, but you can’t help it. You hide your face in your hands, letting yourself sob as everything hits you at once. Sputnik noses at you, small chuckles coming from the creature. You sob, unable to reach out to it or push him away, just sitting there as the beast sniffs your hair and hands.

“Hey, Boss,” Mace’s voice cuts through your tears. “We have company,” He backs away from his post, and everyone launches into movement. You don't see much of it, but Velikan is pulling at you by your armpits, trying to get you on your feet to get you moving.

“Sorry,” You sniffle, standing. “I’m sorry,” You let him pull you along, grabbing at your gun to keep yourself armed. You wipe your face, trying to get your head back in the game.

Keep a hold on it, keep a hold on it, you tell yourself. You walk as best as you can, leaning on Velikan for support as he moves you forward, everyone falling into formation. Graves shouts out orders from behind you and you start to stabilize yourself.

You don’t feel dizzy, tears don’t fall freely from your eyes anymore and you stand on your own feet. You set off a blaze at an enemy heading your way, turning back to Velikan before you can watch them fall.

“I have it,” You tell him, and he nods, backing off. You can tell he’s still looking at you for a moment longer, but you all push on. It seems like you're in some kind of action film, with enemies flooding you and your team over and over again.

You manage to fight your way into a house, the building providing much better cover than the alley. Everyone rushes around, Velikan and Mace rushing to clear it out, Hutch placing Horangi down, and you rush to a window, assessing the area. Sputnik trails in behind everyone, a wailing man in his jaws. He drags the man in by the back of the neck of his shirt, clearly having mauled him a little before bringing him in.

You rush to close the door behind him when something stops you in your tracks.

“Нет, Спутник,” Nikto's voice cuts through the air from somewhere behind you. Sputnik's tail wags as he shows off the prize he brought. “Нет, put him down. Лежать!” You turn, finding Nikto standing in the doorway. He seems okay, blood splattered over his gear. You drop everything instantly. The door is already shut, and you just leave your gun on the floor by it, rushing over to Nikto.

“Nikto!” You yell, grabbing him into a hug. It's a harsh one, leaving your cheek pressed against him. He goes to speak your name, but you cut him off. “Shush! I just… Long mission,” You snap, and you feel as he relaxes into your hug, wrapping his arms around you. His hand rubs your back, trying to calm you down. You sigh, thinking back over it, all of it - your relationship with him, these past few days, the mission - it was all so much, so overwhelming.

You pull yourself away from him and press your mouth into where his is under the mask, finally able to return the kiss.

#madstrothought #more like madstrothot #call of duty nikto #nikto my beloved #call of duty #keysorsomething #faficowrimo

74 notes · View notes

420catboiwritings · 1 year ago

Text

"Its just the wind" Tony's mother replied as the tree branches rapped across the panes of glass on his window like skeletal fingers scratching to get in. She turned off the light and closed the door.

"Just the wind" He repeated. The bony fingers scratched his window.

"Let me in...." The wind whispered through the leaves of the trees.

"Just the wind." He repeated again, snuggling under his blue star themed blanket. The fingers scratched against the glass, making a SCREEEEEEEECH with the boned finger tips. Tony covered his ears, closed his eyes, and waited for morning, when the bones would disappear.

1 note · View note

slasherwife · 4 years ago

Note

SCREEEEEEEECH! MIDDLE EARTH IS WHERE I LIVE 😤 May I please request a quick headcanon(s) on Thranduil/Elrond (respectively) falling for a Fairy OC? But she's an antithesis to the pale color palette fairies tend to have. She got short black pixie short hair, golden skin, and brown eyes. Her magic is sunlight based and fairy wings look like honeyed glass 💖. (She's my OC I love her 😍) she's brave but more of a strategic fighter than aggressive. She'll never admit it but she more frail in hand to hand stoof. Otherwise she's quiet but loving. Preferring the company if animals and the riverside, just practicing her magic.

HGDHSSJ HI i don’t want the lotr to ever leave my ask box 😭💕💕

Thranduil and Elrond with a OC!Fairy!s/o

also this is the last time i’ll do an oc, i prefer to have the character desc to be applicable to all people uwu💕

Thranduil:

Thranduil saw you in his dreams, which was the first time he ever saw you. he woke up to his face feeling indescribably warm and his hands sparkled 💕

then he went on a walk through the forest where he found you in a valley of tulips and wildflowers, looking to him so innocently and sweetly 🌷

sunlight was in your eyes, and he muttered in elvish under his breath how you put the sun to shame ✨

your hair floated around you, and your skin glowed honey, golden, perfect. your wings twitched in the swaying breeze of the setting sun, and Thranduil uttered the words that were perfect to your ears, “what are you, sweet creature?”✨

since your powers are light based, you practically glow wherever you are. Thranduil often remarks on it, “you carry so much light, flowers grow towards you.” 💕💕🌷 he doesn’t say it necessarily to compliment you, he’s simply stating the truth 🥺💕

he thinks your wings are like glass, and he never touches them. unless you make it clear to him that they are okay to be touched and they won’t break, he is very gentle 🥺💖

he exhales in sweet relief and amazement when you hold your own against orcs and other daring creatures, knowing that you are stronger than the other fairies of the land ☺️💕and your aggressive nature is refreshing to him when most elven women he considers to court are sometimes meek and downcast💕

Elrond

Elrond laid his eyes on you on his evening walk, through Rivendell where the breeze was gentle and the sun cast warm, flowy ribbons of light through the towers and trees ✨

your yelling and distressed call disrupted his peace greatly, as he questioned himself why a voice as sweet as your was distorted in rage ✨

two Rivendell guards had caught you wandering along the borders and when you refused to go with them to answer to Lord Elrond, they took you by force

two elven giants (in comparasion to you, at least), held your gentle wrists tightly and bruisingly, and your face streaked vengful tears from being invaded by foreign hands, and Elrond nearly lost himself in anger against these careless men who called themselves guards of Rivendell🌷

Elrond often remarks on how conflicting you are to him, when he sees you so gentle with the waters and sunlight, animals and children, yet you nearly clawed that soldier’s face away when he touched you. like an angel turned a fierce lion✨

he examines you often, you’ll catch him staring at you oftentimes, not looking away even when you lock eyes with him. he’s just so curious about you, trying to figure you out.

he’ll have you sit in front of the mirror in his chambers some nights while he sits behind you, and he runs his fingertips along your skin and brushes your hair from your face as he inquires about your home and your kind 🥺💕

when propriety allows it, he will often catch your hand in his and he’ll hold it to his chest, asking that you let him learn more about you and your kind, as he cannot keep away when something as perfect as you had fallen into his hands 💕💕

#Lotr #lotr x reader #lotr headcanons #thranduil #thranduil x reader #thranduil headcanons #i made a thing #elrond #elrond x reader #elrond headcanons #fluff #fairy

366 notes · View notes

scifrey · 1 year ago

Text

* screeeeeeeech *

Maisie fanart!💜

This is PERFECT. My gosh, thank you! I am so touched that she grabbed hold of your heart!💜💜💜 WOW.

Deleted Scene: Take Root

For those who love the "Cling Fast" / Hob Adherent series: this is, regrettably, not a new story. The series still ends where it ended.

However, it used to have a different ending. In that different version, instead of "Hold Tight" and "Keepsakes: A Plane Ticket", I planned to resolve the Daniel Hall and Orpheus storylines by writing a much longer multi-chapter fic about Hob finding out he still has living descendants through another TV show. In this story, Morpheus would have gotten jealous of Hob's living children, and spend more and more time asleep, with Daniel, until Despair & Desire finally came to Hob to tell him the truth about Orpheus.

I wrote this first chapter and then really, really struggled with the story after that. A long conversation with @late-to-the-magnus-archives led me to realize that if I did the Walkers/Daniel/Orpheus thing this way, by making them a negative thing in Hob's life, by choosing to stretch the trope of miscommunication between lovers, and by basically reverse-uno-ing all the work Hob did to grieve his brief mortal family, then I was doing a disservice to events and character growth in "Cling Fast".

Thematically it might have been a good fit, but it was perilously close to manufacturing unrealistic dissent for the sake of drama, and not because this is how the characters would have actually reacted in this situation.

So, I abandoned this tale, found better, kinder ways to resolve the Walkers/Daniel/Orpheus storylines, and reworked the series to be as it currently stands.

However.

I am still a little in love with this tiny fragment of a tale, and wanted to share it with you. Just for funsies.

Happy reading!

-J

Status: Deleted Scene from a story I won't be completing.

Series: the Hob Adherent series.

Fandom: The Sandman (TV 2022) Includes some comics canon, and some cameos from the wider Gaiman-verse, but it’s not necessary to know to enjoy the story.

Rating: Gen

Warnings: Discussions of grief and in-canon character death.

Relationships: Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling, Eleanor | Hob Gadling’s Wife/Hob Gadling (past)

Characters: Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Hob Gadling, Matthew the Raven, Destruction of the Endless, Patrick the Bartender, Harriet Butler, Maisie Hampstead

TAKE ROOT

When the camera crew walks into The New Inn, Hob assumes it has something to do with Cardenio. The filming request had come through Harriet, and as Hob trusts her not to chuck him into any situation that would endanger him, or his husband, and their secret, he'd said yes without really looking into the details of the television program.

They'd asked to film inside the pub, and to interview him on camera. As this was just one in a long line of such requests, he'd set the date, and thought nothing more about it.

(When this lifetime was over, Hob was going to have to ask for a very heavy favour from little Daniel Hall, to ensure that no one remembered that his face matches that of Robert Gadlen the Sixth, sometime media darling of the mediaeval history studies world. Dream of the Endless had already pledged to make his uncles' transition as smooth as was in his power, thank goodness, but Hob was still nervous about all the footage floating around out there.)

What Hob didn't expect was for the crew to come in full guns blazing, so to speak.

"Oh, hello," he says, standing up from the banquette as a steady-cam, followed by the operator holding it, enter the pub. "Welcome to The New Inn."

The red light at the camera's lens is on, warning the world that it's recording. He's suddenly very glad he let Matthew talk him into wearing his hot-professor outfit, and the very light makeup required for this sort of thing. His hair is still shorter than he’d like, the scar on the left side of his head from a gunshot wound finally hidden by the longer style, for which he’s grateful. He wouldn’t want anyone to see it and worry.

Hob had kind of assumed that the crew would be dolling him up, but in the years since Elizabethan Manor he's learned that it never hurts to be camera-ready, just in case.

A man in a wireless headset enters behind the camera operator and waves at him, then points at the red light.

Yeah, I got that, Hob thinks but doesn't say. He's not sure why they're filming right away, but he doesn't want to spoil whatever shot they have planned. Maybe they spoke to Surinder and found out what a terrible actor Hob is, and have decided that it's far better to get his First Reactions on camera than to ask him to pretend.

Hob doesn't mind, but it would have been nice to be warned first.

Actually, if he bothered to read Harriet's email with any kind of depth, he probably was.

Patrick, the only other person in the pub at present, drops behind the bar like a WWI private tripping into a trench, and then scuttles into the kitchen, presumably to warn Destruction to stay hidden if he doesn't want to be filmed. Dee is in the middle of making the day's crusty loaf, so nothing will pull the Endless from the kitchen, unless it's serious.

Dee means business when he bakes.

"Thank you!" a young woman behind the PA says. She ducks around the other two folks, who are lingering in the doorway, and moves purposefully across the pub. Once she's firmly within the shot, she sticks out her hand. "I'm Maisie Hampstead."

"Hi Maisie, I'm Bob," Hob offers, shaking and then holding out a chair at his usual two-top for her because he's a gentleman, and old habits tend to kick in when he's wrong-footed. "What brings you to my humble pub?"

Maisie sets a heavy leather folder on the table between them, and for a second, Hob is terrified that this is a set up. That someone had hacked Harri's email, got him cornered, is about to reveal his terrible truth to a live-streamed audience, with a phalanx of nondescript cars and government scientists waiting in his front garden if he tries to run.

He reminds himself that the literal god of warriors is just one wall away, covered up to his elbows in flour, and that even if he was taken out of here against his will, his inlaws are the most powerful and immutable forces in the universe. Nothing and no one can harm him. Also, he can't die, which makes him ruthless and vicious when it comes to protecting himself—he doesn't have to avoid injury the way other people do when engaging in combat. While bullet and stab wounds hurt, they can be ignored in favour of finishing a fight.

But Maisie just smiles at him, flush with genuine excitement, and flips back the cover of the folder to reveal a… a family tree.

Okay, so not a clandestine setup or sting operation.

But something just as fraught.

Hob's eyes go wide as he skims the names on it, he knows they do, and he's pretty sure he must look absolutely pole-axed, because that's how he feels. He knew the BBC Historics department had mocked up a family tree for Elizabethan Manor, but he's never had occasion or desire to sit down and study it. He was already chastined enough by the fact that they found him in the first place. He had no patience to read in black and white where exactly he screwed up in hiding his past identities.

Hindsight, as the saying goes, is 20/20.

But the cameras are on him and he can’t exactly snap the cover shut and shout them all out the door. Not after he’d told Hari that he’d be game. So he reads on.

At the top of the tree, in computer-generated font, it reads:

Hob's breath catches in his throat as he runs the tips of his fingers over first Eleanor's, then Robyn and Wee John's names. It's taken a lot of work, but he's proud that he's able to have this out-of-the-blue reminder of their love and loss, and not immediately react negatively. He is joyfully reminded of that time of his life, seeing their names, instead of triggered.

But… no, wait, something's different…

"There's a… there's another line here," Hob croaks, following the dots downward from Robyn's box. This wasn't part of the graphic when they shared it on the show. "There shouldn't be another line here. He never…" Hob flattens his palm over the next row down on the family tree, not ready to read it yet.

Instead, he looks up at the young woman across from him, drinking in the sight of her like a parched man at a wholly unexpected, but nonetheless welcome, oasis.

She's blonde, hair flaxen-yellow and straight as a pin. But her eyes are dark, soulful brown, crinkling just enough at the corner to put her in her late twenties, he guesses. Detached earlobes. Complexion a few shades darker than his own, but still within the realm of olive-skinned. She's wearing light makeup, eyelashes mascaraed dark and lips painted and funky plum red. They curl on one side when she realises what he's doing, what he's looking for, the smile secret and mischievous in one corner.

And she has a cleft chin.

"Oh my god," Hob breathes. His eyes burn. There's a lump in his throat the size of a fist. He swallows hard. Excitement and fear and confusion swirl up in his middle, nauseating and fluttery.

He wants to reach out and grab her face between his hands, and hold her there, cataloguing everything. He wants to shove away from the table and race up the stairs and start shouting at the framed sketches of Robyn over his bed. He wants to curl up under a weighted blanket and hide from the truth until his husband coaxes him out.

Instead he just sits at the table, mouth hanging open like a landed fish.

He wishes Morph was here, and at the same time is unaccountably glad that his husband is in the middle of his daily ramble through the nearby Wapping Woods park. This is, he thinks, something he wants to discover on his own, first. Something to cherish and to hold, just for him, before he has to share it with the wider world.

Entirely on camera, of course.

Like all his major emotional revelations lately, it seems.

Ha.

"You… he… did he…?"

"See for yourself," Maisie coaxes him gently.

Slowly, tremblingly, Hob lifts his hand away from the paper.

"Robyn had a son," Hob whispers, voice wavering. His hands are shaking. He presses them between his thighs, under the table, where the camera can't see. "I had a—" he cuts himself off with a choked noise, wet and thick with longing.

"They weren't married," Maisie explains, not oblivious to his surprise and distress, and quick to reassure. Though, from her perspective, he guesses it must be very odd, to see someone falling to pieces over family revelations that are already centuries past. "They never got the chance to."

She slides another piece of paper out from under the family tree, a copy of a handwritten letter, and Hob snatches it from her hands perhaps too eagerly. It's an account of a fight in the alleyway behind a tavern, written from the perspective of a bystander—no, not a bystander. A witness.

A patron at the tavern the night Robyn died.

There's a sentence highlighted but the letters blur and slide across the page.

Hob wipes at his eyes. "I… sorry, can you read it to me…?"

Maisie takes the letter back and reads:

Young master Gadlen protested that he had no quarrel with the brothers of the distraught maid. He shewed that he had drawn neither dagger nor mayde a fiste. He did then call them brothers of his owne and did swear his intent to wed, but his oath came too layte for a knife had been thruste under his rib. Martha did wail and forswear the murderer as her kin, and held fast the lad until his heartsbloode had ceased to flow into the street. Mister Hampsted took his daughter awaye inside to the warmth. The undertaker was called for piteous master Gadlen and the lad was borne awaye to the house of his lamented father.

Hob remembers that night with the clarity that four hundred years of reliving it in his nightmares, and wishing he could have found a way to prevent it, has gifted him with. The smell of the tobacco he'd been smoking in the study mixed with the fatty funk of the tallow candles; the squeak of the undertaker's cart wheels as they bumped up the drive; the crunch of boots on the gravel as Rob's friends accompanied his body in an honour guard of misery; the gasp of horror Fletcher quickly stifled when he caught sight of the solemn procession; the taste of the claret Hob had been enjoying turning to sour bile on the back of his tongue.

Maisie mistakes his grave silence for incomprehension of the archaic English.

"The night Robyn Gadlen found out that Martha was pregnant, it looks like her brother jumped him for taking her virtue," Maisie explains gently. "Martha said in later letters that Robyn had proposed marriage as soon as she'd told him, and they'd conspired to elope. But her brothers stopped them as they were sneaking out the back of the tavern. They never made it."

I never knew, Hob realises. There was a child out there, Robyn's child, and I never even knew it. I failed Robyn. I failed this little Harry. I was so busy wallowing in my own grief and self pity, too busy getting drunk each night with Despair, too busy calling for and rebuffing Death, that I never… did she bring the child to the house? Was I too insensible, too pathetic to even be sober long enough to see the baby when I had the opportunity—

Hob's breath shudders out of him in a soft moan. "Why did… why did she never bring the babe to Robyn's father?"

"Her own father sent her away to a convent that same night," Maisie says. "Here, here's another letter. She wrote often to a cousin during her confinement. She says that she would have fled to Gadlen House if she could, but her brothers had carried her off so quick that she was in a nun's cell before the blood was dry on her hands."

"Oh Christ," Hob groans, both a prayer for that poor girl, and a curse against those who had kept her from him. He is awash in relief that he hadn't actively driven his grandson and his mother away, and both regret and anger in equal measure that the baby was hidden from him. "And after the birth?"

"Martha returned home with little Harry and married a man who agreed to care for them both so long as Harry's parentage was never mentioned. The man took over her father-in-law's tavern eventually, but he died of cholera a few years later."

"Hampstead," Hob repeats dully, his brain clicking over slowly, like his gears were filled with fluffy, grief-coloured cotton. "That was… that was the proprietor. Of the White Horse."

"Yes."

He looks up, feels the blood draining from his face. "Robyn died in the White Horse?"

Maisie cuts a confused glance at the camera, not sure what this has to do with the conversation they're clearly supposed to be having. "Yes."

Hob fists his hand in his shirt, over his heart. Surely, surely, he was going to die now.

This had to be it, after six hundred and sixty-some-odd years. Surely, there was no way to survive a heartbreak like this. "I thought… they said a tavern brawl, but they never said which one, and I—"

Maisie reaches out as if to touch his arm, and then stops halfway across the table, unsure of her welcome. "I'm sorry, do you need a minute?"

"Yes," Hob hiccups, and stands from the banquette. He doesn't look at the camera, doesn't make eye contact with the PA. He just walks straight back to the kitchen, pushes open the door, and zombie-shuffles right into the arms of Destruction, who has clearly been waiting for him.

The door has barely shut behind him before his face crumples and his lungs seize up. "He died in the White Horse," Hob sobs quietly. "Right there, where I—"

"I'm so sorry, Hob," Dee says, and rubs his back.

"All that time, I never marked it or… I feel like I should have known. I should have felt it."

"He went to the Sunless Lands in peace, Hob. There was nothing of your son remaining in that place for you to have felt. Don't feel guilty about that."

"I wish I'd known."

Dee hums gently, soothing, and hugs Hob harder as he weeps. Being hugged by Dee is like being gently crushed by tree-trunks. Hob presses his face against his brother-in-law's chest and lets Dee squeeze his soul back into his body.

After a few long minutes, Hob steps back and gives Dee a grateful pat on the arm. "Where's Patrick?"

"I sent him out for lemons," Dee rumbles.

"I bought a whole bag yesterday."

"I know."

"Thank you."

Dee studies his face. He must not like what he sees there because he says, "Do you want me to kick them out?"

"No," Hob replies. He sighs and scrubs his mouth, tries to pat down his hair. "No, no, it's fine. It was just… unexpected. Serves me right for not reading Harri's email more thoroughly."

Dee peers out of the porthole window in the kitchen door at the film crew. Hob can hear the murmur of their discussion, but not the contents of it. "Still, that's a hell of a thing to spring on a guy."

"I'll say," Hob snorts. "Oh, hey look, it's noon. I can drink now."

"Don't go overboard," Dee says, eyeing him.

"Don't worry," Hob reassures him, patting his massive forearm again. "I'm not going to fall back into my self-destructive ways. I spend enough time with you as it is, new-new kid."

Destruction snorts. "I was more thinking about how Despair would worry about you. She hovers like a brooding chicken."

Hob chuckles at the image, which was likely the point, and appreciates Dee's concern for his well being. Hob finishes putting himself to rights, squares his shoulders, takes a deep breath, and shoves the rest of his freak-out down, down, down to share with Morpheus when his husband gets back. And the cameras are gone.

On his way back to his table, he stops at the bar to scoop up four champagne flutes, and pulls one of the nicer bottles of prosecco out of the back of the fridge.

"Well," he says, feeling if not settled then at least more centred, when he sets his glasses down on the table beside Maisie's folder. "I think I can guess what happens next in the story, and if I'm right, then I figure we'll have something to toast to."

Maisie lights up, and Hob can see it, right there, in the way her eyes sparkle—here is his son's many-times granddaughter, come back to him. His blood, in her veins, seeking him out like a loadstone.

Oh christ, Hob thinks, falling a little bit in love with the kid on the spot. I'm going to have to let her dictate the pace of our family bonding, or else I'm going to be selfish and grabby.

"To be fair," Maisie says, "until we found some new documents, I thought I was a Fletcher."

"The Steward?" Hob asks, startled.

"After Martha's husband died, the tavern went to one of Martha's brothers and she came perilously close to abject poverty. She had other children to feed, and thought it was time for Robert Gadlen to know about his grandson. But by then they say the man had fully gone mad, and the Steward decided it was unsafe for the kid to live with him," Maisie explains, sliding the corresponding photocopy of a much older document out of the pile to show him.

It seems I owe that filthy cheating thief my gratitude for this, at least, Hob thinks as he pursues the paper. I absolutely was not in my right mind and this would have absolutely made it worse.

"When Fletcher just showed up at the civil courts one day with a kid, everyone assumed the little boy was actually his. Up until a month ago, my whole family thought we were the illegitimate descendants of the Steward. But the dates weren't adding up, and… well, then we joined the show and they did some digging. The historian found Martha's letters in the Gadlen Fell Crate papers, along with the documentation from the Court of Chancery, and suddenly it all made sense."

"Chancery?" Hob echoes, startled. "Little Harry was a ward of the Councillor?"

"Oh, you know what that is!" Maisie says, delighted. "I didn't."

Hob chances a look up at the P.A., who shrugs, and gives a go-head wave. He taps the family tree still between them, bringing her attention to the fake younger brother he had invented for himself in the early 1700s, Richard Gadlen.

"Maisie, besides what it says on the family tree, did they tell you who I am?"

"Just that Richard Gadlen was my, uh, eight-times great uncle," Maisie says, blithely unaware of how Hob's heart is threatening to burst apart behind his ribs. "Which means you're my, um, no wait, we figured this out, my ninth cousin, once removed because you're one generation older than me."

Hob huffs a chuckle. More than one generation, he thinks.

He's taken to putting silver at his temples in the last year, just a speckle of bleach with a toothbrush, followed by some of the grey-pastel dye that the kids are into these days. He used to have to do this with chalk, so it's much nicer to not shed faux dandruff every time he turns his head. Morph, peacock that he is, isn't ready to start putting on airs of age. Doesn't matter, though—his hair is so black most people already assume it's coloured.

"And did they tell you what I do for a living?" he asks, reaching for the prosecco and unwrapping the foil.

"No," Maisie says, looking around The New Inn. "I assume you're a publican?"

"Well, yeah, but that's not my full-time gig." He works the cage off the bottle neck, and shoots a look at the camera operator. They give him a thumbs up, prepared for the loud noise. He begins to wiggle the cork. "I'm a professor at the University of York. I teach Medieval and Early Modern History and Language. My name is Doctor Robert Gadlen—"

"The sixth!" Maisie squeals in delight, finally putting all the clues together. "Oh my gosh! You're the Witch Knight!"

Hob groans. "We are not calling me that," he says, just as the cork jumps free with a delicious little pop.

#cling fast adjecent #cling fast #take root #the hob adherent series #dreamling #dreamling week #hob gadling #fanart #other people's awesome art

55 notes · View notes

momentofmemory · 3 years ago

Text

even more reflection and review

tagged by the most lovely and beloved @spikeface

Fandoms did you create for?

Teen Wolf, MCU, TOG, Star Wars, JatP, and Doctor Who

How many works did you make this year? Fics (posted on ao3 or tumblr or wherever), edits, gifsets, moodboards, playlists, fanart, vids, meta?

6 fics on Ao3, 66 gifsets, 5 video edits, and 4 tumblr fics. Probably a bunch of drabbles but i lost count 😅

What are you most proud of?

codominance., my scott & stiles magnum opus, and this sceo set.

Any stats you wanna tell us about?

At 18.3k, codominance. is my longest ever oneshot!

What inspired you this year? Any specific works or creators?

@spikeface. their ability to build character-specific backstories and interests, grounded by what we see in canon, is absolutely phenomenal and their prose makes me screeeeeeeech. Plus their attention to theme makes me 😱 at all times. And then alongside that, they’re incredibly thoughtful and kind on a personal level, and the energy they put into making community a more welcoming place is amazing.

@seek--rest. seek is literally so incredible we had to make a month of fics for her and it was STILL not enough. seek’s devotion to making fandom a better place for everyone, while still taking time for herself, is something I really admire and aspire to follow. i love love love how she tackles grief and other heavy emotions in her fics while still being about love 💜 and her ability to produce content always leaves me in awe.

What’s a piece you didn’t expect to make? Why?

Ironically, codominance. and all of my sceo sets 😅 codominance. started on a whim with me rewriting a piece of dialogue from the scott & stiles conversation at the gas station (which, also ironically, i didn’t even wind up using) that turned into this Massive Sprawling Thing, and then @spikeface dragged me into having sceo thoughts.

What are you excited to work on next year?

Scottuary! Finishing several half done fics. Maybe a longfic. ✨Gifs✨

Tag some people!

@alexisclarerose, @friendofspidermannedleeds, @mjonesing, @blas-ph-emy, @theiceemperor, @seek--rest, and @immortalcas.

#tag games #personal #fic thoughts

10 notes · View notes

patronsaintofsacrifice · 3 years ago

Text

To Do:

1 morning routine: fluids, pages, shower, planner!!

2 message A, H, A

3 draw

4 resume

5 steps

6 tidy

7 ask mum for what she owes

8 screeeeeeeech

4 notes · View notes

nobodyfamousposts · 5 years ago

Text

Miraculous Ladybug Alternate Confessions

Imagine if you would, that the statue scene happened with a different confession?

It’s Marinette’s ONE CHANCE to get out anything she’s wanted to say to Adrien. Literally ANYTHING! What if she said something else? What if she confessed something unexpected? Maybe something she always wanted him to know?

Adrien’s Brain: This will be funny! I wonder what she’ll say?

Marinette: I’m the one who made the scarf for your birthday.

Adrien’s Brain: (Screeches to a halt)

Marinette: I took it to your house and during the party, I went back and put a note with my name on it to make sure you knew it was from me. But…

Adrien’s Brain: What?

Marinette: But then you came back saying it was from your dad and you just…seemed so happy. I wanted to tell you but…I didn’t want to ruin that for you.

Adrien’s Brain: WHAT?

Marinette: I just want you to be happy, Adrien. Because you are a wonderful person and you deserve it.

Adrien’s Brain: (Incoherent sobbing)

________________

Adrien’s Brain: This will be funny! I wonder what she’ll say?

Marinette: I saw Lila steal your dad’s book and throw it in the trash.

Adrien’s Brain: (Screeches to a halt)

Marinette: Don’t worry! I got it out and gave it back to him. I…also took the blame and told him I borrowed it so he couldn’t say you were irresponsible and he’d would let you come back to school.

Adrien: YOU DID WHAT?! WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?!

Marinette: (Flails)

________________

Adrien’s Brain: This will be funny! I wonder what she’ll say?

Marinette: I’m the one who stole your phone during the statue unveiling.

Adrien’s Brain: …what?

Marinette: I’m so sorry! I panicked because I left an embarrassing voicemail and I was so scared you’d hate me so I only took it to delete the recording! I just wanted to ask to see a movie together!

Adrien: We could go see a movie together now, if you want?

Marinette: (SCREEEEEEEECH!)

________________

Adrien’s Brain: This will be funny! I wonder what she’ll say?

Marinette: I know you said we shouldn’t confront Lila or try to out her, but…she threatened me in the bathroom earlier that day and I’m scared of what she’ll do.

Adrien: SHE WHAT?! WHAT DID SHE DO?! HOW DARE SHE?!

Marinette: (Screams and falls back)

Adrien: (Grabs Marinette in a hug) It’s okay, Marinette. I won’t let her do anything.

Marinette: (Internal screaming)

________________

Adrien’s Brain: This will be funny! I wonder what she’ll say?

Marinette: I like you, Adrien. I really do. But sometimes…sometimes I don’t think you really care about my feelings.

Adrien’s Brain: …what?

Marinette: I mean, you’re nice, but you’re nice to everyone, even if they’re doing bad things. But rather than actually…’know…do anything about them, you just sort of brush me off and it hurts my feelings.

Adrien’s Brain: …

Marinette: I mean, like Chloe leaving. I get she was your friend and you were sad about it, but you didn’t seem to get that Chloe was and still is an unrepentant bully who has gone out of her way to make everyone around her miserable. She stole my hat design. She stole my diary. She stole my…toy. She’s done horrible things that aren’t even of any benefit to her and you just…don’t do anything. And it hurts.

Adrien’s Brain: …

Marinette: And then Lila…you know she’s lying and you don’t say anything. And I’m scared that you won’t say anything, even if she makes good on her threat to turn everyone against me.

Adrien’s Brain: Wait—what?

Marinette: It’s just…I like you, Adrien. But I wish you would stand up for me the way you always seem to stand up for them.

Adrien’s Brain: …oh.

________________

Adrien’s Brain: This will be funny! I wonder what she’ll say?

Marinette: Adrien, I have concerns about your weight.

Adrien’s Brain: What?

Marinette: I don’t think you eat enough. You’re thin as a rake and I can easily lift you across Paris.

Adrien’s Brain: Wait—what?

Marinette: Oh, how do I know that? Well, I’m actually Ladybug, and it’s been on my mind since I carried you back to the fashion show after Style Queen and—

Adrien: YOU’RE LADYBUG?!

Marinette: (Screams)

________________

Adrien’s Brain: This will be funny! I wonder what she’ll say?

Marinette: I’m a horrible human being!

Adrien’s Brain: That’s not true!

Marinette: Yesterday, I took a plate of macarons that we were supposed to set out for the day and ate half of them while my dad wasn’t looking.

Adrien: Well, that’s not nice, but that’s not bad…

Marinette: (Flails) WHAT THE—?

Adrien: I mean, I’m friends with Chloe. She’s done worse.

Marinette: WHAT THE HELL, ADRIEN?!

________________

Adrien’s Brain: This will be funny! I wonder what she’ll say?

Marinette: I sing in the shower.

Adrien: (Without thinking) I’m sure you have a pretty voice!

Marinette: (Screams)

________________

Adrien’s Brain: This will be funny! I wonder what she’ll say?

Marinette: I lied to you about the posters.

Adrien’s Brain: What?

Marinette: The truth is that I have a massive crush on you.

Adrien’s Brain: …what?

Marinette: Insanely massive.

Adrien’s Brain: …oh.

Marinette: So massive it actually kind of scares me.

Adrien’s Brain: ……oh.

Marinette: I hope you won’t hate me or think I’m just another crazy fan, because the thing is that I really do like you. Not because you’re Adrien Agreste, but because you’re you. A sweet, wonderful, caring person who would give your umbrella to someone who was mad at you for something that wasn’t even your fault.

Adrien’s Brain: (Internal screaming)

________________

Adrien’s Brain: This will be funny! I wonder what she’ll say?

Marinette: Okay, you can come out now. (Takes Chaton out of her bag)

Chaton: (Stares at Adrien)

Adrien: (Stares at Chaton)

Marinette: See? This is Adrien, the boy I like! Or at least his statue. Isn’t he handsome?

Chaton: (Seems to know it’s actually Adrien and is judging the hell out of him)

Adrien: (Feeling very judged right now)

Marinette: (Gushing)

Chaton: (Judgement intensifies)

Adrien: (Sweating)

Chaton: (Gives a gesture to Adrien that he’s watching him)

Adrien: (Now very scared and reevaluating his life choices)

Marinette: (Continues to gush, oblivious)

________________

Adrien’s Brain: This will be funny! I wonder what she’ll say?

Marinete: I have a crush on both you and Luka and I can’t make up my mind between you and I feel guilty as heck over it! What should I decide?

Adrien’s Brain: This is clearly a pivotal moment. Don’t do anything you’ll regret.

Adrien: …Threesome?

Marinette: (Screams)

Adrien’s Brain: DAMMIT!

________________

Adrien’s Brain: This will be funny! I wonder what she’ll say?

Marinette: (Joking) I am Ladybug

Adrien: You’re WHAT?!

Marinette: (Screams and falls back)

________________

Adrien’s Brain: This will be funny! I wonder what she’ll say?

Marinette: (Joking) I am Hawk Moth!

Adrien: (Screams and falls back)

Marinette: (Screams and falls back)

________________

Adrien’s Brain: This will be funny! I wonder what she’ll say?

Marinette: Isn’t he amazing, Tikki?

Adrien’s Brain: Tikki?

Marinette: He’s just so beautiful, even as a statue. Don’t you think?

Tikki: (From the bag) It is impressive work. Maybe you should commission one yourself?

Adrien’s Brain: What?

Marinette: I wouldn’t go that far. What would I even do with an Adrien statue?

Tikki: You could actually try confessing to him.

Adrien’s Brain: What is that?

Marinette: I can’t. Even just seeing his statue is enough to make me stumble over my words.

Tikki: Practice makes perfect! You’ll never know for sure!

Adrien’s Brain: Is that a kwami?

Tikki: Who knows? Maybe you can confess to him when he’s akumatized and he’ll forget the whole thing?

Adrien’s Brain: Oh my god…

Marinette: Don’t even joke about that!

Adrien’s Brain: Hawk Moth?! Marinette?! No! Why!

Marinette: What would even get Adrien that upset anyway?

Adrien’s Brain: My father.

Tikki: His father.

Adrien’s Brain: (Imagines Hawk Moth!Marinette offering him power to act freely)

Adrien: (Blushing)

Adrien’s Brain: No, Adrien. Stop it! Your classmate is Hawk Moth. This is not supposed to be hot!

Marinette: Oh please, what would he even become? (Joking) Go forth my akuma, and evilize him!

Adrien’s Brain: (Imagines hot Hawk Moth! Marinette)

Adrien: (Blushing more)

Adrien’s Brain: DAMMIT!

Marinette: Is the statue turning red?

Adrien’s Brain: Do not think about sexy evil classmate. Do not think about sexy evil classmate. Do not think about sexy evil classmate who clearly has a thing for you.

Tikki: Maybe it’s just the light?

Marinette: Maybe. See you later, Handsome Boy.

Adrien’s Brain: (SCREAMING)

Marinette: (Outside the room, to Tikki) Do you hear something?

Adrien: (Falls over)

Plagg: (Laughs)

#ml spoilers #ml au #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #tikki #plagg #puppeteer 2.0 #ml drabble

1K notes · View notes

beaubartley · 5 years ago

Text

For @scharoux ‘s @14daysofdalovers prompts.

Day 7 - Love Birds

Pairing - Post Trespasser Solavellan

—————

Screeeech!

Lavellan near broke the quill in her hand. She took in a breath, trying to center, trying to focus.

The healing stump of what was once her left arm itched. She rolled her shoulders and tried again.

Screeeeech!

The urge to scream—much like those accursed birds in the hall, was almost too tempting to pass up.

She couldn’t believe Deshanna had kept those damn creatures. Apparently, they had been some token gift when their Clan had helped form the City Council in Wycome.

“They mate for life,” her Keeper had said when Lavellan had first inquired about them some weeks ago— a vague metaphor for the shem’s desired cooperation and gratitude for her family’s efforts or other. A hope for further diplomacy.

The Inquisitor wondered how long that would last.

Just long enough for Clan Lavellan to exhaust all its usefulness and then the city nobles were sure to yank the rug from under them. Send them out with any force necessary like they had already done once. Lock them, too, in their own cage and insist they’d be happier that way because they were all together. Her clan could have died and it would’ve been all their fault, all her fault and—

No...no. That was cruel, that was bitter. That wasn’t fair and Lavellan chastised herself for it.

Screeeeeeeech!

Ugh.

The Inquisitor had come to Wycome to recuperate after what had happened at the Exalted Council and with… Her heart felt like a weight in her chest at the thought of him.

What a great lie that had all been. What a horrible fate. The irony alone…

Well, at least there was comfort in Varric having more than enough material for any up and coming serials to profit from.

Fen’Harel. Fen-fucking-Harel. The great love of her life was the great deceiver and he had played her best of all.

Deshanna had managed to needle some of the details from her in those first weeks back home...well, as home as an estate could be since her Clan no longer kept to the outskirts of the city in their aravels. She had been tricked, she had been caught, she had been useless.

Lavellan didn’t know if her Keeper truly believed her when she had confessed to being the Dread Wolf’s heart— and subsequently to him being hers despite it all, but she hoped that any slurring drunkenness had not negated the sincerity of her words.

Because they were sincere. She did love him, even still. Even as her arm healed. Even as she started to make small schemes to try and mitigate his burgeoning armies. Even as she dreamed of him stalking as the very wolf she now knew him to be just out of sight.

Even when her thoughts would wander from her, thinking of the life that could have been. The life that could still be if only he would grasp it with her. Of a happy home, warm rugs and soft blankets. Of fresh breads and books and kisses stolen between pages.

Lavellan wandered from the room that had been given to her more or less since Deshanna insisted she take some space for herself. There was no rush for her to leave them, they wanted her here. All of her family, safe and secure and glad to have their First back home. They didn’t question her integrity, they didn’t seek for more than her just being one of them finally returning home after a long hunt. No demands of the Inquisitor, no expectation to perform as the Herald.

She was hit again with an overwhelming gratitude that she hadn’t let Solas take her vallaslin— that she had held strong and true to herself and to her clan.

Maybe Fen’Harel hadn’t led her as astray as she thought.

Lavellan wandered down the hall, stopping in front of the birds that had been disturbing her all evening. They fluttered and flit about, tiny chirps and squawks. Occasionally, they would stop together, preen the other in a gesture that was, admittedly, very sweet and sit close before their little cycle began again.

How much could love sustain inside a cage? What was a life together if it was all so limited? The skies were calling, clear and blue, and these love birds knew nothing of it. But they were together… and they did seem happy in their own little way.

Could that be enough? Warm rugs and kisses between pages?

Lavellan didn’t have an answer.

She left the latch on the cage open as she went to find her Keeper.

15 notes · View notes

darkvengeanced · 6 years ago

Text

@pizzaxndsadness / from x.

Screeeeeeeech.

Charlie’s eyes fluttered open at the loud, annoying sound, and she let out a groan. “Five more minutes.” She grunted, trying to turn so she could lie on her side. Her arms couldn’t move - Charlie frowned, and gave a weak tug. Her head felt foggy. She hadn’t felt this bad since the Dark Side Club when she’d been drugged -

Her eyes snapped open, wide awake. It took her a second to scramble to her feet, stumbling as she wildly looked around. She was restrained, someone had managed to drug her enough to knock her out and stunt her powers by the aching in her wrists and her inability to bounce. Her gaze snapped to the other, eyes wide.

“Who are you? What’s going on?”

#pizzaxndsadness

9 notes · View notes

alitoowell · 7 years ago

Text

I AM SCREEEEEEEECHING WE’RE HAVING CHRISTMAS EVE WITH FAMILY AND I HAVEN’T SEEN EXTENDED FAMILY SINCE MEETING TAY... MY COUSIN JUST TOLD ME THAT WHEN SHE SAW MY PHOTO HER FIRST THOUGHT WAS OH SWEET ALI WENT TO A WAX MUSEUM JAJWIWFJOCUVJ AND SHE’S LIKE THAT’S SO COOL THEY HAD IT SO PEOPLE COULD HUG WAX TAYLOR LIKE THEY’RE BEST FRIENDS I! CANNOT! BREATHE! AND SO SHE RAN TO FIND HER BOYFRIEND AND WAS LIKE I THINK ALI MET TAYLOR SWIFT AND HE CALMLY IS LIKE OKAY THAT MAKES SENSE. AND SHE’S LIKE THE HECK I SAID SHE MET TAYLOR SWIFT!!! AND HE’S LIKE WELL OBVIOUSLY ALI WOULD FIND A WAY TO MEET TAYLOR SWIFT THAT MAKES SENSE I CANNOT I AM CRYING

#mine #christmas

4 notes · View notes

vmheadquarters · 7 years ago

Text

What Goes Around...(part 24)

This is PART 24 of a story that is being told in segments by twenty-six different authors, campfire-style. Each author will take over the story with no prior planning and then pass it on after putting their own spin on it! Expect the unexpected! :) You can check our vmhq campfire tale tag for all of the previous installments or read the story as it develops on AO3. — Part 24 is written by @mysilverylining

[Part 23]

Screeeeeeeech.

The high-pitched cry comes from somewhere in the near distance, and despite Weevil's thick leather jacket, a full-body shiver runs through him. He can't identify what species of animal made the sound, but he's confident it's nothing he wants to run into in the dark.

What's taking so long, anyway? At least thirty minutes have passed since Mr. Mars disappeared into the mansion, promising he'd text once it was safe to follow.

His cell rests in his pocket, right next to his hand. He would've felt it if it buzzed. Nevertheless, he checks it again. Just to be sure.

Nothing. There's plenty of battery life left, and his signal strength...Oh. Well that explains it.

The animal shrieks again, closer now, and hair lifts on the back of his neck. Crossing himself, he scans his immediate surroundings, detecting no movement in the fading light.

He doesn't know what – if anything – is going on inside that house, but he'd rather take his chances with bad guys than end up as an hors d'euvre for some rabid animal. And anyway, who's to say Mr. Mars hasn't tried texting him for backup? The more he considers it, the more he's convinced he's needed inside that house. But, just to be safe, maybe he shouldn't burst through the front door.

Weevil puts his bike in neutral and silently rolls it around the side of the house. He parks next to an ornate garden patio, climbs off, and creeps to the French doors.

On the other side of the glass, an immense wooden table dominates the center of a fancy dining room. A large rounded doorway, looks into what appears to be a formal library. Shadows bounce against the wall indicating multiple parties within. The question is, who?

A series of slamming car doors jolts him from his thoughts. Ignitions start, and he spins around just as two vehicles speed away down the long curving driveway. He's not familiar with the truck, but he'd recognize the driver's big old head anywhere. Echolls. The passenger could be Veronica, but he's not positive. Keith Mars follows in his own car, an unidentified man riding shotgun, and someone else in the back seat.

Well shit. Now what? Should he hop back on the bike and catch up?

Movement inside the house catches his eye. Raised voices. Somebody leans against the doorframe, fiddling with their watchband.

He'll decide whether to join Veronica's caravan later. After he's shaken an explanation out of Mr. Rolex.

It takes thirty seconds to pick the lock. Oh yeah! Still haven't lost my touch. He slips inside, closing the doors silently behind him. Creeping up behind the unidentified man, Weevil grabs him by the wrist, pushing forward while twisting it up behind his back. "You have thirty seconds to explain what's going on with the Mars family."

Up close, the guy is tall, tanned, with shaggy blond hair and... Oh hell. He releases his grip, and Casablancas whirls around, belligerent. "What the hell, Weevil? Did somebody order a pool cleaning? Because it's not a good time right now. Come back next week."

"Ha ha." Weevil speaks, monotone. "You've been milking that lame joke for how long?"

While Dick scowls and rubs at his wrist, Weevil examines the other two occupants (maybe three, if that blanket-covered lump on the couch is what he thinks it is).

To his right, a slender man with a familiar face sits, stiff and sullen, in a leather club chair.

Tilting his head, Weevil points a thumb at the guy. "Is that my high school History teacher?"

"Maybe?" Dick shrugs. "I know he taught something at Neptune High, but then he got shitcanned for boning a student."

"Boning a student?" At first glance, the sequined blonde on the other chair resembles Veronica, but even seated, she has half a foot of height on V. She speaks, harsh and judgmental. "That student was Susan Knight, and you weren't good enough to lick her boots."

"Fine!" Casablancas holds up both hands, defensively. "So, he made loooove to her, or whatever."

She lifts her lip in a sneer. "You're as repulsive as that pedophile."

Weevil squints, mentally peeling back the thick false lashes, heavy makeup - and blonde wig (if he's guessing correctly).

"Ruby Jackson." Lips stretching into a wide grin, he crosses the room and bumps her fist. "How the hell are you doing?"

"Could be better, Weevil." She sweeps a hand out, indicating Casablancas and Rooks. "And it's Ruby Jetson now. Just fits my brand better."

He can't argue that.

Casablancas stares back and forth between them. "How do you know Logan's stalker?"

"Who, Ruby? We go way back." At least three names ago.

“Weevil came to my rescue in high school when a couple asshole 09ers were bullying me. Playing keep away with my glasses and backpack."

Dick chuckles. "Ha! I used to do stuff like that in high school."

They both stare at him until the nostalgic grin slips off his face. "Oh." He drops his eyes, rubbing the back of his head. "Sorry. I guess."

Dismissing him, Weevil gestures to Ruby's 'look'. "So, what's with the VMars impersonation?"

"Maybe I just wanted to find out if blondes do have more fun?"

"Obviously she's trying to lure Logan into her bed." Casablancas volunteers. "She's as much as admitted it."

Weevil runs a hand over his face, and blows out a breath. "If you’d like to write some goodbye letters, I'll be sure to get them to your loved ones, after Veronica murders you."

Ruby's nose crinkles, offended. "For your information, I can hold my own against Veronica Mars. In fact, I've been one step ahead of her all along."

Doubtful. As much as he likes Ruby, she lacks V's killer instinct. "Speaking of Veronica...Does somebody want to explain what's going on? Why did Mr. Mars request backup and then leave without talking to me? Why did they just tear out of here like a bat out of hell? And who the hell is that dead body on the couch?"

"Wow." A muffled voice speaks from under the blanket. "That's just harsh, man."

Weevil crosses the room, and throws back the cover. "Fennel?"

Wallace's eyelids flutter, pained by the overhead lighting, and his rib cage heaves with labored breaths. His complexion is...well...alarming. It's as if he's been dip-dyed in a giant vat of neon pink highlighter ink, tinting his flesh, and staining his teeth and eyeballs. In fact, some kind of gooey pink residue clings to him even now, like the skin on the top of his abuela's Jell-O.

Alarm bells go off in Weevil's brain. "What the fuck happened to you?"

Fennel moans, speaks in a pained voice. "Should I start at the beginning, or just skip to the part where Einstein here ran me down with his truck?" He gestures to Casablancas.

"Yeah, I'm totally sorry for that, dude. My bad."

Weevil turns his glare on Dick. "Why the hell isn't he in the hospital? He could have cracked ribs. Punctured lungs."

Casablancas shrugs. "Got me, man. Veronica took off out of here to track down an antidote for him. She didn't mention anything about hospitals. Just told us to watch him and keep him alive."

Ruby adds. "We couldn't have done anything anyway. We're stuck without a vehicle, there's no cell reception, and the phone lines were cut."

Damn! All he has is his bike, and Wallace is in no shape to hold on. "What did you mean by antidote?"

Casablancas looks at him like he's an idiot. "Umm...antidotos? You know, they cure poison and viruses and stuff."

Weevil sighs, and counts backwards from five. "I meant, what's wrong with Fennel? Other than the results of your vehicular homicide attempt."

"Ohhhh" Dick nods, getting it now. "The antidote is for that sludge stuff that was being piped into his coffin."

"Oh, give me a fucking break." Weevil spins around. "Coffins? Sludge? What the hell is this? A Toxic Avenger reboot?"

Rooks crosses his legs, pulling his lower pant leg tight enough to reveal a bulge. He’s sullen and silent, in the same room, but not with the others. And from the look of those bruises, has already run afoul of Echolls. All of it together indicates that he’s probably shady. If not? Well, he can always apologize later.

Weevil turns back to the others, casual and at ease. He counts to three, turns, and dives on the man. Before Mr. Rooks even knows what hit him, Weevil’s confiscated the pistol.

"Great job checking him for an ankle holster, guys." Holding it by its barrel, he passes it over to Ruby, who tucks it down the front of her jeans like a TV gangster.

Casablancas rolls his eyes. "Um...we've been a little occupied running for our lives. God, you're judgmental."

"Running from who?"

"Him." Dick points at Wallace.

"You ran for your life from Wallace Fennel?" Weevil snorts. "What did you think he would do? Make a three-pointer on your face?"

"How many times do I have to tell you?" Wallace groans. "I wasn't chasing you. I was trying to escape."

"Maybe you were when I hit you, but what about all the other times? You've been chasing us all day, with your super speed, and stuff."

"WHAT other times?" Fennel seems clearly baffled.

"Hold on." Weevil puts up a hand. "I want to hear the whole story, but first can somebody have the decency to clean this guy off? If that residue is toxic enough to require an antidote, he shouldn't be left wearing it." He points to Rooks. "You. Make yourself useful and help out your fellow educator."

The man speaks for the first time. "And get that stuff all over me?"

"Call it karma for Susan Knight." Ruby sneers. "And Carrie Bishop, too. She would still be alive if you hadn't traumatized Susan."

"I didn't traumatize Susan. She loved me, and I...cared for her."

Weevil holds up a hand, halting Ruby's imminent tirade. "I'm sure you have a lot to say, and he's clearly scum of the earth. But arguing right now won't help Fennel."

Dick speaks up. "If we let him leave this room, how do we know he won't dump Wally somewhere and take off?"

"Wallace." The blanket mumbles.

"I don't know." Weevil touches his chin, pretending to ponder. "What stopped him from taking off before I showed up? You weren't even watching him, he had a weapon, and if I wanted to get away badly enough, Dick Casablancas wouldn't be much of a deterrent."

Ruby seems to think this over for a second, but isn't convinced. She pulls the gun, and aims. "Let's go pervert."

"Go ahead. Shoot me." Rooks lifts his pointy, belligerent chin. "The only way to get him to the bathroom would be to carry him, and if I get that substance all over me, I'll die anyway."

With a feral snarl, Ruby leaves the room, returning thirty-seconds later with a wheelchair. "Lift him onto this."

"Where'd you get that?" Weevil asks.

"It was in the sister's room." She points in a vaguely Northeast direction.

"No way! That Lydia chick making Ronnie jump through hoops is a gimp?"

Ruby whirls on Dick. "Don't even speak to me if you're going to use ablest slurs."

From the way Dick's forehead scrunches, Weevil guesses he'll be checking the dictionary later.

She continues. "It was the other sister's room. The little one. The one Sean Friedrich is holding as leverage over Jeff and Lydia."

Wait. What? Weevil feels a migraine coming. "That sniveling twerp, Sean Freidrich is involved in this, too?"

"To the teeth."

"Her name is Katie." Rooks is staring at the wheelchair, skin tight around his eyes, and wearing an expression of pure nausea. "She's twelve years old."

Oh fuck. Not a kid. That sticky-fingered freak better hope Weevil doesn't find him first. You never mess with kids.

"Well?" Ruby waves the gun, to get Rook's attention.

He sighs, and stands, pulls his sleeves over his hands and gingerly transfers a moaning Wallace into the chair. They leave the room, Ruby muttering, "I dare you to try something, Pedo. Go ahead. I'll shoot your nuts off."

Weevil stares out the window, while Casablancas rolls a thick doobie on a priceless antique game table.

It's full dark now, the only light coming from the solar powered garden stakes lining the front bed. He tries his phone again, but still can't get a signal.

Hopefully Veronica and Echolls are having some luck, but antidote or not, Wallace needs to be in a hospital. He's barely holding on.

Then again, if he's been exposed to a toxin, maybe they should get him to the CDC. It's in Atlanta, if he remembers his Walking Dead canon, but maybe there's a local chapter. He'd look it up on his phone, but...

At the sound of squabbling and squeaking wheels, he shakes his head, refocusing on the here and now.

Wallace appears marginally better when they return. He's clean, at the very least, with white bandages taped and wrapped haphazardly. They've managed to round up some fresh clothing for him, and a cap to shade his eyes. The jeans are about a mile too long, but it's not like he's going to be tap dancing.

Weevil pinches the bridge of his nose. "Feeling any better?"

"I still feel like I've been hit by a truck." Wallace slants angry eyes at Casablancas. "But I suppose not sticking to myself and everything around me is an improvement."

Grabbing a side chair, Weevil drags it over to Wallace and sits at eye level. "Tell me what happened to you."

"Most of it I don't remember." Wallace gives a helpless shrug. "They got me when I came here looking for…a friend. Lydia seemed nice enough. She invited me in, offered me refreshments, and pretended not to know anything. I think she must have drugged my tea or something. Next thing I know, I’m in a damn coffin, covered in some kind of gel or plasma, with a breathing tube shoved down my throat.” He shudders, and Weevil can't really blame him.

So, the nice white lady invites a black guy inside. Coffins, and toxic sludge, and drugged tea. Forget the Toxic Avenger, this is starting to look more like the Get Out Sequel, “Get the FUCK Out.”

“Hey,” Weevil begins, choosing his words carefully. “I’ve been meaning to ask you. Remember that redhead that was with me the first time we met? At that diner?”

Wallace’s scowls. “Have you been sniffing glue? The first time we met, you and your gang ambushed me in the parking lot, stripped me naked, and duct taped me to a flagpole.”

“Sorry.” Weevil exhales. “Had to be sure.”

Wallace stares at him, brow crinkled in confusion, and then rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I saw that movie too, and I would remind you that it’s fiction, and therefore, impossible, but I’ve seen – and done – some things today. And I’m not sure I can tell the difference anymore either, so…?”

Weevil guides him back to the explanation. "So, Veronica was okay with you coming here without backup?"

"I don't need to clear every decision with Veronica, you know."

"Considering what happened to you, maybe you should." Dick licks his rolling paper and glances up. "I'm just sayin'"

Interesting. So, Fennel purposely kept Veronica out of the loop. Why would he do that? Unless... Weevil leans forward. "Who's the friend?"

Wallace’s face forms that obstinate expression he remembers from high school. "I can't tell you."

"Like hell, you can't."

"No man. I promised. I swore I wouldn't say a word." Wallace rolls his shoulders and then winces. "Man. My ribs are killing me. Maybe I should take some Ibuprofen."

"Nice try, Fennel." Weevil shakes his head. "Who did you come here to help? And why didn't you want Veronica to know about it?"

Surprisingly, it's Ruby who answers. "His name is Piznambia."

Dick perks up. "Piznarksi? From Hearst?"

"That's what I said."

"Damn." Dick chuckles. "Last time I saw that dude, he was getting his face smashed-in at our high school reunion. I have pictures."

"I know." Ruby pins Casablancas with a stare. "Why do you think he volunteered?"

Dick's brow furrows, confused. "To get beaten up?"

Ruby sighs. "No. He signed up to be a test subject for an experimental drug. A drug developed for the express purpose of creating super soldiers. Super-fast and super-strong, super-soldiers."

Something in Weevil's peripheral vision catches his attention, and he turns back to the window. "Um...guys?"

"Piznarski?" Dick snorts in derision. "I'll believe it when I see it. Super-tool is the best he can hope for."

"He spent a lot more time under that goo than this guy did." She waves a hand at Wallace. "And you saw how fast he could run."

"Guys!" Weevil raises his voice, and they all turn to him. "Don't look now, but Piz is coming this way, and I think you made him angry."

Despite the darkness, the skin not covered by the figure’s shredded tee-shirt and tighty-whities glows with a pink, phosphorescent light.

"Holy shit!" Dick whispers.

The whites of Piz' eyes are the same neon hue as his skin, and his lips are pulled back in a rictus grin. "RONNNKA! RONNNKA! 'SMEE PIZ!"

"What language is that?" Ruby asks.

Weevil can't take his eyes off the monster. "He's calling for Veronica."

A variety of bright, colorful flowers spill artistically from a two-foot terra-cotta planter. Piz bends down, picks it up, and holds it out in offering like a hostess bouquet. "COME OUT RONNNKA! WANNA TALK TO YOU." The planter cracks in his grip and breaks into a dozen pieces, contents tumbling to the ground. He looks down, confused, and then back to the window.

"Fuck. My. Life." Weevil crosses himself. "We need to get the hell out of here. He's going to bust in, and I don't want to be here when he realizes Veronica's not around."

"How?" Dick asks. "We have no cars and no phones."

"I know what to do. Follow me." Ruby crosses to the far side of the room, out of sight from the picture window.

Dick watches her, forehead wrinkled in thought. "Wait a second. You haven't limped in an hour. What happened to 'I can't walk. My ankle’s broken.'?"

Ruby glances back over her shoulder, rolls her eyes. "Logan's not here to carry me. Guess I'm on my own." She tugs on an antique brass wall sconce, and a wide section of bookcase swings open, revealing a darkened tunnel of some kind.

Dick gasps. "No. Freaking. Way. Where does it lead?"

The flashlight on Ruby's cell illuminates only a few feet. "Catacombs. They run under the entire property." She turns to Weevil. "Think you could roll your bike through here?"

Weevil rubs the back of his head. "I think so. Can we get it back up?"

"Yeah. There are ramps at each end."

"How do you know all this?" Dick asks. "Jeff and Lydia give you a map?"

"They don't even know the tunnels exist." Ruby turns a sad glance to Wallace - no, the wheelchair he's sitting in. "Katie discovered them. Gave me the underground tour before Sean took her away."

From outside. "RONNNKA! TALK TO MEEE. MISS YOU!"

Dick hooks a thumb at the window. "What about Pepto Pizmal out there? If he figures out the house is empty, he might search the property for us."

"For the first time in your life, you may be right," Weevil says. "We need somebody to stay behind and play decoy long enough for us to get a head start."

All eyes turn to Rooks. He lifts both hands, shaking his head adamantly. "Nope. I won't do it. You leave me behind with that...thing...I'm out of here. I'd rather take my chances running."

Weevil turns to Ruby. "Know where we can find some rope?"

"You can't leave me here defenseless!" Rooks shrieks. "That's murder!"

He's not wrong. "Fine." Weevil sighs, out of patience. "That leaves Ruby or Dick. Wallace needs to be hospitalized, and I need to take him."

"Not me." Ruby crosses her arms over her chest. "You'll need me to guide you, if you don't want to get lost."

Four sets of eyes turn to Dick.

"No. No way." When nobody budges, he whines, "Come on, guys! How the hell am I supposed to convince him I'm Veronica."

A wide smile stretches across Ruby's face. She plucks off her golden blonde wig, placing it on Dick's head, and adjusting it until it covers all of his own hair. "Wow. You're kinda pretty."

Despite his predicament, Casablancas smiles, enjoying the flattery.

"For a douche," Ruby continues.

His smile drops.

Weevil rolls his bike in from the patio, choosing not to fret about parquet flooring. Leaving it next to the tunnel, he makes a quick loop of the manor, locking exterior doors and reinforcing them by stuffing chairs under the knobs.

The monster formerly known as Piz is still howling when he rejoins the others. Ruby returns seconds later with a handful of flashlights, and a machete. She's changed her clothing and now wears tight khaki pants, tall brown boots and an olive-green tank top under a Veronica-style leather jacket. The gun is still tucked into her pants, and her long dark hair falls in a braid down her back.

Weevil keeps his laugh on the inside. If role-playing helps her find her confidence, who is he to judge? At least she didn't go with hot pants and thigh holsters.

Straddling his bike, he puts it in neutral and turns on the headlight. "Ready to get this show on the road?"

"As ready as I'll ever be." Without a backwards glance, Ruby clicks on her flashlight and steps through the opening. Rooks follows, pushing Wallace in the wheelchair.

Dick stands next to the tilted wall sconce, bewigged and trying valiantly to conceal his fear.

Shit. Hell has officially frozen over if he's feeling sympathy for this asshole.

Weevil gives him a manly nod. "I've never liked you, Casablancas."

Dick bites his fist, the image of contained devastation. "Somehow, my heart will go on."

"But..." Weevil continues. "I don't want you to die. At the very least, it would hurt people I care about."

"Is that violins I hear?" Dick cups his ear. "It's like we're almost...friends."

"Don't get ahead of yourself." Weevil chuckles. "Anyway, stay visible from the window. Once Piz wanders off, wait a few minutes and follow us." He aims his flashlight inside the tunnel. “There’s sand on the tunnel floor, so you should be able to follow the track of my bike. If Piz gets inside the house..." He pauses. "Hey Ruby, come here."

She returns from the tunnel. "What's up?"

"We need to give Dick that gun."

"Are you crazy? We can't give him our only weapon."

"What do you call that machete?" Weevil raises an eyebrow. She still looks resistant, so he puts a hand on her arm, appealing to her emotions. "He's taking a huge risk to keep us safe. We can't leave him defenseless."

"UGH! Why do you have to make sense?" Roughly yanking the gun from her waistband, she hands it butt first to Dick. She returns to the tunnel, muttering, "The idiot will probably shoot his own foot off, but what do I care?"

Wallace gathers enough energy to make threats. “He’s still my friend, man. Don’t you dare kill him, unless it’s absolutely necessary.”

Dick’s eyes lift to the ceiling. “Yeah. Sure. We’ll just toast marshmallows together, and sing “Come Buy Ya.”

Weevil snickers. Idiot. "Best of luck, my man." He hands his flashlight to Dick, pushes off and rolls his bike down the ramp. The secret door closes behind him, leaving only his headlight, and three small flashlights to guide the way.

So, this is it. Alone with the freak.

The bookshelf swings closed with a loud creeeaaak, sounding much like the final nail in Dick's coffin. Not a nail being hammered, obvi, but maybe one being stressed. Like if the coffin was wood, and he was inside doing a lot of wiggling or something.

Wonder if Wally did a lot of wiggling in his coffin before he got freed?

A wet motorcycle track runs from the patio entrance straight to the secret door, like a neon sign saying 'they went this-a-way'. He grabs a towel from the nearest bathroom, and using his foot, wipes it out. Kind of. He's not trying to win any housekeeping awards, or anything.

"RONNKA! RONNKA!"

Dick shudders. If he's going to be forced to stick around listening to the world's pinkest Stanley Kowalski, he's going to need a bit of...herbal relief. Luckily, he’s already anticipated this.

Bringing flame to the end of his joint, he inhales deeply, holding the smoke until his ears start to ring. Little by little his rigid muscles relax.

Piz still stands outside the window, staring in at him. Dick's skin crawls, but he forces a smile and gives him a little finger-wave.

Damn, why can't Logan be here? He wouldn't stand around waiting to be hulk-smashed. He'd head out there and take a shovel to the fucker's head. Of course, he'd probably end up hospitalized, but at least everyone else would get away.

Wait...am I the Logan tonight? Smiling, despite his predicament, he takes a seat in the club chair next to the window - still warm from Ruby's fine ass.

It's almost miraculous, the way she'd transformed from a simpering, clingy, hot-mess when Logan was here, to a competent, bitchy, take-no-prisoners, hot-mess, the moment he was gone. Something about her utter disdain for him, well...it's disturbing how much that turns him on.

He’d bang her. Probably. It’s not like Mac will ever give him the time of day, so why not?

He fluffs the long blonde wig over his shoulders. If only he had some props or something. A fan, maybe.

Bugs Bunny would flutter a fan when he was hiding in plain sight as a woman. Sometimes he’d do the Knitting-Granny thing, or the bonneted Southern Belle, or chick with the fruit-basket hat.

And you can never forget blonde, Viking-Braids Bugs. That was kinda hot. Huh. My man, Bugs, REALLY enjoyed going drag.

"RONNKA." The Piz thing howls. "LOVE YOU!"

Despite the danger, Dick can't help but snicker. Raising his voice to a feminine pitch, he shouts back. "I LOVE LOGAN! NOT YOU!"

"RONNNKA! I FIGHTS GOOD NOW, TOO!"

Dick calls back. "BUT YOU STILL CAN'T FUCK WORTH A DAMN!"

Piz lets out a roaring shriek and runs straight at the window.

Oh shit! Why did I do that again?

Dick backs away - all the way, until he bumps into the bookcase. The glass picture window shatters into a million pieces, and he pulls the gun from his pants, holding it straight out in front of him.

Piz-zilla stands among the debris, barefoot and unaffected. His eyes lock on Dick, and his head tilts, confuse. "Ronnka?"

He stalks closer, ignoring the gun and leaving a trail of bloody footprints behind him.

Something hot and wet runs down Dick's leg, and in desperation, he rips the wig off his head, holds it out in front of him, and waves it like a white flag.

He squeezes his eyes closed and waits. Piz doesn’t attack, nor does he retreat. He waits there, breathing like a bad porn star and smelling like wet dog.

When he can’t take the suspense another second, Dick cracks an eyelid.

Piz is staring at the wig, horrified. "Wha you do to Ronka?"

"No! I didn't fucking scalp her. It's a wig. See?" He turns it inside-out, displaying the woven cap section. "Not Veronica. Ronnie left an hour ago."

"Ronka here. Saw her."

"No man. That was me! Look!" Dick demonstrates, putting the wig on and pulling it off, repeating the gesture several times. "I'm Veronica. Not Veronica. Veronica. Not Veronica. See what I mean?"

"Not Veronica." The Pizmonster repeats.

"Not Veronica," Dick confirms. "She left an hour ago. With Logan."

"LOOOGAN!" Piz roars!

Dick cringes. Way to poke the beast, genius.

Piz spins away, howling, "LOOOGAN! LET RONKA GO! SHE LOVE MEEEE NOW."

"Yeah. Logan stole yo girl!" Dick gently shoves Piz into motion. "Go get 'em, big guy."

He waits until Piz is out of sight. Not daring to open the secret passage – the creaking hinges might draw him back – Dick hides instead in the coat closet to the left of the front door. He hears crashes and bangs as Piz stalks from room to room, screaming for Ronnie and Logan.

Minutes pass, and the noise stops. Dick bites his lip at the sound of crunching glass outside his hiding space. He lifts the gun, swearing that this time, he'll shoot the fucker.

Piz reaches for the exterior door instead, ripping it from its hinges with a loud, creaking crash. He heads out into the night, resuming his call for Veronica.

It takes Dick several minutes to escape the closet with the debris in the way. He's forced, to sit, press his back to the wall, and shove with his feet until the door opens far enough for him to squeeze out.

With one last look through the broken window – nothing pink, nor glowing in sight – Dick exits into the catacombs.

Darkness closes around him, thick and silent, and this has to be what solitary confinement feels like.

He flicks on his flashlight, but the beam is weak. If he doesn't catch up before the batteries die, he's going to be trapped down here in the dark.

One wrong turn, and he could be lost down here forever. Would the others even search for him? Weevil has every reason to hate him, Fennel thinks he's trash, and Ruby would just use his passing as an excuse to console Logan.

He trains the small circle of light on the motorcycle track, and moves with purpose. To combat his fear and loneliness, he lights his second joint, and tries connecting all the pieces he's learned or overheard since making the mistake of driving to this property.

Jeff and Lydia VanVino - or whatever - traded their failing Cabernet production for vats full of pink level-up potion. There has to be a shitload of cash in that, provided nobody catches wind of the results.

Lydia allied herself with that cockroach, Sean Friedrich, who's some kind of Fitzpatrick henchman now. Jeff, apparently, grew a conscience, and decided to work with Veronica. And her San Diego cop buddies. Separately. Whether that was before or after Friedrich kidnapped his little sister remains to be seen.

Piz signed up for the Captain America makeover treatment, but ended up trading most of his IQ points for the ability to smash property and a permanent case of rosacea.

Ruby’s in it because she wants to bang Logan. Piz wants to bang Veronica. Dick wants to bang someone. Anyone. It's been a while.

"And Mr. Rooks shot at Ruby because...why? She's annoying? She can identify him? He's a bitter prick?"

There's too many bad guys. Too many coincidences. Hell, even Beaver would consider this plan convoluted, and he engineered the whole...well...you know.

"We have to be missing something. They don’t call them the Fighting Fitzpatricks for nothing. There’s already a dozen of them, backbiting and jockeying for position. So…an army of braindead, pink, super-soldiers would just make things worse, right?”

A tunnel branches off to the right, but Dick ignores it, as Weevil's tire track continues straight ahead.

That is, until he hears the moaning. Not moaning-moaning, really. Nobody's bumping uglies or anything, and he's not being haunted by the Ghost of Pizmas Past. It's more like…somebody with a mouth full of...something, is really trying to get his attention.

He should probably check it out. On the other hand, his flashlight is growing dimmer by the minute, and with Logan and Mac across town with Ronnie, there's a zero percent chance the it's anyone he gives a shit about.

A minute later, his curiosity gets the better of him. What if Ruby or Rooks, (or both), turned against Wallace and Weevil, stole the motorcycle, and left them behind? He doesn't much like those guys, but they're Ronnie's people, and he's Logan's, so they're almost like his in-laws.

And anyway, this is going to make a helluva bar story someday – if they survive the night – and he'd be embarrassed to admit he got out alive without ever discovering the identity of the moaner.

Dammit. He retraces his steps, and turns at the 'Y', dragging his foot to make a new path.

The new branch curves sharply to the right, circling back toward the main tunnel, and dead-ending in a sort of cul-de-sac. Stacked crates line the wall, with shipping labels so old, the writing has all but worn off. Leaning against one of them, bound and gagged, sits...Ugh.

"This is what curiosity gets you." Dick rips duct tape from Sean Friedrich's, noting the pinkish bald spot in the dude's 'stache with some satisfaction. "Funny meeting you, here."

Sean spits a wad of white cloth from his mouth, pushing it with his tongue when it sticks to his lip. "Dick Casablancas. Last person I would've expected. I was afraid you didn't hear me."

"I wish I hadn't." Hooking hands under Sean's arms, Dick helps him up to his feet.

"Thanks. Hurry up, and untie me."

"Yeah. Not happening." The nearest crate has been pried open at some point, and Dick pushes aside its lid, shining his flashlight on the contents. He lifts one of the remaining nine bottles of wine, blowing off the dust. He can't read the label - not enough light, so he tucks it under the arm holding his flashlight. "Let's go, before we run out of light."

"Help me out, man! My wrists are numb."

"Sucks to be you." Dick shoves him toward the tunnel. "Get it through your head, we're not on the same team."

"We could be," Sean glances over his shoulder, preparing to start negotiations. "I can make it worth your while."

Dick chuckles. "That shit doesn't work on me. I'm already rich."

Sean persists. "What if I could offer you something better than money?"

"Like what?"

"I can make you a god." Sean says, without an ounce of irony.

Dick plays along. "A god? What do you mean?"

"I can make you invincible. Strong like Hercules. Fast like Hermes. Powerful like Zeus." Apparently, Friedrich has gone off the deep end, and thinks he's some kind of Bond villain now.

"Smart like a box of bricks?" Back at the main tunnel, Dick nudges Sean to the right. "Pink like Victoria's Real Secret?"

Sean sighs. "That was a... mistake. Lydia made a miscalculation in the formula. All the others were successes. Let me make you a success."

"You're talking to the wrong guy. I surf, I get baked, and play video games. What do I need with strength or speed?"

"Fine!" Sean snaps. "You don't care about money or power. What do you give a shit about? I'll get it for you."

"Well, there's family. Logan Echolls, for instance. Remember him?" Dick shoves at Sean's back, causing him to stumble for a few steps. "You should. You turned his girlfriend into an addict, fucked her behind his back, and then soiled her memory before she was cold in her grave."

"Hey! If it wasn't me, it would have been some other guy with good drugs. She came on to me, and anyway, I told Logan I was sorry."

"So, to make it up to him, you turned Piznarski into a heat-seeking missile intent on bumping him off and stealing his current girlfriend?"

"We humored the guy. So, what?" Sean's voice drips with condescension. "Do you think we're stupid enough to want Veronica Mars up in our business? She has a habit of ruining everything."

"So, you were just—” Dick's flashlight goes out, plunging them into blackness. "SHIT!"

Sean takes the opportunity to run, his footsteps shuffling in double-time.

"Stop, you idiot. I have a gun."

“Good luck aiming, sucker!” Sean calls back.

The flashlight hits the ground with an echoing clatter, as Dick pulls his cell from his pocket, and thumbs on the flashlight icon.

Ahead, Sean stumbles and trips, unable to catch himself with his hands tied behind his back. "Arghhh"

"Serves you right, sucker." Once again, Dick helps him up off the ground.

A film of dirt covers Sean's face, shirt and jeans. He spits out blood and one of his front teeth. "I had to try, before I just let you deliver me straight to Logan."

Logan? Considering the disgust and anger on Weevil's face after learning about the missing little girl, Logan shouldn't be Sean's main concern.

"What's your deal with Logan, anyway?" Dick experimentally tucks his cell in the chest pocket of his shirt, relieved when it's tall enough for the light to show over the top. "It's starting to look like you have a grudge or something."

"Why would I have a grudge against Logan?" Sean asks, but he sounds belligerent and totally fake.

"Whatever, man." Hands freed up, Dick relights his joint, inhaling deeply.

"What's that smell?" Sean stops and turns around. "Are you smoking a fatty?"

"What if I am?"

"Let me hit that."

Dick blows smoke into the douche's face. "Nope."

Sean sighs like the bitch that he is, and resumes walking. "When did you become such an asshole."

"When wasn't I an asshole? Do you even know me?" Just to fuck with him, Dick aims each of his exhales at the back of Sean's head.

Rounding a bend in the tunnel, pinpricks of light come into view. Finally!

Cupping one hand around his mouth, Dick shouts. "HELLLOOOOOOO."

Silence follows. He's about to try again, when Weevil's voice calls out. "CASABLANCAS?"

"YEAH, IT'S ME."

Weevil doesn't answer, but the lights stop receding, growing bigger and brighter as they approach.

"Piznarski give up and go away?" Weevil asks, when they're within spitting distance.

"Yeah. After he busted the window and rampaged through the house, he took off to look for Veronica outside."

A flashlight beam swings in their direction, forcing Dick to squint and shield his eyes.

"Ugh. Why the hell would you bring him with you?" Ruby asks.

At the sound of her voice, Sean lets out a furious snarl and hurtles forward into the blackness in-between. "You double-crossing bitch!"

"Did you really think I was going to let you hurt Logan?" She laughs, cruel and cutting. "You're lucky I stopped at tying you up."

"Lucky you conked me over the head and left me there for oomph--" Sean's voice cuts off.

Dick closes the remaining distance to the small - but glorious - circle of light. As he joins the group, Ruby greets him by plucking the joint from his hand, and lifting it to her lips. To her left, Wallace slumps in his wheelchair, eyelids at half-mast, as if fighting against unconsciousness.

Weevil has Sean pinned to the wall, a forearm pressed to his windpipe. He leans in close enough to tongue Sean's ear drum – what's up with this dude and his homoerotic posturing? – speaks in a menacing whisper. "Whatever my friend Ruby did to you is going to feel like a picnic by the time I'm done with you."

"What the hell?" Sean squirms and struggles. Tries to head butt, but misses by several inches. "What did I do to you?"

"Me? Nothing. But you took a disabled little girl away from her family, and I have a BIG problem with that."

Mr. Rooks closes-in from Sean's other side, almost comical in his attempt to look intimidating. As if Weevil needs backup from him.

Ruby seems to be thinking the same thing. She rolls her eyes and hands the joint back to Dick, now sticky, and tasting of Dr. Pepper flavored lip gloss.

"I'll give her back." Sean speaks slowly, as if trying to regulate his seething contempt. "She's useless to me now, anyway, thanks to that idiot, Jeff."

Weevil casts an appraising glance at Wallace, and sighs. "We'd better get a move on. This guy needs a doctor." Pulling out a pocket knife, he cuts Sean's remaining bindings and releases him.

Sean rolls his shoulders, and rotates his wrists back and forth. He only manages to take two steps away from the wall before Rook swings, planting a fist in his face. He stumbles backwards, hitting the wall and clunking his head.

Weevil side-eyes their old teacher. "You done, tough guy?"

"Yeah." Rooks whimpers and clutches his fist, as if surprised by the pain. "That was for Katie."

"Obviously." Weevil swings his leg over his motorcycle and pushes up the kickstand. "Let's move." He kicks off the ground, rolling the bike forward.

Dick and Ruby fall in behind, with Sean circling around to walk on Dick's left side. He wiggles his jaw, and spits a second front tooth into his open palm.

Dick snorts. "I hope Team Bad Guy has a good dental plan."

Sean isn't amused. He eyes each of them like they're vipers capable of striking at any moment.

Rooks - pushing Wallace's wheelchair - brings up the rear.

They walk in silence at first, the only sound being the squeaking of wheels and sizzle of paper, as Dick and Ruby pass the joint back and forth.

Cross-tunnels appear more regularly. Most, they pass by. Twice, Ruby instructs them to turn.

"Just out of curiosity..." Sean begins. "Has anybody considered the possibility of Ruby getting us thoroughly lost, and then slipping away when we're not paying attention?"

"That's a great idea," she answers. "Now let me just split Weevil and Wallace from the pack for a totally unrelated conversation..."

Dick bumps her shoulder. "Not a lot of loyalty on Team Bad Guy, huh?"

"I'm not on their team."

Wallace speaks up. "Well then, whose team are you on?"

"Good question," Weevil says. "How did you end up with these guys?"

"Team Logan, obviously. Should I start from the beginning?"

Obviously.

"Yeah. Sure."

"I was at the 09er Club, just minding my own business one day—"

Sean scoffs. "You were our waitress, and you illegally recorded our conversation."

She shrugs, shoulder brushing against Dick's arm. "As I was saying before I was rudely interrupted. That Piznambia guy was having lunch with Sean, Lydia, and Jeff, sniveling about Veronica Mars, and how she always rejected him for Alpha Males. Logan Echolls, specifically. Actually...hold on." She retrieves her cell and flicks her fingers over the screen. "Luckily, I saved a local copy of the recording."

From the speakers, comes Sean's prissy, over-annunciated voice. "Logan Echolls is an unevolved Neanderthal. Listen Stosh, you've seen the outcomes of our test subjects. They make Captain America look weak and puny. Once you've completed your treatments, you'll redefine alpha male."

A woman speaks in a high-pitched voice. Lydia, presumably. "You can throw Logan around like a ragdoll, if you so choose."

Piznarski giggles. "I choose. I very much choose. My occipital bone—"

Lydia interrupts with a bored sigh. "Yeah. We've heard the story already. Go ahead, kill him. Do whatever you want to him, as long as it can't blow back on us."

The recording ends, and Ruby resumes her story. "I cornered Lydia in the bathroom and played the tape for her."

"You blackmailed her?" Weevil asks.

"No. I told her I wanted in. I'd even help Piznolio get Veronica, but in return, I wanted Logan for myself, and if any harm came to him at all - even a scratch - the recording would go public."

"Do you realize how creepy that is?" Wallace asks. "Logan hasn't given up on Veronica since high school. You honestly thought you could lure him away with a cheap wig and an elaborate scheme? Better people have tried."

"Obviously, not." Ruby sighs, exasperated. "But I'm a great actress. It's not hard to convince people I'm looney and harmless."

"For the record, you totally convinced me." Dick says. "So, you joined Team Bad Guy as a double-agent, or something?"

Sean speaks, his voice venomous. "That's exactly what she did. I warned them not to trust the bitch, that she was sabotaging everything, but Lydia and Jeff thought I was paranoid. 'Ruby's harmless,' they said. 'We can use her as bait,' they said. I should've trusted my instincts."

"I don't trust her, either," Wallace says. "She says all this now, but why didn't she call the police? Why didn't she bring in Veronica?"

"I intended to at first, but then...I couldn't."

"He has a point," Dick says. "And what about today? You've had ample opportunity to tell the truth. You could've given us a heads-up on what we were walking into instead of simpering and whining and clinging to Logan. Hell, even that Jeff dude leveled with us."

"I couldn't okay? And Jeff doesn’t know it yet, but he probably won’t survive the day.”

"Talk to us, Ruby." Weevil halts his bike, and turns his head, speaks softly. "Why are you holding back?"

"The eyelashes, Weevil? That's not fair." She sighs. "I'm not holding back, now. I held back earlier today – and for the past few weeks – because Veronica Mars is working with the mastermind. Or at least I presume he's the mastermind, he could be reporting to others."

Wallace makes a derisive snort. "Veronica would never work with Fitzpatrick. He's everything she stands against in the world."

"Liam Fitzpatrick is not the mastermind. He provides volunteers for a share of the cut."

"And where does he get these volunteers?" Weevil asks.

"You can find them in any bar. Pathetic losers, crying in their beers over being friendzoned, or having sand kicked in their faces, or whatever. He gets them drunk, whispers promises about how everything will be different after their treatments, and reels them in. An army of 'Nice Guys'"

"Oh hell." Wallace makes a choked sound. "This is my fault! Piz was staying at my place during his visit from New York. Something came up at work on the second night, and I had to cancel plans to meet him for drinks. Fitzpatrick must've gotten to him then."

"No, it's not your fault." Ruby turns around, and lays a hand on his shoulder, ducking to look into his creepy pink eyes. "For every one volunteer, there were ten who walked away. Ten who opted out of quick-fix revenge or power or dominance or whatever. Piz stuck around because he was bitter and jealous, and delusional. And that says a lot coming from the me."

Dick is still working through the logic in his head. "So Fitzpatrick is out as the mastermind. It can't be Sean, because Ronnie wouldn't work with him. She is working with Jeff, but he seems to be on the verge of a nervous breakdown, so...not the boss. It's not me or Logan, obviously. That leaves...oh God. Not Mac!"

Now, we’ll NEVER get to second base.

"The hacker? Why would you even go there?" Ruby groans, slowing her voice to a condescending drawl. "Since I have to spell things out...the mastermind is Wei Breitski. How was that not your logical conclusion?"

"Detective Wei Breitski?" Wallace demands. "The same guy who left the winery with Veronica, Logan and Keith to go find my antidote?"

"That's the one. He thought he was being sneaky, meeting Sean and Lydia in secret, but Ruby Jetson sees everything. These catacombs don't only run under the house."

Sean groans. “I told her I heard footsteps in the walls. ‘It’s an old house, Sean’. ‘It’s Great Uncle Percy’s ghost, Sean’. When will anyone ever listen to me?”

"What's the connection between a cop and hot pink, chemically-engineered, super soldiers?" Weevil asks.

"Technically, only Piznabbit turned pink. And Wallace, I suppose. Lydia had this great plan to speed up production, or something. It didn't work, obviously. As for the connection? I'm not positive, but they whispered about some kind of West coast private army or mercenaries."

"Okay, that's super fucked-up, and I'm admittedly, damn lucky to have escaped that fate," Wallace interrupts, "But I'm still stuck on part where Veronica thinks she can trust Wei, and you let her walk into danger."

"How was I supposed to warn her? He was always there, pretending to be innocent in that stupid bowler hat. I had to play dumb as long as he was around."

Rooks speaks up. "You should have played dumber. Wei's the one who forced me to find you and shoot you."

Ruby spins around to attack, but Rooks shifts the wheelchair, using it a shield. "Hey! You already payed me back. You knocked me unconscious, remember?"

"Maybe I'm in the mood for a replay." She stalks to the right.

He compensates with the wheelchair. "He didn't give me a choice, okay?"

"Stop it!" Wallace hits the manual brake lever, locking the wheelchair in place, and scowls at Ruby until she hangs her head in shame and slinks away. He waits until they're moving again to address Mr. Rooks. "That's what I don't understand. Despite your gross and highly illegal predilection for underaged girls, you were a damn good teacher, and really seemed to care about your students. How could you have fallen so low that you would attempt murder and consort with those evil bastards?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Weevil asks.

"Not really," Dick answers. "I'd like to know the answer to that as well."

When Rooks doesn't volunteer an explanation, Weevil sighs. "Katie VanVliet, the missing little girl, is his daughter."

Wallace shakes his head. "Shouldn't his daughter be almost grown by now? The math doesn't work out."

"My daughter Olivia, will turn eighteen in a few months."

"Oh. My. God." Ruby gasps. Tone reverent, she continues, "No wonder I felt an instant connection to Katie. It's like...I was meant to befriend her."

Dick scratches his head. "What am I missing."

Wallace fills him in. "I’m gathering that the Van Vliet family must have adopted Susan Knight's daughter with Rooks, and our friend Sean here, along with Detective Wei, kidnapped her to keep Rooks and Jeff in line."

"Took you long enough." Weevil says, pushing his motorcycle into motion again.

Dick turns to Sean. "That's harsh. Even for you."

Sean exhibits zero guilt or shame, merely gives him a 'what-are-you-gonna-do-about-it-sucka' smirk.

Something switches inside Dick, and, what the hell? Other than Wallace, he's the only one who hasn't taken a turn at this douchebag. Rearing back, he demonstrates how a real head butt gets done.

The sickening crunch of Sean's nose is worth the blinding flash of pain behind Dick's eyes. Totally worth it.

With that out of his system, Dick helps Sean up off the ground. "Any more teeth?"

"Fuck you." Sean's upper lip moves as his tongue takes inventory. "You missed, asshole."

"Bummer."

"Couple more minutes," Ruby says. "We're almost to the barn."

"Finally." Weevil exhales. "We should try to figure out what comes next."

"So, talk," Dick says.

Weevil glares over his shoulder. "The problem is, we have two people needing saving, and I'm only one person. As nauseating as I find the idea of anybody else touching my baby, I have to put Wallace's survival ahead of that, so..." He swallows and points to Dick and Ruby. "Do either of you have any experience riding a motorcycle?"

Dick shakes his head. "Not really, man. Only four-wheelers."

"I've only ridden as a passenger," Ruby says.

"Dammit." Weevil hangs his head in frustration. He breathes audibly for a second, and then straightens. "Listen. I've known both of you forever, and you've both spent your lives convincing people to underestimate you. Whether out of strategy..." he addresses Ruby, then swings his eyes to Dick. "...or laziness. I don't care. This is the moment for you to step up."

"Hold that thought." Dick lifts a finger, and pulls out his phone. "Imma find you some motivational speech background music."

Weevil slaps him on the back of his head. "Stop fucking around. Somebody needs to force Sean's cooperation long enough to rescue that kid. Since I can't be in two places at once, it's up to you two."

"And me." Rooks says. "I'd do anything to help Katie."

"Imagine if you'd tried something earlier, instead of...I don't know...attempted murder?"

"This is it," Ruby says, as they come to an upward-leading ramp. She toggles a switch and a door swings open, revealing giant metal vats.

They all file through the opening, into the strangest barn Dick has ever seen. Not that he's spent a lot of time in barns or anything, but...is that a coffin? Wallace’s coffin?

Weevil parks the bike, and crouches down in front of Wallace. "Okay, Fennel. This is it. We're gonna get you on that bike, and I'm gonna need you to hold on like your life depends upon it, okay?"

"No." Wallace swallows and shakes his head. Tears fill his strange pink eyes. "I don't think I can hold on. I'm scared."

Weevil lifts his eyes to the sky as if praying. "I don't know what else to do. I could leave by myself, drive far enough to get a cell signal and then call an ambulance, but how much time would it take to get here? And can you afford to wait?"

"I have an idea!" Ruby disappears around one of the giant vats, returning with a silver, donut shaped item.

Five minutes later, Dick returns the pocket knife to Weevil. "Why does this feel so familiar?"

"This is WRONG!" Wallace moans, cheek pressed to Weevil's back. "All KINDS of wrong!"

"You think I like it?" Weevil snaps. "I'm all for poetic justice and everything, but not at the expense of my favorite leather jacket."

"Can you two stop with the bickering?" Ruby stands with both hands on her hips. "Just be grateful that you're safe and it would take a hurricane to knock Wallace off that bike."

It's not an exaggeration. There has to be fifty layers of duct tape, binding Wallace to Weevil.

They'd stood on either side of the bike passing the roll back and forth. Dick to Ruby in front. Ruby to Dick in back. Front. Back. Front. Back. It might take hours to get the smell of tape off his hands.

They move as a group to the small door in the southeast corner. Ruby opens it, and turns back. "There's a service road right behind those trees. Follow it for--"

"RONNNKKKKA? THERE YOU ARE!"

She slams the door and bolts it. "Now what?"

"Fuck! Fuck fuck fuck." Weevil mutters. He lets out a sobbing laugh, and lifts an eyebrow. "Well...it worked once before?"

"Huh-uh! No! Nope!" Dick shakes his head. "Negative. I've already pissed my pants once today. It's somebody else's turn."

"Don't look at me." Sean crosses his arms. "I'm the only one who can take you to Katie."

Mr. Rooks – who was tasked with holding Ruby's leather jacket while they were duct-taping – straightens up and slips his arms through the slightly too-short sleeves, flexing where it's too tight along the upper back. He marches over to Dick, snatches the blonde wig, and drops it haphazardly onto his own head, not bothering to adjust the fit.

Well that’s embarrassing. Would it have killed somebody to remind me I was still wearing that?

“It’s been fun getting…reacquainted.” Rooks unbolts the barn door and, with a sad wave to the group, runs out into the night, shouting out in girl-voice, "Here I am, Baby! Come and get me!"

"Well damn." Weevil shakes his head. "Didn't think he had it in him." He waits until they're out of sight, kick starts his bike, and pulls away, looking back over his shoulder once.

"And then there were three," Dick says. Because it sounds kind of ominous. To Ruby, he asks, “Wanna make out?”

“Ewww.” She scrunches her nose with disgust, but there’s a gleam in her eye that makes him think it’s all for show.

He grins. I’ve got your number. "In that case, let's go rescue that kid."

"Let's not." Sean fakes a yawn and stretches. "You're all assholes, and I think I've changed my mind."

Oh, hell no!

Dick draws from his waistband, and pulls back the safety. "What was that? I couldn't hear you over the sound of my gun." He pauses for dramatic effect, and slips on his sunglasses, while the opening theme for CSI-Miami plays in his head.

Want to find out what happens next? Check back next Saturday for the next installment written by… @nicemom93. Tag, you’re it! Make sure to submit your segment to [email protected] by Wednesday, October 11th.

#veronica mars #vm fanfic #vmhq campfire tale #vmhq round robin

15 notes · View notes