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icypantherwrites · 6 years

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The “Dumb” One: Fix-it Fic

Well, 1,900 words worth of a fic to at least make an attempt to fix “The Feud” and all of the dumb comments made towards Lance (among another point that needed addressed) with a heavy dose of platonic Hance and platonic Klance and angsty fluff ♥ Enjoy! (season seven spoilers)

Read all of my snippet/drabble fics over on Battlefield on AO3! Feel free to drop a comment if you enjoyed ♥

xxx

“You’re not dumb.”

The words hung in the air, heavy with conviction and at the same time a plea, a wish, a desperate hope that the recipient believed them.

Lance did not react, his head remaining stationary on his upturned knees while his arms hugged about them, making a pitiful image next to the dying remains of their campfire.

“Lance--”

“I know.”

Lance’s tone was sharp and dull and bitter all at once. This close, even in the barely there glow, Hunk could make out the faintest sheen on dark lashes before Lance angled his head, pressing his face fully into his knee.

“I know,” he repeated, muffled.

Hunk didn’t believe it for a second.

He joined his best friend on the bumpy ground, settling himself into a cross-legged sit and throwing a handful of loose kindling onto the fire.

Lance had been quiet all day since their “visit” to Bob’s game show, not even cracking a smile when Hunk and Coran had together concocted a sort of s’more or offering up a complaint when Keith ordered them all to jog the perimeter of their camp for the night (which, despite knowing the training and exercise were good after being cooped up all day in the Lions, Lance normally dramatically protested before doing it anyways).

Hunk had a feeling he knew why and his stomach curdled.

Garfle Warfle Snick had been all anyone could talk about at the group dinner as Coran had demanded details of the legendary encounter and the team had been full of laughs in describing the faux-Galrans and Keith’s drawing abilities and Lance’s bi-boh-bi-ing and the shenanigans of the set.

But Lance had not been smiling. Not really. He’d bared his teeth in a false version of one, laughed at himself when Pidge ribbed him about not knowing any of their allies’ names, and had weakly chuckled when it came around that he’d been chosen to “escape” because Keith didn’t want to be stuck for him with eternity.

It took a few pointed looks and subtle shoves from Hunk and then surprisingly Keith, purple eyes narrowed in thought, for them to move on from the topic and instead they got Coran telling one of his stories about the Paladins of old that then had Krolia one-upping him with a Blade mission and the two of them went back and forth for a good varga with a seemingly entranced audience.

And they all probably would have been except for the fact that Lance… Lance was not partaking in it. He instead had his head propped up as he was now, firelight dancing across his face but his eyes not seeing it.

When Lance had excused himself to feed Kaltenecker and get her settled for the evening, Hunk had been a little surprised when he found himself the attention of a bunch of concerned and confused gazes.

He’d quietly told them his suspicions and had watched as Allura’s expression had shuttered and Pidge sucked in a harsh breath, guilt flashing across her features. Keith’s lips had thinned into a line and he’d looked to Hunk and he could see an apology on his lips.

But it wasn’t he who needed an apology for being laughed at. He more than understood how it felt to be the butt of a joke, to be laughed at, but even with his stint as “Humorous Hunk” in the Voltron Show he’d known still then (mostly) that it had been an act.

Lance did not have that.

He instead had a history of kids teasing him as he learned how to speak English, of teachers belittling him as he struggled to understand more complex math and science formulas, of instructors telling him he was only in the fighter program because of a drop out.

Lance had been told his whole life he wasn’t smart enough, not good enough. And he was. Lance was smart. He was people smart; he understood them in ways Hunk envied. He saw things about others; he read emotions and intentions. He was tactical and a great leader and reflexive and could change direction on a dime and make those quick-second decisions that Hunk knew he’d be agonizing over still a day later.

But those things didn’t matter, not to Lance. Not when he was so used to being compared to others not on his strengths but his “weaknesses” and finding himself wanting.

And now…

Now he’d had to suffer that all again, repeatedly called dumb, called “the stupid one,” and had Hunk not been so overwhelmed by all that was happening at the time of the show he’d have nipped that in the bud (or, tried to) before Lance had been repeatedly humiliated when he heard the quiet, disbelieving and now realized hurt tone of Lance asking for clarification if the host meant him.

Hunk felt like the stupid one.

He had to try and fix it, somehow.

He’d told the others as such, knowing the last thing Lance would want to do is feel cornered, even if this was a positive intervention. They’d all reluctantly agreed to let Hunk handle it, Shiro quietly telling him, “he knew best,” and had retired not long after to their sleeping arrangements, Keith noting he’d be up in five varga for a watch change.

And now here they were and Hunk’s more blunt approach -- no way for Lance to dodge it, to laugh it off, to weakly protest he didn’t know what Hunk was talking about -- had not quite gone as well as he’d hoped.

He should have known it would not be that easy.

Lance rolled his head free a moment later, smeared tear tracks down his cheek, and kept his eyes averted towards the fire.

Hunk’s heart broke.

“Shouldn’t you be sleeping?” Lance asked quietly after a pause, no judgment in the question but only a sort of tiredness that Hunk recognized. It was the tone he took when even a hug couldn’t make him feel better, when he didn’t want to burden another with whatever was troubling him.

He wanted Hunk to leave.

He was going to have to do a lot better than that.

“Nope.”

Lance finally looked his way then, a crease of confusion to his brow.

“I can’t sleep,” Hunk admitted and that had Lance sitting up although he remained curled over his knees. “Not when I know you’re upset.”

Lance turned back to the fire. “I’m not upset.”

Hunk didn’t bother that with a response.

“I’m not,” Lance insisted in the growing quiet. “I’m…” His hands tightened around his legs, knuckles turning white. “I just…” He let out a soft sigh. “I thought… I thought things were different now. Guess not, huh? I’ll always be the dumb, stupid one no matter what.”

“Lance--”

“It’s fine,” Lance cut in, hunching further over.

“It’s not,” Hunk retorted sharply. “It’s not fine, Lance,” he lowered his voice. “And you are not dumb or stupid or any of that. That was a stupid game show and a stupider host. Don’t listen to anything he said. He was wrong.”

“Keith doesn’t think so.”

Lance flinched as soon as the words were out of his mouth, clearly not meaning to say them. Hunk’s eyes narrowed and his, “What?” came out flatter than he’d ever heard himself speak.

Lance flushed. “I… forget that.”

“Like hell,” Hunk snapped, and the curse felt as foreign on his tongue as it apparently sounded to Lance as dark blue eyes shot over to him, widened in shock. “What did Keith say?”

Hunk had thought the two of them had reached an understanding. He’d have have to be blind to not see the way Keith implicitly trusted Lance to have their backs, to be his second in command. Although the two of them still exchanged insults and barbs Hunk had thought at this point it was mostly out of habit, in jest.

He’d thought the two of them had become friends but…

“You heard him too,” Lance said quietly, barely a whisper. “He picked me to get out so he wouldn’t be stuck with me.” His words began to become quicker, higher. “So the four of you would be there and you guys are all so smart and you’d figure a way out, I know it, while I would just hold everyone back because I can’t contribute anything because I am the stupid one and the host was right and I am dumb and I wouldn’t want to be stuck with me for eternity either.”

“You’re not the stupid one. I am.”

Hunk barely contained his yelp of surprise as Keith sounded above him and Lance stiffened next to him, even moreso as Keith dropped down on Lance’s other side.

“Keith,” Hunk protested weakly, eyes flicking between Lance’s bowed head and clenched jaw and Keith’s resolute stare.

“I need to say this,” Keith said. He reached out a finger, let it hover in the air for a second, and then firmly poked Lance in the shoulder, who curled away from it as though somehow expecting something worse. “Listen,” Keith commanded, voice low but strong all the same.

Lance didn’t say anything but Hunk could see that Keith did have his attention, his head turned ever so.

“I’m not good at talking about things,” Keith said. “I have… have trouble talking about my feelings. And what I said during that stupid show… that was wrong of me. And stupid. Really stupid. But I…” A flush was creeping up the back of Keith’s neck, embarrassment and awkwardness warring, but he grit his teeth and continued.

Hunk felt something uncoil inside him at the display. Keith had really grown up.

“I don’t take back my pick,” he continued. “You’re who I would want to get out of there, Lance. And it’s not because of what I said. It’s… you called me the future but you’re wrong.” Lance winced and Keith plowed on. “You are. The future. You… You bring people together, Lance. You make them care. You are the one who has the best chance to unite the universe in this fight. That is why I picked you.”

“Keith,” Lance murmured, picking his head up fully. “You…”

Hunk chuckled as Lance launched himself sideways at Keith, wrapping his arms tightly about the now ramrod form.

“Er, okay, we’re hugging now,” Keith muttered, lifting his arms up and tentatively patting Lance on his back.

“That’s not a proper hug, Keith,” Hunk advised, scooching over and wrapping his arms around both of them and squeezing so hard Lance gave a little squeak. “This is.”

Lance relaxed almost bonelessly in the embrace. “Thank you,” he whispered, voice thick.

“None of that,” Hunk chided. “There’s nothing to thank us for. Just do one thing for me instead, okay?”

He could feel Lance’s head tilt against his arm.

“Believe us when we tell you that you are not stupid or dumb. Believe us instead we we say you are smart and kind and one of the most amazing people that exists in this world. Got it?”

“Hunk…”

“What he said,” Keith put in, earning a wet laugh from Lance.

“Okay,” Lance agreed quietly, tones soft but sincere and the earlier melancholy gone. “Okay.”

Hunk let out a contented sigh and squeezed both Lance and Keith tighter.

Things were going to be more than okay indeed.

xxx

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lesbianarcana · 5 years

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Luceo non Uro - Chapter 5

Absit invidia (Let Envy Be Absent)

Relationships: Asra/Apprentice

Rating: Mature

| Read on Ao3 |

Dawn in the central district usually brought with it a veil of mist that blanketed the streets in a dull grey miasma. It reminded Daya of winter in all the worst ways. Their body craved the sunshine, but mid-morning sleep-ins were years behind them. There was food to get and the shop had to be open in two hours, so when the sky began to turn grey and blue they were up.

They weren’t happy about it, but they were up.

“Protego hanc domus,” they whispered, and the front door of the shop glowed white. Daya stepped back, pulled on their scarf--then paused, as the hairs on the back of their neck prickled.

They glanced up and down the street warily, shoulders tensing, and in the shadows of a nearby alley they saw it. A dark figure looming in the shadows, menacing.

Fear stole the breath from their lungs, but they called fire to their hands regardless. Ribbons of smoke and flame sprung from their fingers and they approached the figure.

“Who are you?” they demanded. “Did he send y--oh.”

A familiar face blinked at them from under a dark, fur-trimmed cloak. He was a few years older than Daya remembered, but there was no way they’d forget that distinctive height.

“Muriel?”

The young man pulled the cloak off his head, shaking his head as black hair tumbled over his shoulders.

“What are you doing here?” Daya asked, and let the flames die out. “You’ve never visited me before.”

“Not here to visit.” He sounded almost embarrassed. “Asra asked me to check on you.”

“Asra?” Their eyes brightened. “Is he back from his trip?”

Muriel shook his head and shuffled his feet from side to side. “He asked me...before we left.”

“Oh...well, that’s sweet of you. I’m about to run some errands if you want to join me.”

He shook his head again. Daya suddenly remembered what Asra had said about his friend’s discomfort with crowds.

“Would you like me to make you invisible?” they asked. “That way you can accompany me without having to worry about staring.”

Muriel paused, blinking, then a small smile tugged at his lips. He nodded.

He had to bend down to let Daya smooth the magic over the top of his head and across his cheeks. They could feel him fidgeting nervously under his touch, and he flinched when their fingers brushed over his shoulders.

“There,” Daya said. They led Muriel to a nearby puddle so he could see his reflection. “I can still see you, and you can see your reflection, but to everyone else you’re nothing but air. But if someone bumps into you they will feel you, so be careful.”

They headed back out the street leading to the market. Daya walked briskly; Muriel followed close at his heel. He seemed more relaxed than a few minutes ago, glancing around with a little interest at the buildings.

“I sometimes get anxious in big crowds too,” Daya said to him. “Is it the press of people, or do you not like the stares?”

“Both.”

“That’s fair. People can be thoughtless when it comes to others who are different. Not that you look bad or anything,” they added hastily, and Muriel’s dark brows drew together. “You’re quite distinctive. But I suppose you must get tired of hearing that.”

The market was all but deserted this early in the morning save for the vendors and a few other early risers. It was a sight that made Muriel’s shoulders relax further, and he let his pace slow a little.

“Do you mind if we make a stop?” Daya asked. “I’m starving.”

Another small smile. “Me too.”

“Oh? Then I’ll double my usual order.”

Daya beckoned him over to the baker’s stall, where the owner was kneading bread on a counter dusted with flour. This was about the only semi-permanent stall in the market; the man had been in business for years beyond counting.

“Dayana!” the baker said, raising a hand in welcome. “My first customer of the day. Come, sit. I have a loaf in the oven with your name on it.”

Daya glanced longingly at the little table shoved into the corner, but shook their head. “I’m running behind today, so I’ll have to take it home with me. Do you have another, by any chance?”

A younger man emerged from the back of the stall, carrying a little wicker basket covered in linen.

“Hello, Selasi,” Daya said. “You have good timing.”

The baker’s son smiled and laid the basket on the counter. He pulled back the linen cover, retrieved two loaves of pumpkin bread and wrapped them up.

“Here you are, Daya,” he said. “How is Asra? Still wandering the world?”

“Still wandering the world,” Daya replied, smiling wryly, and felt Muriel shift awkwardly beside them. They extended their hand to Selasi’s father, waving him closer.

“You’re too kind,” said the baker.

“Looks painful,” Daya murmured, wincing in sympathy. There was a burn on his forearm they’d noticed, yellow-white and beginning to blister. Daya smoothed their hand over the wound and the skin flattened, brown-pink, shiny and new.

“Thank you, magician!” the baker called as they left. “Say hello to Asra when he returns! And make sure to come again soon!”

When they were out of earshot, Daya turned to Muriel. “Here, let’s stop for a moment.”

They turned into the same alleyway they’d been introduced, two years ago. Daya sat on a barrel and handed one of the loaves to Muriel, smiling up at him.

“This pumpkin bread is how I met Asra, you know,” they said as both of them ate.

Muriel shot them a glance in the middle of biting down on the bread; Daya took that as a cue to elaborate.

“It was the last night of the Masquerade, about four years ago now. He set up his booth at the back of my shop--well, it was my aunt’s shop at the time. He was there all day, so I brought him some of this bread from the market.” Daya smiled fondly at the memory; of the surprise on Asra’s face.

“Why?” Muriel asked in his low, gruff voice, and Daya glanced up. He was staring at them in confusion and disbelief between the strands of his long hair.

“Why what?” they asked, quirking an eyebrow.

“Why would you do that...for someone you don’t know.”

The question stumped Daya for a moment.

“Why?” they repeated slowly, blinking. “Because... he might not have eaten all day, and it was little trouble for me to bring him some food.”

Muriel dropped his gaze, but he still looked confused, and a sudden realisation made Daya draw closer, peering up into his face.

“Muriel,” they said, and he blinked. “Has no-one ever done something for you purely to be kind? Not ever?”

“No.” The green eyes dropped. “Not before...Asra.”

Stirred with pity, Daya touched his hand. Muriel flinched like the touch hurt him, but after a minute his fingers slackened. They gave his palm a little squeeze, and he flushed.

“I’m sorry you haven’t known a lot of kindness,” they murmured. Muriel shrugged; he tried to pull his hand back, but they held on. “Muriel...there’s a lot of people in this world who delight in being cruel, but there’s more who will be kind to you. And you do deserve kindness, the same as everyone else.”

They ate in silence for a few more moments. Then Daya drew in a deep breath and spoke.

“I did want to ask something of you,” they said, and Muriel glanced over sharply. “I wanted to ask about Count Lucio.”

The young man stiffened, the last piece of bread squashed in his hand.

“You don’t have to,” Daya said hastily. “I know you’re not--well, I know there’s a story.”

Muriel’s hands curled into fists.

“Asra told you,” he muttered, his voice low.

Daya shook their head. “He said it wasn’t his story to tell, and I never pressed him for it. It’s not my business. I’m asking because I think--I think Count Lucio harmed my aunt.”

Quickly they filled him in on the details of the story: the night Lucio came to the shop, his aunt’s fear, the disappearance, the guards at his door. Muriel listened silently, his brows pinched.

“It’s been nearly a year,” Daya finished, “and I just--I don’t know what to do about it. Or what I can do.”

“You can’t do anything.”

“I don’t believe that. I can’t.”

Muriel frowned. “He’s the Count.”

“I know he’s the Count. I--” Daya stopped with a grunt of frustration. “I’m sorry, I’m angry at Count Lucio, not you. But surely you’re angry at him too? Not just because of what happened to--to Asra’s parents, and to my aunt--but to the state of the city. The disease, and the flooding, and the Coliseum fights. It’s like Vesuvia means nothing to him.”

“I am angry,” Muriel said, in his low voice, and there was an edge of steel Daya hadn’t heard before. His fists clenched on his knees. “I hate him.”

“Me too,” Daya said softly.

Silence fell, punctuated by the murmur of the gathering market crowds. Then Daya stood, and before Muriel could move, wrapped their arms around the young man’s middle. He froze...then tentatively returned the embrace.

“Thank you for checking on me,” they said. “I know you don’t really like me that much.”

“It’s not that,” Muriel mumbled, and he looked so wildly uncomfortable Daya didn’t press him. They stepped back, squeezing his arm, and smiled up at him.

“It’s not important if you don’t,” they said. “As long as you know I care about Asra as much as you do, that’s all that matters.”

Was that shame in his expression? Guilt? It was impossible to tell; Muriel was a man of inscrutable expressions even without the curtain of hair that covered his face.

“I need to go,” Daya added, and pulled their hood over their head. “That invisibility spell will take at least an hour to wear off, so you should be able to make the journey home in peace.”

They turned away, took a few steps back towards the mouth of the alley--

“Thanks.”

Daya glanced over their shoulder, this time straight into Muriel’s eyes as he perched on the barrel. His hands spread relaxed over his thighs, and he gave them a little nod. “For the talk,” he added gruffly. “And for…looking out for Asra.”

Daya’s expression softened, and a smile spread over their face.

“You’re welcome,” they said--and meant it.

#the arcana game #asra x mc #asra x apprentice #muriel #my writing #luceo non uro fic #fan apprentice #dayana firestone #q

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calligraphist-artemisia · 7 years

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Undefinable (Chapter 1)

Summary: High School AU. Lance likes Hunk. Hunk likes Lance. There should really be no problem there, except neither of them thinks the other knows they exist. Keith and Pidge just want their dumb friends to be happy but that won't happen unless they can get them to talk. Rating: T Pairings: Kidge, Hance, and a little Shallura

Also posted on fanfiction.net and archiveofourown

Chapter 1

Lance sighed dreamily for the fifth time since he sat down, his eyes focused on the back corner of the classroom. “How do you think he gets his hair to look so nice?”

His best friend, Katie “Pidge” Holt, arched an eyebrow as she raised her eyes to look at him. “Good conditioner? I don't know. Do you think you could focus on our assignment and not on how nice your boyfriend looks today?”

“He's not--! We're not--!” Lance moaned in despair and dropped his head onto the table they shared, never noticing the odd looks of their fellow classmates. “Piiiiiidge,” he whined, drawing out her name.

Pidge rolled her eyes. “Everyone's staring at you.”

“Is he looking too? NO! Don't look!”

Pidge had just started to twist around and look at the back corner, where the subject of Lance's affections sat, when her friend frantically grabbed at her arm a little more tightly than she liked. “Lance, seriously?” She pulled her arm away and ignored his whining as she turned to the desk behind her, where Allura and Shay were quietly chatting as they filled out their worksheets. “Save me.”

“I offered my input at the start of the year, but you ignored it,” Allura said, looking amused. Her lilting accent gave her words a more playful tone than she'd probably intended. “You could have partnered with Keith instead.”

“I can't imagine a situation that could go more wrong than that,” Pidge deadpanned.

“So you say,” Allura said lightly.

Under the guise of continuing their conversation, Pidge was able to look in the back corner without giving Lance a heart attack. There were two boys there, one of whom was Hunk, who sat with his back facing them. The other was Keith, who glanced up in time to notice her eyes on him. He winked at her before going back to his work.

Pidge swore if anyone else saw that, she was going to kill him.

Lucky for Keith, Mr. Coran picked that moment to re-enter the room and call the class back to attention. Chatter died down and everyone faced the front so they could review the worksheet together.

Pidge scrawled a quick note to Lance, and the moment Mr. Coran turned his back to the class, she tossed it forward over his shoulder and was pleased when it landed on his desk.

You're fine. Hunk wasn't looking.

She could see his sigh of relief.

Sometimes she really didn't understand Lance. A pretty girl could cross his path and he'd have no problem chatting her up, but the moment he laid eyes on Hunk it was like someone hit the 'off' switch in his brain. Maybe it was a mark of how strong his feelings were for the other boy. Still, it was unusual to see him trying to avoid attracting attention.

Pidge narrowed her eyes at the back of his head. She'd hoped he would figure it out on his own, but it was starting to look like she'd have to lend a helping hand after all.

“Are you sure you don't want a ride?” Lance asked her for the third time that day.

“It's fine,” Pidge replied. “Shiro's picking us up today. He and Matt got home from college last night.” She shut her locker door to reveal him staring at her with blatant disapproval. “What?”

“Dude, this is the last night I've got the car before my sister gets home and uses it all the time! It's our last day of freedom!” Lance exclaimed. “C'mon, Pidge, I know you've missed Shiro, but you don't really want to ride home with mullet-boy, do you?”

The pair began their walk down the hall towards the main doors, easily moving along with the crowd also heading in the same direction.

“Well, if I hurry I can get the passenger seat and watch him sulk the whole drive.” She could almost see the internal battle waging in his mind. “Besides that, tonight's the big welcome home dinner for them. I can't miss it.”

“Oh man, I forgot about that,” Lance groaned. “That's so lame. I can't believe you have to spend the whole evening with Keith.”

“Yeah. The things I do for family,” Pidge muttered as they stepped outside. She blinked her eyes against the brightness of the sun, but didn't stop moving or else get jostled by everyone behind her. It didn't take long before she was able to look around, and when she did she quickly spotted a familiar black SUV parked along the road. She smiled at the prospect of seeing her friend for the first time in five months.

Lance caught sight of her expression and grinned knowingly. “Oh, alright. I see. For 'family'. I think you mean for Shiro.”

“First of all, no,” Pidge said in her most no-nonsense tone. “Second of all, Allura can bench press, like, three of me, so no. Third of all, why are we having this conversation again?”

“Uh, cuz you've been smiling all day, duh,” Lance said, holding up one finger. “And then there's the way you say his name. 'Oh, Shiro!'” His voice went high in falsetto. Ignoring her heated glare, Lance continued ticking off each of his points using his fingers. “You don't care that you have to spend hours with mullet. Actually, you haven't insulted him once today. Then there's--!”

Pidge turned her back and started to walk away, giving him a single warning. “Lance, I'm leaving now.”

“So hi to your boyyyyfriend for me!”

“I will come back and punch you!”

“Love you too, Pigeon!” Lance blew her a kiss for good measure, laughing when she turned and flipped him off.

After that, she ignored him, hurrying to Shiro's SUV. She paused in her approach to the passenger door when she spotted an unexpected person sitting there, and then moved for the back door. She pulled open the door and slid into the backseat with a moody huff.

“Good day at school?” Shiro asked, sounding amused.

Pidge's response was to groan loudly and drop her head in her hands. Next to her, Keith chucked. Up in the front seat, Allura did her best to keep her composure and not laugh.

“Shut up, Keith,” Pidge mumbled.

“I haven't even said anything!”

“You don't need to. I know what you're thinking.”

Shiro cleared his throat, interrupting the impending argument. “Seat belts!” He didn't shift the car into drive until he heard several seat belts click into place and only then were they on their way.

For a few minutes, things were peaceful. Allura and Shiro subtly flirted their way through casual conversation. Keith and Pidge sat in relative silent in the back. And then...

“My best friend is dumber than your best friend.”

Pidge snorted. “Yeah right. Today, Lance spent all of Chemistry talking about how nice Hunk's hair looks.”

“Hunk nearly had a breakdown thinking about how blue Lance's eyes are,” Keith countered.

“Lance has started writing poetry detailing all of the finer qualities Hunk possesses. Which is a lot, apparently.”

“Oh, he's only now reached the poetry stage? Hunk was there two months ago. He's now in the stage of today's-the-day-I-tell-him-how-I-feel-oops-no-it-isn't.”

“That's nothing. Lance has been through that about six different times this year.” Some of Pidge's humor about the situation faded away. “This is crazy, Keith. We've got to come up with a plan, because I can't take much more of this.”

“Maybe we should just shove them in a room together and not let them out until they admit their feelings?” Keith suggested. “Or you could just tell Lance that Hunk likes him back.”

Shiro began to brake in preparation for stopping at a red light.

Pidge dismissed the idea with an audible scoff. “Just how do you propose I explain how I know that? Because Lance will be over the moon for about five seconds before he starts to doubt it, and then he'll ask: 'Pidge, how do you know that?' And you know what I'll have to tell him? 'Well, Lance, because I'm dating Keith and he told me.'”

Shiro hit the brakes a little too hard, making everyone in the car lurch forward. He twisted around to look at the two in the backseat, unsure if he'd really heard their conversation correctly. “Wait, what?”

“Oh, yeah, hey,” Pidge said in realization. “Shiro, I'm dating your brother.”

“We're together now,” Keith said at the same time.

Shiro looked between them as if trying to figure out a particularly tricky puzzle. He opened and shut his mouth several times, deliberating on what to say, and settled for: “Do our parents know?”

“Of course,” Pidge said, as if it was obvious. “They even got us a 'congrats on not killing each other' cake after our first date.”

Keith nodded. “It was good cake. You missed out.”

“Such good cake,” Pidge echoed.

Shiro looked to Allura for assistance, still not able to believe what he was hearing.

Allura giggled sweetly and patted his hand. “I know it's hard to believe, but they're telling the truth. Also, the light is green.”

Shiro quickly turned his attention back to the road, staunchly refusing to glance at the grinning duo in the backseat. After a few minutes passed, he dared to ask another question. “So what's going on with Hunk and Lance?”

Pidge and Keith groaned in unison.

“Hunk has a crush on Lance, and Lance has a crush on Hunk,” Allura filled him in.

“So what's the problem?” Shiro asked.

“They're morons,” Keith muttered.

Pidge gently nudged him with her elbow, a disapproving smile on her face. “Maybe we should start at the beginning?” (Keith shrugged and Pidge took that as the go-ahead to continue.) “Last year, the engineering and programming classes had a joint final project. Hunk was my assigned partner for it. I must have mentioned Lance a few times while we were working, and Lance eventually got curious about who I was talking to all the time. Long story short, a few months and I find out the cute boy Lance keeps talking about is actually Hunk.”

“It wouldn't be so bad if they'd just talk to each other, but Hunk gets quiet just at the thought of it,” Keith said.

“Lance is just as bad. I've seen him flirt his way through most of the female population at school, but the second Hunk's nearby? Dead quiet. They're both driving us crazy,” Pidge concluded.

Shiro frowned. “There has to be something you haven't tried yet. What about arranging a blind date? Or a double date?”

“We've tried that,” Pidge said. “Lance makes excuses to not go. Apparently no one could ever match up to Hunk.”

“Hunk worries himself sick and always has to cancel,” Keith said.

Pidge sighed. “I'm still hoping one of them gets over their nerves before prom. Maybe I should tell Lance we're dating and that I can't go with him. Then he'll have to find someone else to ask. Someone like Hu—why are you shaking your head?”

Keith hesitated, not wanting to be the one to break the bad news to Pidge. “Hunk may have already asked Shay to prom...”

Pidge gaped at him for a full five seconds. “What the fuck, Keith?!”

“Language,” Shiro said, unable to help himself.

Pidge cast an annoyed glance in his direction before refocusing her eyes on her boyfriend. “Sorry, Shiro. What I meant was: what the quiznak, Keith?!”

Allura couldn't stop herself from giggling at the word. It was one of Mr. Coran's substitution words for unsavory language, which he'd told the class was something he and his best friend had invented when they were young.

“Why would Hunk ask Shay? No, forget that. Why didn't you tell me sooner? We had a plan!” Pidge paused to rethink her words. “Okay, we had most of a plan.”

“We had an idea to write fake notes to drop in their lockers, which is just as drastic as our other idea to lock them in a small room together,” Keith said. “Anyway, I think it's more that Shay asked him. He's the only one her parents trust enough to take her. Look, I'll think of a new plan. I have an idea. I just need to work on it.”

Shiro slowed down and pulled off onto a side road without any issue from the driver trying to tailgate him.

Pidge wasn't at all convinced by Keith's explanation, but she was wiling to let it slide. It wasn't the first time one of their ideas didn't pan out, and it wouldn't be the last. Setting up their stubborn best friends was turning out to be a bigger challenge than either of them had anticipated.

Which reminded her...

She leaned over close to Keith and lowered her voice, well aware that Shiro and Allura were still listening to them. “So I found something interesting that might help with our summer plans. It looks way more legit than the last video we found.”

Keith leaned in as well, looking interested by the news. “Do they give the location? How far is it?”

“Maybe two hours from here,” Pidge responded.

“That close...”

Shiro cast a curious glance in the rear-view mirror and raised an eyebrow at how close they were. It was such a far cry from the last time he saw them only a few months before, when they could barely stand being in the same house together. Suddenly they were chatting as though they'd been friends for years and Shiro suspected if they weren't buckled in, they'd be sitting pressed against each other.

“Cute, aren't they?” Allura said. “I couldn't believe it when they told me. Actually, I thought they were trying to play some sort of prank. But here they are, planning out the best place to hunt—which one was it again? Bigfoot or the Yeti?”

Pidge looked up so fast she nearly collided foreheads with Keith. “Neither of them are even around here!”

“And they're the same thing,” Keith added.

There was a noticeable pause as Pidge slowly turned back to Keith, her brown eyes wide with disbelief. “I'm sorry, what? Did you just say Bigfoot and the Yeti are the same thing?”

Keith looked smug as he leaned back in his seat, meeting her gaze with ease. “Obviously it's the same creature. Its fur changes to white when it lives in colder climates or during winter.”

Pidge let out a strangled groan of frustration. “No. Just no. They're a completely different species! First, that's suggesting that it's migratory and there's no way a creature of that size could travel thousands of miles across open space without being seen, never mind across oceans!”

“It could if there's more than one,” Keith challenged. He grinned at the look of pure outrage on Pidge's face. “Katie, I'm joking.”

Pidge loudly exhaled, closing her eyes as she released the mixture of emotions she'd been building up. There was the click of a seat belt being released and then Keith scooted over and wrapped an arm around her.

“Jerk,” she mumbled, leaning into him.

“Sorry, I couldn't help it,” Keith said softly.

“And?” Pidge pressed.

“And you're the best genius girlfriend in the whole world?” Keith guessed.

Pidge tilted her head back to look up at him for a moment and then nodded, snuggling back up against him, where she remained for the rest of the drive.

Keith and Pidge ran upstairs the moment they entered the house, both laughing when they overheard Shiro confirm with their parents that they were dating.

“I'm sensing a distinct lack of trust in us,” Pidge joked as they entered her room.

“Can't really blame him,” Keith replied. “Five months ago, would you have believed it if someone told you we'd be together?”

“I would've called them crazy.” Pidge dropped her backpack on the floor near her desk and indicated for Keith to do the same before she sat down on the edge of her bed.

Once he put down his own bag, Keith joined her.

“So, we have ten minutes before my mom sends Allura and Shiro up to check on us. Are you thinking what I'm thinking?” Pidge asked, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.

“Hell yeah,” Keith breathed. “Show me that footage.”

Pidge grinned and reached back to grab her laptop from where she'd left it on the bed. She pulled it onto her lap and booted it up, leaning into Keith while they waited. “I found it last night. I couldn't sleep, so I figured I'd do a little more research into our mystery creature. It was posted around two last night and I managed to save it before it was taken down at two-seventeen. Which either means it's a hoax and whoever posted it is trying to get more attention, or someone had it removed because they don't want anyone to know about it. Either way, I didn't want to immediately dismiss this one after watching it.”

“Wait, is this the one the forums have been arguing about all day?” Keith asked.

Pidge shrugged as she logged on. “Maybe? I haven't been on since last night. I didn't want to deal with all of the drama.” She began to look through her folders, grinning triumphantly when she found what she was looking for. “I hope you're ready for this.”

It was as the two were leaning close together to get a clear look at the screen, that Matt walked by the room. He glanced in, curious about the voices he heard, and then doubled back and stopped as the scene before his eyes registered in his mind.

He stood there a moment, watching as his sister and Keith quietly talked, pointing to things on the laptop screen. There was no animosity. No yelling. No glaring. Just the two of them, looking remarkably cuddly.

Matt retreated downstairs, more than a little bewildered by what he'd seen. He entered the kitchen, where everyone else had gathered and cleared his throat. “Has anyone else noticed something weird going on with Katie and Keith?”

His mom, Colleen, looked up in alarm. “They're not fighting again, are they?”

“What? No,” Matt said with a frown. “That'd be normal, mom. They're both upstairs in Katie's room and they're... getting... along... You're smiling.” He looked around. “You're all smiling. What am I missing?”

“They're dating,” Shiro spoke up from the table, where he sat with Allura and his parents.

“You're joking.”

“He's not,” Allura said. “They've been together since the end of February.”

Matt was rendered speechless. Slowly, he moved toward an unoccupied chair and sat down.

Shiro reached over and patted him on the shoulder in a gesture of comfort. At least he wasn't the only one left in the dark in regards to their younger siblings.

#Voltron #fanfiction #kidge #hance #high school AU #with a little shallura on the side #i'm having too much fun with this dumb fic

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maychorian · 7 years

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Weekly Voltron Fic Recs #25

Rules: You can find past weekly rec lists here, and non-list recs in my general fic rec tag. This is stuff I like, and I have a huge bias toward Lance, hurt/comfort, and general fluff, in that order. Gen unless otherwise noted. Please comment on the fics if you read and enjoy them!

Happy quarter life to this ridiculous feature. I need to stop procastinating on these.

The Lion at the End of the Tunnel by Outworld Words: 3,488 Author’s Summary: Pidge bites off more than she can chew in an act of grand space piracy gone wrong. Aboard a dying starship with few options, she's starting to think this might be her last mistake until she discovers a certain idiot has done something very stupid. My Comments: Tagged Lance/Pidge but reads platonic. This is a great action fic with perfect character voices. I love these two together so very, very much.

Truce by kyanve Words: 42,709 (WIP 7/?) Author’s Summary: "EVERYONE SHOULD BE ABLE TO SEE IN EVERYONE ELSE'S HEADHOLES!" - because that feels like one of a few things that needs exploring.The new team can be a perfectly good one, but the odds of finding any five people who don't know each other THAT well who'll be thrilled with being mentally linked to giant sapient mechanical god-beasts and each other is basically nonexistent. It's a recipe for whacking heads into it, avoiding it, trying to pretend it's not there, and generally making an already awkward train wreck of a situation more awkward and confusing.Keith as main PoV because I would go insane doing this from more than one PoV and it would turn into more of a novel than it's already looking like it'll be, and who better to explore "sudden unasked for mental links to other beings" than someone with abandonment issues and trust issues everywhere *and* a few good big secrets?This starts around beginning of canon and I have parts to clean up and post going all the way through Season 2; it's weaving through almost entirely off-camera things and side events. Spoilers bloody everywhere. My Comments: REALLY fun missing scene-type fic with a great Keith perspective. It’s FUN and it does a great job of fleshing everyone out, and there are some truly fantastic ideas. I’m really enjoying this one.

Little Lions by MidnightCreator Words: 5,111 (WIP 3/6) Author’s Summary: Lance has a very bad day and his only upside is the comfort from the Blue Lion. The Blue Lion knows her Pilot needs her so she takes steps to be as close as she can be to him. Her actions set off a chain reaction amongst the other Lions as they all step up to be there for their Pilots. My Comments: SO CUTE. I love lions-as-actual-lions, and this is especially good because the lions just want to make their pilots feel better. So it’s tiny lion shenanigans and oodles of H/C. MY FAVE COMBO.

Masks by TiedyedTrickster Words: 9,588 Author’s Summary: Everyone has a mask, one that tells the world what character you're destined to play in life, that tells people who you are. Except Lance's mask doesn't match him at all, and it's driving Keith nuts. My Comments: This is SUCH a creative and original concept. I’ve never seen anything like it, and it’s so, so cool. Starts out Lance-centric, but there’s lots of other stuff in there too, like fantastic Shiro and Keith and also REBEL MATT. Check it out!

An Unexpected Hero by nerdiekatie Words: 2,102 Author’s Summary: “You tapped my knife to a Roomba? Where did you even get a Roomba?” Keith starts to peel his knife from the Roomba while Pidge is speaking. “She’s an old cleaning droid I found- Keith, no!” Pidge lunges forward to stop him. Keith just lifts the Roomba above his head, watching Pidge try to jump high enough to get her. “She needs to be able to defend herself!” My Comments: This fandom has only the HIGHEST quality crack.

our native land draws all of us by SerenePanic Words: 1,037 Author’s Summary: Coran is many things: advisor, mechanic, historian.Once, he was a father. My Comments: My heart hurts. I love Coran so much.

De-Stressing by The_Sickfic_Sideblog for pinstripedJackalope Words: 1,642 Author’s Summary: Keith is very stressed out. Pidge knows how to handle this. Set relatively close after The Blade of Marmora. My Comments: This is really sweet, and I love how cool and competent Pidge is while Keith is falling apart. She really knows how to get past his defenses, and it’s lovely to see.

Qualifications by The_Sickfic_Sideblog Words: 1,340 Author’s Summary: Pidge gets dehydrated, and the effects bring up sour memories. My Comments: I would say “protect her,” but I think her team has that well in hand.

Ice Ice (Baby) by shishiswordsman Words: 12,707 (WIP 2/?) Author’s Summary: The Blue Pilot's shoes become too big for Lance to fill. Literally. (Yes, it's a kidfic. Sue me.) My Comments: LOVE. De-aged Lance is quite realistic, and there’s beautiful, amazing art for every chapter, too! I am STOKED for more.

Skirt, Dirt, Worth by ardett Words: 6,354 Author’s Summary: Lance wants to see Pidge wear skirts and makeup. (But really he doesn’t.) My Comments: This made me ache, but there’s a lot of loveliness and courage in here, too. Lance needs love and acceptance so much, and it takes some work, but his team is able to give him that.

It Takes a Village by Zemmiphobia Words: 18,010 Author’s Summary: One decision by an injured soldier changes not only the fate of the universe, but the fate of her young son. My Comments: Thace/Ulaz. I adore this characterization of the Blade, especially Ulaz as a scientist who is very smart and methodical, but also has almost too much heart and compassion. Baby Keith is perfect, and I was very satisfied with the ending, though I’m happy there are more stories in the series, too.

Lost in the Stars by WingedChickadee Words: 3,440 (WIP 3/?) Author’s Summary: They didn't see him. They didn't see the lion falling quickly towards the planet's surface through the debris of broken Galra ships. They heard his shout of pain and shock, but not what happened. Six people all assumed he made it back to the castle, they didn't notice the missing paladin. No one noticed. Not a batted eye or turn of a head.When the paladin wakes up, he is injured and alone. Now, he has to try and survive until he can find a way home. My Comments: Oh no, LANCE. This is very well-written and scary, and I really need more.

lost & found by luoup (ravenic) Words: 7,006 Author’s Summary: The wormhole has been rent apart by Haggar’s magic, and the Paladins are lost. My Comments: Really lovely little fic. A well-done take on the post-season 1 scenario, with an excellent conclusion that made me happy-sigh.

Under Pressure, I Break by Emerald_Ashes Words: 2,728 Author’s Summary: Lance was more hurt than he let on after their visit to the water planet where the wormhole spat them out. His injuries are aggravated further during their fight with Ulaz, and then the Robeast. When it finally becomes apparent just how injured he is, Hunk can only blame himself. My Comments: Hance. I love love LOVE the focus on Hunk in this fic. Though Lance is the one physically hurt, Hunk is the one who needs to be loved and reassured. Lovely little fic.

Go the Fuck to Sleep by nerdiekatie Words: 1,745 Author’s Summary: He’s glad the paladins only have a low-level telepathic connection. Shiro is one hundred percent sure that if he could everything Pidge is feeling, he would be on his ass. As it is, Shiro has the distinction impression that Pidge can see time and taste shapes right now. My Comments: I take back what I said earlier. They really REALLY need to protect her. Mostly from herself.

You're Our Sharpshooter by safety_dancer for spacekidwrites Words: 1,302 Author’s Summary: My take on how Shiro reacts to hearing Lance call himself Voltron's seventh wheel. My Comments: Very sweet little fic. I want something like this to happen so bad.

Out of Phase by LittleWhiteTie Words: 6,571 (WIP 2/4) Author’s Summary: Shiro is lost, only able to contact the paladins during their dreams. He helps them through their nightmares when they need him the most, but it's getting harder and harder to find them as he starts to lose track of what's real and what's imagined. He's losing his grip on this reality, and his sense of self is beginning to fall apart. He's going to need their help to get back before he disappears entirely. My Comments: FANTASTIC Post-S2 concept, just amazing. GAH, it makes me hurt, but it’s so lovely. Really, really want some more.

Audio/Visual Quest by Dynared21 Words: 15,298 Author’s Summary: Pidge and Lance have journeyed to a mysterious planet in order to find the technical details to Zarkon's fortress...as well as a TV that they can hook up their Gamestation to! But who owns the mysterious collection they run across, and will the pair be able to escape with their gains? Or will they end up the newest exhibits of this collector? My Comments: Really fun, action-packed, episode-like fic. I’m super happy that S2 has seemed to encourage more fics with Pidge and Lance interacting. They’re such a fantastic combo.

Feeling Blue by spitfire00 Words: 2,962 Author’s Summary: Lance is feeling worthless. Pidge reminds him just how important he is. My Comments: Have I mentioned lately how much I love Lance and Pidge? Anyway, I love the way she just shoves her way in there and refuses to leave. Lance needs a stubborn little sister to love him.

The Long Walk Home by nerdiekatie Words: 5,488 Author’s Summary: What happens when you get your unexpected and unwanted period in space? What happens when your armor doesn't have pockets for your inhaler? On a stealth mission, Pidge and Hunk are stranded and forced to walk to the Green Lion. They're racing against time and their own bodies. Will they make it back? My Comments: This fic is GRUELING, but I love seeing the two geniuses of Team Voltron being badass and strong despite their unique difficulties.

Weekend Guests by TheBeckster Words: 6,906 (WIP 1/?) Author’s Summary: Voltron had been too late. They hadn't been able to stop the Galra this time. As the Paladins pick their way through a leveled city, they come across a group of survivors and find themselves way out of their element. Everyone except Lance, that is. My Comments: Fantastic start! I love Lance with kids, and he’s particularly competent and wise and adorable here. The kids all feel like kids with their own personalities, which can be tricky. Waiting patiently for more. (Not that patiently.)

Big Stick Diplomacy by windscryer Words: 3,496 Author’s Summary: Keith is bad at diplomacy, but he is trying. Pidge... not so much. My Comments: Protective Pidge! Savage on Keith’s behalf! Everyone is extremely protective, too, but Pidge takes the cake. She will take you down if you even THINK about looking at her family funny, and Keith is her boy.

Previously Recced Fics That Updated:

Hold Up Half the Sky by BossToaster (ChaoticReactions) This Is New by TheHomestuckWhovian bombs and bullets by ashinan Bromances in Space by ptw30 Handbook of Demonology by squirenonny for Pechat Blue and Bruised by DizzyBunnies Playing Catch-Up by 5557 Altar of Storms by VelkynKarma (now complete, and incredibly satisfying) Prison Bonds by GriffinRose (complete) Someplace Like Home by squirenonny Burning by CranberryBat Here Stands a Man by awkwardCerberus Love and Other Questions by squirenonny Stardust, Silk and Steel by CalicoTomcat So Here's what You're Not Going to Do by BreakTheDawn (now complete) Stronger Than They Know (The Caretaker) by unfortunatelynormal A Dream Away by BossToaster (ChaoticReactions) Chrono Story by Crowoxy (now complete)

#voltron legendary defender #weekly voltron fic recs #fic rec #maybe next time i'll only wait a week #vldgen

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nh935 · 5 years

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Creepy America Episode 4: Red Like Roses

Creepy America

Episode 4

“Red Like Roses”

Hurricane, West Virginia

Over the years, Zoey and I have faced a lot of dangers filming “Creepy America”. Towards the end, it came to be expected that an episode would threaten our lives in some way. It should have been anticipated; after all, “Creepy America” was the equivalent of regularly poking a starving bear with a stick to see what happened. But before we adjusted to it, it was harrowing. Considering some of the things we went through, it’s a miracle that we even decided to keep working on the show at all. And while we had a few close calls with “Worlds of Wonder” and “The Things We Leave Behind”, it was during the episode “Red Like Roses” that the danger of what we were doing truly sank in for both of us.

***

We had just left Ohio and had made our way into West Virginia. Our last two episodes were edited and ready to upload, but Zoey insisted that we wait a week before uploading the first episode (second if you’re counting “Worlds of Wonder”, I suppose) so that we could use the two episode buffer to try to keep a regular update schedule. In the meantime, whoever wasn’t driving was using the trip time to promote the show online: we set up the website and put a countdown on it, updated the youtube channel with “Worlds of Wonder” on it, and made official social media accounts to start talking about it. Zoey had also edited together a trailer to post, made with clips from our previous three episodes. It didn’t make too many waves, but we got enough bites to keep our spirits up.

As I passed the sign letting me know I had crossed state lines, Zoey was on youtube, refreshing the page with the trailer on it and reading comments to me.

“Oh, here’s another one! ‘Cool idea. Effects could use a little work, though.’”

“They think it’s fake?” I asked.

“I guess so.”

“Doesn’t that bother you?”

She thought about it, then shrugged. “Not really. I mean, if they like the show, who cares, right?”

“I guess.” A brief silence fell over the R.V.

“What’s wrong about that?” Zoey asked.

“Huh? About what?”

“The show. Why does it bother you if people think it’s fake?”

I sighed. “It’s just, I don’t know, doesn’t it seem like we’re doing our audience a disservice by letting them think it’s not real?”

“Why’s that?” she asked.

“Well, if they think it’s not real, then they don’t know to look out for it.”

“Look out for it?”

“Yeah, they won’t think it’s a threat.”

“Why would they have to worry about it?”

I could feel my face getting red. “Well, I mean, like what if they come across it in real life? Wouldn’t they not know what to do?”

“But if they saw the episode, wouldn’t they still know? I mean, they wouldn’t think it’s fake if it was right in front of them.”

“I guess not. Nevermind.” I saw a sign for the upcoming towns and exits. “Hey, Hurricane. Isn’t that our next stop?”

“Hmm? Oh, yeah! Hold on a sec.” She flipped open her laptop and started reading off directions for the nearest R.V. park.

***

The R.V. park was a sight that was becoming increasingly familiar: a set of parallel roads with long parking spots set in the middle of a grassy field. I backed into a spot and began hooking up the various utilities to the corresponding tubes and plugs while Zoey left to pay for our stay and ask some questions about the town over.

I had just sat down inside the R.V. to rest when Zoey came back. She entered, flopped something on the table, and began rifling through drawers.

“What is this?” I asked, turning over an old black composition notebook, weathered and worn, in my hands.

“No idea. I found it in some woods not too far away.” Zoey said, plopping down our large over-the-shoulder camera. “But did you see what’s inside?”

I stared at her with an eyebrow raised, then opened the cover. Inside were the words ‘Jenny Walsh, English Notebook, 3rd Grade’ scratched through with one long line. Underneath in much larger letters read: ‘Jenny Walsh’s Notebook of Curses and Spells, TOP SECRET!’ I looked back up to see Zoey mounting the large equipment on a tripod. “Wait, we’re not trying to do an episode on this, are we?”

She glanced from behind the equipment. “Why not?”

“Because it’s a kid’s notebook. It’s probably just full of nonsense words and drawings of Patronuses. The only place this thing will work is on the playground.”

She shrugged. “Then we scrap the footage or put it in the bloopers.”

“But still, a kid’s notebook?”

Zoey ignored me and finished placing the cameras around: one positioned at each of us, and one to capture us both sitting at the small booth in the R.V. Hitting a button on the laptop, she sat down across from me. “So, do you want to try doing the introduction this time?”

I shook my head. “You are so much better at doing those.”

“Alright then,” she said. “Three, two, one, and… Hello ladies and gentlemen, and welcome back to Creepy America. We’re in Hurricane, West Virginia today, a state with more local legends and lore than anyone else, it seems. In fact, this state is so full of darkened corners that we seem to have found something after being here for only a few hours.”

“Yeah, something.” I mumbled.

Zoey shot me a look of annoyance. “I found this in the woods around our R.V. park. As you can see” she said, flipping open the book to the first page, “it seems to be a homemade spellbook of some kind. We’re going to find out if it actually works.” She started turning pages. As she did, her brow furrowed and she squinted her eyes. “Rog… rojol… I can’t read this, it’s all in cursive.”

I sighed and outstretched my arm. Zoey handed it over to me.

I looked down at the pages. “Royal… Command. A charm and mind control spell, done in the form of ‘hanc vitam diligere plus quam se’. Strange.” I turned the next page. “Gilded Heart. A spell for acquiring riches. ‘Midas non indiget familia’.” I started flipping through page after page. “These are written like… I don’t know, some kind of medieval spellbook.”

Zoey hopped up on her seat so she could lean over and look at the pages. “What are you waiting for? Try one.”

I looked back down at the page I had stopped at. “Red like Roses, a death curse to put on your worst enemies, created in the style of ‘sanguis liberate’.” I glanced up, eyebrows raised.

She just gave me a look of ‘go on, read it’.

I shrugged and began reading aloud. “Based on the Hecate school of spellcasting. Needs no components; words alone are enough. Read the following loudly and clearly:

Red like roses, blue like breath White like snow, black like death I have been wronged, o demon lords My enemy lives, so draw your swords I call upon the dark and wrong To right me as I sing this song Red like roses, blue like fate White like cold, black like hate For all the things that gave me pains Deserve not the blood in their veins Liberate it now, let it flow free I ask you this on bended knee Red like roses, blue like chill White like flesh, black like swill I do affirm this as my will Use my eyes, make me kill

After reading, the next person the spellcaster sees will be affected by the curse, so be careful. Best read when the person you want to kill is nearby. A good stealth spell.”

I blinked a few times, then slowly put the book down. “Well, even if it was fake, that was certainly creepy. Especially in a kid’s notebook.” I looked back up at Zoey. “ I mean, what has to happen to you to…”

Zoey suddenly stopped smiling. Her eyes went wide and her hand went to her throat.

“Zoey…”

She started coughing. Horrible, gasping guttural sounds, bereft of air, filled the room.

I flung the notebook to the side of the room and flew over to her side of the table. “Zoey, hang on. Hold on, I just… I…”

She looked at me with bug eyes for a second, then the face of panic was replaced with a wide smile. She started laughing. “Liam… your face....”

I stood up. “You… you’re an ass.”

“Yeah, I know.” She grinned and walked over to the notebook and picked it up. “Guess someone’s not as skeptical as they’d like you to believe, huh?”

“Shut up.”

***

While we were excited to explore West Virginia so that we could find more subject matter for “Creepy America”, we were in Hurricane specifically for “Faces of America”. We still had to keep that project going, and that meant interviewing as many different demographics of people as possible. Zoey liked the area because “it’s the perfect example of small-town podunkville, complete with weird pronunciation.”

Her words, not mine.

Surprisingly, quite a few people took us up on our little project. I guess people will jump at the chance to ramble on about themselves. Even the store owners on Main Street were willing to let us interrupt their work day so we could needle them with questions.

We were at the local hardware store, talking to the large man behind the counter, listening to him go on about high school dances or railroads or… something. I can’t remember what. Zoey always managed to approach each interview with enthusiasm and rabid interest; I had problems just staying awake.

“...so that’s when I bought the place. This place is… well, it’s part of the landscape, as much as the trees or the mountains or even the sky itself. To let ‘em tear it down, it’d be akin to blasphemy, I’d reckon. We’d lose a piece of our souls.”

I remember that part, because I had a hard time stopping myself from rolling my eyes so hard they’d pop out of my skull. For heaven’s sake, the place sold nails. If Zoey was thinking the same, she didn’t let it show. “Wow. That’s quite a story there.”

The man beamed with pride.

“Well, thank you so much for your time, it was truly a pleasure.” She moved her hand horizontally through the air, a signal she gave to me when she wanted me to stop recording. “Thank you again for sharing your tale with us, we really do appreciate it.”

“No problem. To be honest, it was kind of fun.”

Placing the camera onto the ground, I started to collapse the tripod, only to hear a rustling sound. I looked down to see a sheet of orange and white paper, dirty and torn from residing on the ground, no doubt.

Curious, I bent down and picked it up. At the top of the page was “AGATHA SORIN'S GUIDE TO MAKING YOUR OWN SPELL!” in big bold letters. Cartoon witches with green skin smiled in the corners, while the page contained nonsense syllables and instructions on how to combine them.

The man saw me holding the page. “Oh! Sorry about that. Must’ve been a leftover from the Halloween activity books. A few of those pages always manage to hide before I can staple ‘em all together.”

“Agatha Sorin?” I asked, pointing to the name.

“Just an ol’ folktale. Accordin’ to legend, she was one of the first witches in Salem to be convicted, but before they could burn ‘er, she escaped. People say she made it here and spent the rest of her life up in a log cabin near Deadbear Falls.” He chuckled. “Some city folks came ‘round and disproved it all a few years ago, but that doesn’t keep ‘er from being a local celebrity every Halloween.”

Zoey and I looked at each other.

“Any chance you could tell us where this Deadbear Falls is?” she asked.

***

Deadbear Falls turned out to be a small creek that ran down a hill, situated deep in the thick West Virginian woods.

The forest it ran through was cold and quiet, the October air creating a soft hush on everything. Leaves covered the ground, but they had lost most of their vibrant oranges and reds since falling, instead taking on various shades of brown matching the dirt beneath. Our trek was only punctuated by the babbling of the small stream and the shuffling of disturbed foliage.

Otherwise, there was nothing up here. Especially not a log cabin.

I sighed. “So much for that.”

“He did say it got disproved a few years ago.” Zoey said, walking ahead of me. “At least it’s pretty. We could use this for woAH!” Suddenly she was on the ground, face buried in leaves. I rushed over and helped her up.

“I’m okay, I’m okay” she muttered, sitting herself up.

“What happened?” I asked.

“Dunno. Foot caught on something.” She kicked towards a pile of leaves, and as her foot pushed them aside, we both heard a dull ‘thunk’.

We looked at each other, then started throwing handfuls of leaves away.

It was a small metal footlocker, black paint peeling away, replaced by spots of rust. In one corner was the name “Jenny Walsh”.

“Zoey…”

“Yeah, I see.”

We sat in silence for a while.

I put my fingers under the box lid and began to pull up. The lid rattled around a bit and there was a dull groaning sound of something being strained inside.

“Wait, Liam, that’s somebody…”

All of a sudden, the lid flew open with a resounding “POP!” and I fell backwards, catching myself as I did.

“Huh. Lock must be rusted away. This thing’s been out here for a long time.” Zoey looked at me, then reached into the box. She came out with a small bundle of black fibers, wrapped together with a red string. “What is this, a lock of hair?”

I reached inside as well, withdrawing tiny gleaming metal cufflinks, necklace pieces, and even a few forks. “Silver?”

I looked back over to Zoey. She was holding tiny pieces of chalky white items, long like sticks but far more smooth. “Liam, these are…”

“...animal bones” I finished. I hesitated for a moment, then put the items back into the metal footlocker. “Let’s leave these here. I don’t really like this, Zoey. We should head back to the R.V. and…” I turned back to her and stopped.

There was a small trickle of crimson coming from her nose.

A trickle of blood.

***

“You’re overreacting, Liam.”

Instead of heading to the nearest doctor like I insisted, we were seated in a booth at the local diner. There were only a few people besides us in the yellow-white building, which was just as well; I kept noticing the others making side-long glances at us while they thought we weren’t looking.

It was no doubt because of Zoey. She had her head tilted forward, a bundle of white paper held to her nose. Dotting the table were more bunches of paper, stained crimson with blood, and a large roll of cheap toilet paper next to Zoey’s right. The waitress had brought it out after apologetically telling us there “weren’t no tissues”.

“I mean, of all the people to freak out over a nosebleed, you are the last on my list.” She withdrew the bundle of paper, saw that had too much blood soaked through to be serviceable, and put it aside, unwrapping another length of toilet paper and wadding it up.

I looked at the paper now stained red. Red like roses.

I tore myself away from the tissue to look at Zoey. “You can’t tell me that you think that this isn’t weird, right?”

“This isn’t weird” she huffed. “Remember Griffith Park?”

I sat back in my seat a bit. When we were both in fifth grade, our class had gone on a field trip to the Griffith Park Train Museum. While we were waiting on the bus for our teacher to come back from the ticket counter, Zoey’s nose started bleeding. Some of the other kids started freaking out, and one of the girls told Zoey to pinch her nose and tilt her head back so that she wouldn’t start losing blood. Zoey, who had been pretty calm up to this point, shrugged and did so. After a minute, she complained about her stomach feeling funny.

Another minute passed, and she vomited up blood all over the bus floor.

The scene our teacher came back to was one of mass panic, bus driver included. To her credit, she handled everything well, even when Zoey had quietly asked if she was going to die. Obviously she didn’t, but she was attended to by ambulance paramedics who had to get the story about what had happened out of a bunch of freaked-out kids. When they did hear it, they calmed down and let our teacher know there was nothing wrong.

Turns out that you’re not supposed to hold your head back during a nosebleed. The blood will just go to the stomach, and because the stomach can’t digest blood, it’ll vomit it back out when too much gets in there.

Hence why Zoey was bent over and talking more to the table than to me.

“Alright, fine.” I conceded. “But after what happened this morning, we can’t take any chances.”

“What are you…” A sudden look of realization crossed her face. “Oh come on.”

“The spell said ‘the next person you look at’. That was you. And remember those words? ‘Sanguis Liberate’? I looked it up. It’s Latin for ‘free the blood’.”

“Liam, it was a kid’s notebook.”

“A kid who buries hair and animal bones out in the woods, apparently.”

“Yeah, fine. It’s a disturbed kid’s notebook. But not a witch-in-training.”

“Why not? There’s stories of witches all over early America in locations like this. There’s even a witch who relocated here.”

“Alright, first off, we were told that that legend was disproved by one of the locals. Not exactly accurate, now is it? And secondly, most of those stories of early witches ended up with them getting burnt alive. Something tells me if they did have some actual mojo, those stories would have ended differently.”

I stayed silent for a bit. “But… the timing…”

“What, you mean late Fall, early Winter? The time when the air is driest and my nose always bleeds?” She sighed. “Look, I appreciate the concern, I really do, but I’m fine. I swear. See?” She held up the last bundle of paper, much less red than white. “It’s stopped already.”

I looked at her for a few moments, the slouched. “Alright, sorry. I guess you’re right. I was just…”

“Y’all ready to order?” the waitress asked, coming around to our table.

“Damn right I am. I’m starving.” Zoey said.

I pushed some of the bloody tissues away from me with a straw. “I think I’ll just stick with coffee, thanks.”

***

Fifteen minutes later, we were walking through a house with a tiny old widow and I was beginning to question my liberal use of the bottomless coffee deal. I had loaded up on caffeine to keep myself awake through the next round of interviews, but my body didn’t quite like the fact that I had downed cup after cup without real food, and it was rebelling by making my hands shake something fierce.

On top of that, the house was narrow, with hallways thin and small. We had left the cozy three or four rooms the widow regularly used and now were traveling through areas of the house she hadn’t gone through in years: corridors dusty with age and rooms filled with long forgotten memorabilia. The twilight had a hard time penetrating inside, making the shadows dark and deep. No heat filled this area, she had the vents blocked off, so I could feel the cold drafts of air brush against my skin as I awkwardly high stepped around tables and boxes.

All while trying to keep that damn camera still.

“We were doing our best to survive, but it wasn’t easy. William’s leg had forced him into disability and that money barely kept us afloat. Then Nixon announced the draft, and Kenny had to go to Vietnam. Just like that. He never came back.”

A few steps went on in silence. Zoey didn’t like to talk during these interviews; she said that her presence was supposed to be “as invisible as possible”.

We arrived in a small room, boxes stacked into corners with black sharpies. “These are his things” she said with a sigh. “I was supposed to give most of this away, but by the time I could finally face these items… well, it didn’t seem so important.”

She picked up a small pocket knife, unfolded it, and handed it over to Zoey. She took the blade almost reverently, looking it up and down, dancing her fingertips on the edge.

“Ow!”

She hissed and withdrew her hand. A small bead of blood was forming on the tip of her index finger.“Oh my,” the old lady said. “Hold on just one moment, I’ve got a kit in the kitchen…”

“No need” Zoey said, reaching into the camera bag. She withdrew a small box and undid some wrappings. “Got band-aids right here. If you don’t mind, though, could Liam and I grab those folding chairs in your kitchen? I’d really appreciate it if we could sit and discuss some of these items, and I think my cameraman could use the break.”

“Well, if you’re sure… I suppose I wouldn’t mind a little sit down.”

“Thanks. We’ll be right back.”

As we walked, Zoey tore off the little papers and stuck them in her pocket.

“Thank you” I whispered.

“No problem. I know how heavy those things get” she replied.

I looked back down to her hand. “Zoey, are you sure…”

She flashed me a look of annoyance that said don’t you dare bring up that stupid spell now, we’ve finally filming something good.

I stayed quiet.

We arrived back in the kitchen area, Zoey grabbing a folding metal chair while I picked up two more. “After this, I’m not sure how much more we need to film, Liam. I mean honestly, this old woman could fill up a movie herself.”

She stepped in front of me, leading the way. As she did, I heard a wet, dripping sound, and I looked down.

There was a trail of the stuff. I’m not kidding, an actual trail. At the front of it was the Band-Aid, soaked in red, floating in the liquid like a leaf in a pond. Leading onwards was a small trickle, a miniature macabre river, flowing. Literally flowing, like water. I could see the small ripples of motion in it, rushing forward as it pooled and pushed past in that strange jerky way liquid does when it runs over new ground for the first time.

I had never seen so much blood.

She turned around and smiled at me. Holy shit, I thought, I can actually see her turning white.

“Maybe it could be a short, y’know? We should go over what we have scheduled, if she…” she stopped and furrowed her brow at me.

I was so stunned I could barely speak. “Zoey… your…”

She looked down at her hand, seeing the flood of scarlet coating the chair and slowly dribbling its way down to the floor.

She whispered a very soft “oh”, and fainted.

***

It didn’t take long for the ambulance to arrive. My tone of voice on the phone probably assured that.

I was riding in the back with the paramedics, watching in horror. It was unreal. Most of their time was spent winding and unwinding gauze; it seemed like as soon as they finished securing the hand in cloth, they had to undo it, cotton useless as it became dirty and dripping with blood. The frenzy of activity had smeared a good portion of it on the walls and medical equipment. The floor was slick with it. Once or twice one of them had to catch himself from falling.

How much was in there, I wondered, and how much could she afford to lose? I felt numb and sick to my stomach all at the same time.

“Sir? Sir!” one of them snapped at me.

“Huh, yes? What?”

“Do you know if she has any blood disorders?”

“Any… no, none.”

“What about medication? Any blood pressure, heart regulation, aspirin?”

“No, no. None of that.”

“Are you sure, sir? Any chance?”

“I’ve known her for all my life. There’s nothing.” I stared at her, then asked in almost a whisper “what’s happening to her?”

The man only gave me back a look of pure dread and confusion. It was the kind of look an atheist would have gave after seeing the devil.

***

Two minutes later and I was in the hospital waiting room. I had tried to follow Zoey as she was rushed around one hallway and then another, but I had been pushed back by an old but insistent nurse and deposited into this empty sitting room, a musty yellow and brown place buzzing with fluorescents. I had gotten a styrofoam cup from the coffee machine and sat in one of the chairs, mindlessly tearing it into tiny pieces.

I couldn’t relax. I couldn’t even think. All I could do was let the worry and dread sink onto my shoulders, becoming heavier and heavier and heavier.

Finally, a man in a lab coat came through the double doors. I shot up and walked over to him.

“What’s going on? Is Zoey…”

“Calm down” the doctor said. “She’s stable, at least, for now. We managed to stop the bleeding and get a blood transfer going, but she’s still pretty weak. To be expected, really, considering how much of it she lost.”

“Do you know what’s happening to her?” I asked softly.

“We were hoping you could help us out with that, Mr. Foster. On the ambulance ride over, you said that she didn’t have any blood disorders, correct?”

“Yeah, that’s right.”

“Are you sure? Hemophilia, anemia, sickle cell… anything?”

“No, nothing. I’ve known her since we were kids, she’s never been diagnosed with any of that stuff.”

“What about other medical conditions? Has she ever been diagnosed with high blood pressure or hypertension?” I shook my head. “Has she been prescribed any blood thinners?” Another shake. “Has she recently taken any aspirin or alcohol?” Shake.

His shoulders slumped a bit and he wrote down some notes on his clipboard. “Have she taken any… illicit substances lately?”

“What? No.”

He stared at me.

“She hasn’t,” I said with a glare.

He nodded, jotting down more notes.

“What’s happening to her?”

He sighed, then looked back at me. “We’ve... diagnosed her with Sudden Onset Hemophilia.”

I looked at him, then scoffed.“Sudden Onset? What, like a fucking cold? You don’t just develop blood disorders. Especially genetic ones.”

“Mr. Foster,” he said, voice becoming clipped and sharp, “we are doing the best we can with limited information. Now unless you have any suggestions...:”

“Red like roses.”

“What was that?”

“Nothing, nothing. I… I suppose you’re right.” My voice went even quieter. “Is she going to make it?”

He stayed silent for a few moments. “Honestly? We don’t know. She’s responsive, which is a good sign, but she’s weak, and the body can only handle so much. Right now, all we can do is wait and see.”

“Right… yeah… wait and see…”

“You can see her now, if you’d like. Please try not to excite her; the best thing for her is calm and rest.”

“Yeah… calm… got it…” I ignored the doctor, pushing open the doors and heading to the right.

There she was, lying in bed, paler than a sheet of paper, tubes hooked up to her nose and a red bag snaking its way into her vein. The room was devoid of sound, save for the soft beeping and whirring of machines. Her eyes fluttered open with effort, as if weights were attached to them, and she grinned in a weak, grimacing way.

“Hey, guess you were right about that whole spell thing, huh? Get to say I told you so.” She tried to force a chuckle, but it quickly turned into a coughing fit.

I said nothing, just sat down in the chair next to her and held her hand.

“Well, this is certainly embarrassing. Cursing myself. Makes for a good episode, though, right? I’m sure we’ll laugh about it once…”

“It’s not going away” I muttered. “It’s not going to go away.”

She stopped and turned to me, eyes wide. “W-what?”

“They diagnosed you with hemophilia, Zoey. It’s a permanent disorder; the platelets in your blood aren’t working. It’s not clotting.”

The weak smile came back. “Well, I’m sure they can fix it, if they know…”

“They can’t. It’s a genetic disorder. It’s in your DNA now. Even if they save you, your life has permanently changed. Any cut will be an emergency. Any injury will be life-threatening. You’ll have to live your life defensively, checking yourself. Protecting yourself. Worrying.”

The silence fell back into the room. Tears began to fall down Zoey’s face.

I rose to my feet. “It’s alright. I’m going to fix this.”

She clutched my hand tighter, trying to force me back. “Liam, don’t leave me alone.” I could feel how feeble the grip had become. “I’m scared. Please.”

Her hands shook so much.

“I have to. The doctors, they don’t know what happened. Wouldn’t believe me if I told them. They can’t fix it, so I’ll have to.” I gave her hand a small squeeze. “Don’t worry, I’ll be back soon. Everything will be fine. We’ll even laugh about this, I promise.”

“Liam!” I heard her cry, but I was already hurrying down the hallway.

***

I slammed the door to the R.V. open, hard enough to knock down the cheap wall clock hanging on the adjoining wall. “Alright Jenny…” I grabbed the notebook and began flipping through pages, “tell me how to fix this.”

I read as fast as humanly possible. “Lilith’s Kiss- to turn someone into a snake. Unluck on That! A curse to give your enemy misfortune. Night Air. An invisibility spell. Fetch’s Lullabye- a spell to inflict nightmares.”

“RRRGH!” I flung the book to the other side of the R.V., papers flying through the air with the force of the throw. As I collapsed into a chair, I noticed one of the papers by my feet. I picked it up and read it.

“Red like Roses, a death curse to put on your worst enemies, created in the style of ‘sanguis liberate’. Based on the Hecate school of spellcasting.” I stopped. “Based on the Hecate school…” I mumbled, “of course!”

I slammed the door open again and ran for my car.

***

All eyes were on me when I flung the door of the Hurricane Public Library open. They must have been expecting someone to enter dramatically; no doubt they heard the screeching of my tires when I flew in.

The small building was cramped, shelves forming narrow aisles labeled by subject. Bright lights overhead illuminated dozens of books stacked neatly on each row.

“Excuse me, sir, you can’t just...” the elderly librarian behind a barcode-scanning gun began. I ignored her and scanned the paper signs at the end of each aisle that organized the information by subject.

Jenny’s spells worked, no doubts about that. But how had she created a fully functioning spellbook? She sure wasn’t taught by any witch; the only source of witchcraft around here was Agathia Sorrin, an obvious fake. A small town like this would be buzzing with rumors if anyone else practiced something similar, and we hadn't heard anything like that while letting them prattle on about themselves. And she didn’t have inside information, either. She had hidden her little box at Deadbear Falls, a location that was a good hike outside of town. Jenny must have had to have gone there for a reason. She was probably looking for Agithia’s cabin. Maybe that’s even why she hid the box there; she thought the location was arcane or something.

Her notebook had also been written in cursive. That meant that she was in school at a time when cursive was still important enough to be taught, i.e., a time before computers handled most of our informational needs. No internet for Jenny. That left only one place where she could have learned how to cast magic, the original sum of human knowledge: the library.

I found the section titled “Parapsychology and Occultism” and started running my finger along book spines, looking for something about witches.

The librarian stood at the end of the bookshelf. “Sir, please...” I didn’t respond.

Most libraries work on computers now, including this one. That’s why that little barcode gun was at the front counter. But before they did that, they used paper, and part of that process was to stamp a date and time of check-out and write the person’s name in a little card inside the book cover; that way, if anyone damaged the book, they knew who to blame. Most have gotten rid of or lost the cards a while ago. After all, why protect something that’s no longer necessary? But if the town wasn’t big, if the library wasn’t used often, if I just had just a little bit of luck…

My finger rested on a large hardcover. “The Encyclopedia of Witchcraft”. I dragged the book down and cracked it open.

There, on the first page, was a tiny paper pocket. Inside was a small card, with neat letters that spelled out “Jenny Walsh, 3-18-88”

I sighed with relief. “Thank heavens for small-town podunkville.”

I tossed the book over to a nearby table, where it landed with a heavy “WHUMP!” I pulled out more books and flipped the covers open, dropping those that didn’t have Jenny’s name and tossing the ones that did over with the Encyclopedia. Once I had gone through every book on witchcraft, I dashed over to the table, pushing past the librarian as I did so.

“I’m going to have to ask you to leave. You’re making a scene.”

I opened the Encyclopedia and turned to the table of contents, finding the section on “Spells”. I flipped the pages, hard enough to rip some and started scanning passages.

“...believed that incantations could curdle milk and…”

“...danced ritualistically around large pyres…”

“...contracts with devils, evidence left behind as moles…”

“...a list of herbs and other plants to be ground up, then…”

I closed the book hard enough to create a resounding “BANG” and shoved it to the floor. The librarian behind me gasped. “Now you’re damaging the books!”

Without looking at her, I withdrew my wallet and threw it at her. I heard a gasp of surprise and frustration as it hit her, and then footsteps stomping away.

I picked up the next book and opened it to the table of contents, repeating the process over and over again with each one.

“Familiars, in the form of small animals…”

“...accusations in public court…”

“...a magic salve rubbed over brooms…”

“...able to curse people from miles away…”

“...blamed for the deaths of loved ones taken away by sickness…”

I closed another book and slid it off the table. It was empty now; that was the last book on witches that Jenny had checked out, and not a single one held any answers for me.

I banged my head with the meat of my palms. “C’mon Liam, think! What else was there?”

Well, there were animal bones…

I bolted out of my seat, knocking over the chair, and ran to the shelves again. I had to search row by row to find what I wanted; I wasn’t sure what section it would be in, but eventually I found a large book titled “The Trapper’s Bible”. I flipped it open and took out the card.

There it was. Jenny had checked this book out three times in the span of one year.

So she used other books to supplement the occult books. She would have to if she wanted to find spell components. But the only ingredients in “Red Like Roses” were words.

I ran back to another section. “Language”. More spines.

“Latin: The Tongue That Won the West”

Open, pull down. No Jenny on the Card.

“History of Old English”

Skip.

“A Comparative Study of Germanic and…”

Skip.

“Silent Sounds: The Cultural Significance of Words”

Open, pull down. Jenny’s name, printed over seven times on the little card.

I ran back to the little table, pouring over the table of contents. “Religious Rites... Fairy Tales… where is it where is it…”

There, “Spells and Curses”. And underneath, “The Hecate School”

I had to grab the pages multiple times just to turn them. My hands had developed such fierce tremors that I had trouble just gripping them.

“The Hecate School was a discipline of magic that focuses on magic phrases spoken in rhyming couplets. Named after the Greek god of...”

I skipped ahead several paragraphs, trying to find the thing I wanted.

“...making the spells popular. Hecate spells have several elements in common; first, the spell is told in rhyme and rhythm. This is commonly done in iambic pentameter, but not always. Second, the spell should contain some common theme, of which the spell revisits in variations as it continues. Finally, the spell should appeal to a supernatural power. Demons and devils are most often invoked, though spells exist appealing to faeries and even angels.

Section VII- THE MACBEATH SCHOOL”

I stared at the book. “That’s it?” I slammed my fists into the table. “THAT’S IT?”

The few people who were still inside scurried off.

I sat in silence. My trail was cold.

What do I do now?

I felt a vibration from my pants pocket. Someone was calling.

I took my phone out. “Hello?”

“Mr. Foster? This is Hurricane General…”

“How is she?”There was a moment of stuttering on the other end.

“She, uh, well… She’s not looking too good. We think it might be best to come back, just in case the worst comes to pass.”

I said nothing. My eyes were glued to the pages in front of me.

“Mr. Foster? Hello?”

“If Jenny could figure it out…”

“I’m sorry?” the voice on the phone asked.

“How much time can you give me?” I grabbed a near-by pencil and strip of paper, left in convenient bunches at the center of each table.

“What?”

“I said how much time can you give me? Before she goes critical?”

“Well, I’d highly suggest coming within the next twenty minutes…”

“That’ll have to do.” I hung up and bent over the paper, scribbling down my thoughts as quickly as they would come to me.

Bright as light and pure as snow That’s the Zoey I love and know A gift of happiness and joy As treasured as a child’s toy

I shook my head at the weird imagery, but kept going. No time to be a critic.

Bright as light and pure as snow But here on earth hurt by a foe Angels above, if you are good

“What the hell rhymes with good?” I thought for a second, then crossed the line out

Angels above, if you are upright Deliver her from evil tonight Bright as light and pure as snow

I stopped again. “Why did I have to pick fucking snow?” I grumbled. After an agonizing minute, I moved the pencil again.

Preserve the magic in her glow I beg you please, save her now Keep her alive, I don’t care how.

I stood up, looking over the poem. I took a deep breath, and in the loudest, clearest, most commanding voice I could muster, I read the words of my homemade spell. After finishing the last line, I dropped my speech down to a whisper. “Oh please, oh please oh please…”

The papers of the overturned books were rustled by a breeze. After that, there was nothing but silence and calm.

I stood back up and headed over to the library doors.

The older librarian was there, brandishing my wallet like a dagger at a nonplussed and slightly amused looking police officer. “He’s disturbing the peace! Criminal mischief! Assault!”

“By throwing money at you?”

I cleared my throat. The two turned and looked at me.

“I’ll make you a deal” I said to the officer. “Take me to the hospital, and you can arrest me after I check on someone there.”

***

I slowly walked back into the room. She was still lying there, eyes closed and motionless under the covers of the hospital bed. It seemed quieter than normal, and it took me a while to realize why: the oxygen tube and I.V. bag had been taken away, as well as most of the machinery. There was no medical systems supporting her any more.

I approached her bed. “Zoey?”

Her eyes fluttered open. “L-Liam?”

I threw my arms around her in a tight embrace.

***

The old nurse had shooed me out of the room after talking to Zoey for over fifteen minutes. I was approached by the doctor shortly after that. She’d made a full recovery, he told me. Their best guess was that she had accidentally ingested something that had been tainted by a massive amount of anticoagulants and the substance had just run its course.

I just smiled and thanked them for their expertise.

At this point, I had been running on adrenaline and caffeine for over ten hours with still no food in my system, and my body was letting me know it. I made my way over to the small vending machine and reached inside my pocket, only to remember that my wallet was still at the library.

I felt a small tap on my shoulder.

It was the officer from the library. He held out my wallet to me.

“Oh, thanks.” I took it. “Um, so about that promise…”

“You’re friends with the girl in room 12?” he asked. “The one who came in bleeding all over the place?”

“Yeah…”

“Whatever happened, whatever you did, I don’t want to know, but you’d better drift out the same way you came in.” Having said that, he turned and walked away.

I wished I had been with it more in that moment, or had known what I do now. Looking back on that memory, I can recognize the weariness in his face, the dull sheen of eyes that had seen too much. I wish I realized that he had witnessed something before. That he was the same weird breed of creature we were: those who know something they shouldn’t.

But I didn’t, and he left. I never saw him again.

***

“Quite a strange thing, isn’t it? Such power contained in something so small?”

It was night and the two of us were deep into the woods. Zoey was sitting on a log, illuminated by the light of a small campfire we had built. I was behind the large camera, standing it on its tripod once again, making sure Zoey’s words were being recorded.

She looked back down to the composition notebook held in her hands, several pages sitting in there loose. "Not hard to understand why we hated witches, is it? Such destructive forces, held back by only rhymes. And make no mistake, Jenny was a witch, and we’ll say goodbye to her the same way we’ve said goodbye to her kind for centuries.”

She took the notebook and dropped it into the flames. As she did, a breeze caught it and opened it, showing the paper turn black and curl.

“So the next time you damn something to hell, or curse someone for their actions, perhaps you should think twice about it, gentle viewer. Words have more weight than we give them credit for. Sometimes, much...much more.” She stared into the camera for a few seconds longer, then broke off and looked at me. “How was that? Too corny?”

I shook my head. “No, it was good.” I shut the camera off and walked around to the log, taking a seat next to Zoey. Together, we watched the fire crackle as the wispy ashes of the former notebook were swept up by the wind and carried away.

“There were worse ones in there” I said softly. “Ones designed to drive people mad, or kill everyone in their family but them. Quite a few that summoned monsters to torment people.”

Zoey shook her head. “What has to happen to you to do those things?”

“I don’t know.”

“I just wish you had your camera on you when you went to the library. I’m going to have to get creative to fill in that gap. We should probably invest in some tiny hand cameras, just so we have something filming.”

I stared at her. “Really? That’s what’s on your mind right now?”

“Better than the alternative” she muttered as another blackened page crumbled to soot.

The silence continued between us for a few more minutes.

“Zoey…” I began, “if we’re going to keep doing this, we need to be more careful.”

She turned to me. “Are you lecturing me?”

“And myself as well. After all, I was the one who picked ‘Red Like Roses’. I could have read any of them.” I poked one of the logs with a stick, turning it over in a shower of embers. “From now on, we have to treat anything we find like it’s dangerous. Even if it seems silly. And no more shrugging things off, like nose bleeds. If one of us is worried about it, we need to take it seriously.”

Zoey watched the fire. “Yeah. There should also have a ban on pranks and stuff. Make sure neither of us think the other is goofing around when something bad happens.”

“We should have a codeword of some kind, just in case. Something to say ‘hey, I’m in trouble. I need help now’.”

“What about Oxenfree?” she asked. It was the word we used when we were playing hide-and-seek and the other needed them to come out, usually because it was time to come home.

I nodded. “That’s a good one. We’ll use that.”

Another minute of quiet passed.

“Liam,” Zoey said, “I’m glad you came.”

“What, so I could curse you?”

She punched me in the arm .“Alright, Mr. Wise Guy, I’m not glad. There.” After giving me a second to rub my arm in mock distress, she rested her head on my shoulder. “Seriously, though. I am. It’s nice to know someone’s got your back.”

“And the same to you.” I said, enjoying the last of the flames as they began to die.

“The same to you.”

#creepy_america #horror #series #short story #weird fiction #occult fiction

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carltonm13-blog · 7 years

Text

Evaluation - By Carlton Matthews

For this project I feel like its taken me long journey that has really made me reflect on the way I would tackle projects similar to this in the future. Not only has it let me learn new technical skills but it has also taught me communication skills and has got me to think about how I collect my research data to benefit the effectiveness of the out come. It has also got me to think about the ways different pieces of media can be used for different purposes and appeals to specific target markets and can easily be enhanced or de-hanced by the environment the media is placed in.

I started this project by first writing down a mind map of all the ideas that I found interesting and that I felt I had some sort of connection too and sorted them into social and environmental issues so I could which type of issue I was more focused on. From this I picked the issues that interested me most and found some research about the topics wether that would be facts and figures or piece of media that I felt related to a similar topic to see how other designers have tackled a similar project. I then broke down the brief into 4 main points that i needed to hit as well as a trying to sum up the brief into one word. This helped me a lot as it gave me a path to follow in terms of the steps id needed to take in order create a final piece that actually had some weight and a message behind it that spoke to the target audience.

To begin with my chosen project was going to be based around supporting local businesses so I started sketching out a few ideas and started to grab some more in depth research about target audience and the types of media that target consumed. This led me on to wanting to create a short motion graphics animation as well as using those elements to make up a poster or billboard of some sort so I drew out a couple of different story boards and started to focus on some of the main components in the animation. However after presenting my ideas to a tutor it became very clear that this campaign idea was way to broad and didn't have a direct target audience meaning that it also lacked clarity in its message and purpose.

I then did a bit of a U tern and went back to the drawing board and decided to tailor the supporting local business idea to supporting local skate shops as skateboarding is something that is close to me, so I feel I fully understand the issues and am affected by the well being of local skate stores. I bullet pointed the main ideals of a skate shop and then re-wrote the brief again so it was more specific to the topic, high lighting the main points of who this brief was aimed at, the tone of voice for the whole project and what this project was aimed to do. I decided that the main aim of this project was to “Make skateboarders feel part of a community, to get them supporting there local skate store”. I then began to sketch out some rough ideas mainly focusing on the message rater then the aesthetic as without a clear message the campaign means nothing. I tried to add in informal words like “rep” and words like “your” to try and set the tone for the project as well as giving it a personal, close to home feel.

Once I had sketched out a couple ideas I took a trip down to Ideal Skate Supply, a skate shop located in Digbeth to collect some first hand information about skate shops, asking them questions about things like their target market, main competitors, where they saw the most sales as well as more design based questions like what media is given out in the store and how they communicated with their audience out of store. This visit was extremely useful as this gave me a clear idea of who the “enemy” is, the target audience the store already has and also what kinds of media id be looking to produce to successfully communicate with my target audience. I then went back and sketch out some more ideas based of my findings.

I decided that my main piece of media would be skateboard stickers as they play such an important yet subtle role in skateboarding for both me and many other skateboarders due to fact that they get given out for free or with many different products and then are stuck on skateboards, not only look cool but to promote your favourite brand, crew or skateboarder , etc.

I also decided that I wanted to make a gif for Instagram as Ideal highlighted the app as the main way they communicate with their costumers. I then sketched out a few more Ideas, trying to let the information that I had learnt guide the styles and concepts of the designs.

I also analysed some other skateboard stickers scamping, them out to get a clearer idea of common composition and rules that most stickers go by. Once I was happy with some of the sketches I started to refine and develop the ones that I liked just so I could visualise them better to be put on to computer. I ended up deciding to take 4 of the initial sketches forward as I felt they would work together well in a champaign as they all had a similar Idea behind them. However before taking them onto the computer I went back to Ideal Skate Supply to show them my ideas to get their opinion on them as skate shop owners as well as to see what advice they could give me to improve my idea. This meeting was especially useful as I was given some useful tips. For example they taught me that I needed to keep the message clear and punchy as well as trying to make it something that hits home. They also advised to keep to a shape that both text and image sits in to keep the structure of the sticker as well as to look at adding something like a hash tag for social media. They did like the concept, and thought that the illustrations communicated clearly the message i was trying to get across.

I then went back and created my stickers in Adobe Illustrator, slightly tweeting the illustrations and adding colour. I then took 3 forward to be further developed, trying out different colour schemes and adding back grounds and the slogan around the side. I then took these sticker designs into photoshop to turn them into gifs making duplicates of each layer and slightly changing the colour. I then used the timeline tool to put the different coloured sticker layers in to a GIF animation and added the hash tag in the corner of each frame however I slightly moved it for each one to make it dance in the corner of the page drawing your eyes towards it. I now need to send off my sticker designs to a sticker printer to get them produced with a nice glossy finish.

I felt that this project went well due to the fact I have produced what I thinks a cool eye catching sticker that playfully communicates as serious issue in an appropriate way as well as creating some very “standout-ish” gifs that would stop the viewer from scrolling past. I also think this project was a success because I learnt how to create a GIF using Photoshop which could be very useful in the future. If I were to do this project again I would have Interviewed some of my target audience as well as the store owners just to get another angel on my ideas as well as exploring a wider range of ideas just so I had more to choose from.

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icypantherwrites · 6 years

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hi uh for the whump bi go thing can you do bleeding out wit lancey Lance

Read all of my snippet/drabble fics from @badthingshappenbingo over on Battlefield on AO3 as part of my kiriban event. Please leave a comment if you enjoyed ♥

Crimson Promises

Summary: There’s blood everywhere except where it should be, which is inside Lance. All Hunk can do is hold him as he shivers, respond to his confused, pained breathless words and pray that help arrives soon.

Hunk’s stomach desperately wanted to vomit out all of its contents.

He forced himself to hold it in.

The last thing needed here was more bodily fluids.

He risked another glance down and felt the bile tickle his throat.

Nope.

It was not getting better.

And Lance was getting worse.

Such was enough to sober Hunk’s stomach and he reached out a shaking, blood-stained hand towards his best friend’s face, pillowed in his lap.

“Lance?” he whispered. “Hermano?”

Lance let out a whimper, hands twitching where they laid at his sides.

Hazy blue eyes blinked open. “Hunk?” he rasped.

“Right here,” Hunk picked up one of the hands in his own, squeezing it and trying to push heat back into it. “You’re doing great. They're… they’re almost here.”

Ten minutes out Pidge had relayed a while ago, voice tight.

Hunk didn’t know if Lance had ten minutes.

The shrapnel from the explosion that had sliced through his underarmor, ripping open his stomach, told a very different story.

It said they had maybe five more, if that.

It had already been almost twenty, but none of the other Paladins had been able to break away from the fight to come to their aid without drawing enemy ships after them and putting the two stranded and immobile Paladins on the ground in even more danger.

Based on the still growing puddle of blood surrounding them as Lance’s stomach continued to pump and send it gushing down his sides Hunk wondered if the enemy ships were really the true danger at this point.

“Who… who’s they?” Lance slurred, eyes already fluttering closed.

“No no, stay awake,” Hunk tapped the too pale cheek with his bare hand, his gloves long gone in a failed attempt to make a bandage of any sort for Lance. “C'mon, hermano… don't… don’t go to sleep.”

If he fell asleep Hunk didn’t know if he was going to wake up.

“‘Mm,” Lance mumbled. “’m tired though. No more… no more studyin’. ’m not gonna pass any…anyways.”

“Of course you’ll pass,” Hunk choked out. He’d been playing along with whatever conversation Lance started up as confusion settled over him with the continued blood loss, but the fact so many of them kept veering in a darker spiral had him nearly as worried as the injury.

He had to be at about twenty percent loss now, Hunk estimated.

More than enough to send him into hypovolemic shock. He was already displaying more severe symptoms.

Lance’s brow furrowed. “You… you want salt? Gonna ruin it. Y'know better.”

“You’re right, you’re right,” Hunk murmured. He glanced down the length of Lance’s body, making certain his feet hadn’t slipped off the rock Hunk had rolled over after tucking them under the overhang of a small hill and as out of sight of potential enemy eyes as he could. “Too much salt is bad.”

Lance hummed in agreement.

“Lance, no sleeping,” Hunk pleaded as he felt Lance’s head tip slightly and the harsh, shallow breaths became muffled on Hunk’s armor. “C'mon. Stay awake, okay?”

“’m cold,” Lance murmured instead. “’m cold, Hunk.”

He emphasized this by shivering.

A new line of crimson added itself to the growing puddle.

“I know, I know,” Hunk whispered, bringing his hand that wasn’t holding tight to Lance’s hand down to the other shoulder and rubbing it, trying to generate some heat through the underarmor. He’d already stripped off Lance’s chestplate and arm guards for easier breathing and to make Lance more comfortable, but he was wondering now if maybe the weight would have been good to warm him.

No, he shook his head. It wouldn’t have mattered.

He had kept Lance’s belt on, bringing it up some to wrap about Lance’s navel as though it could keep Lance’s insides inside of him.

It wasn’t doing much.

The wound was too deep.

Too wide.

There was so much blood.

“Two minutes,” Pidge keyed into his ear.

“Hurry,” Hunk whispered back.

“No, no hurry,” Lance mumbled. “You’ll trip.”

“Pidge is flying,” Hunk told him, shifting his other hand back to Lance’s head, combing bloodied fingers through the brown locks. “She can’t trip.”

“Pidge’s flying?” Lance frowned. “But ’m the pilot.”

“You still are,” Hunk pressed two fingers to Lance’s pulse on his neck. “You’re an amazing pilot.”

It beat rapidly.

Too fast.

Too shallow.

“Nu uh,” Lance shook his head weakly. “'ways crash.” His right hand rose slightly. “Boom.”

“No, not boom.” He tapped his hand against Lance’s cheek even as his heart clenched again at the newest admission.

They were going to have a talk when this was all over. And when. Not if. When.

“C'mon hermano,“ Hunk cajoled. "Let me see those pretty blues of yours.”

Lance’s lips twitched up into a smile. “'kay.”

His eyes remained closed.

“Lance, c'mon, miráme," Hunk ordered, voice breaking. "Miráme.”

Lance’s eyes fluttered open before he closed them with a groan. “’s too bright.”

There was a roar then, a whoosh of air.

Hunk almost cried as the Green Lion swooped overhead.

“Pidge is here,” he told Lance. “Allura too. C'mon, hermano, don’t you want to say hi to the princess?”

“Princess?” Lance repeated. “A r-real one? Really?”

Allura was already descending from the Green Lion before Pidge could even land the ship while Shiro and the Black Lion showed up a few ticks later, remaining in the air and standing guard.

“Really,” Hunk promised, meeting Allura’s eyes as the Altean sprinted for them.

He’d never seen Allura run before. Or look so scared.

“She's… she’s super pretty,” Hunk continued, trying to talk over his own rapidly pounding heart now. “And smart. And she’s your friend.”

Allura was at his side now, dropping to her knees and making a splash in the blood puddle.

Hunk’s stomach reminded him how it had been being ignored for a while now.

He shushed it.

“’m friends with… with a princess?” Lance mumbled.

“Yes, you are,” Allura said, shooting Hunk a confused look even as she slid one hand under Lance’s knees and the other beneath the slight gap behind Lance’s shoulders.

Lance’s eyes flew open at the new voice.

He blinked.

“Wow,” he said, voice dazed. “You are really pr…pretty.”

“And up we go,” Allura said in response, standing in one swoop with Lance cradled in her arms.

He moaned, head lolling back against her chest, eyes closed again.

“Leave the armor,” Allura ordered as Hunk leapt to his own shaking feet, Lance’s upper pieces scattered about them. “We have no time to waste.”

Hunk agreed completely.

He charged up the ramp right behind Allura, the Lion taking off as soon as they were inside.

Allura had already pulled out the travel cot in the cockpit and procured every piece of emergency medical equipment she could find although she looked at a loss of what to do.

Hunk elbowed past her, grabbed one of the folded blankets, whispered an apology and pressed it down over Lance’s stomach.

He jerked on the cot, a whimper pulled from his lips.

Not the reaction Hunk had expected or wanted.

He was fading.

“No,” he whispered, pressing down harder, as though seeing Lance in pain was a comfort.

It was, in a sick, twisted way.

“Hold that,” he commanded Allura and she did so without question. Hunk grabbed the emergency heat packs, broke them to start the reaction, and began to pile them about Lance; on his chest, between his arms and sides, and then grabbed a second blanket, shaking it out and spreading it over Lance’s lower half, pausing only to re-prop Lance’s feet on the empty emergency kit box.

Lance shuddered and shivered.

Hunk moved to his side and picked up Lance’s left hand and clutched it between his own.

“Hold on, hermano," he whispered, looking at the pain-lined face that he liked to imagine had a small dash of color back in it from the heat.

"Wormholing now,” Pidge called from the front, voice wavering. “One minute till landing. Coran has a pod prepped. Is… is he…?”

“Lance is strong,” Allura said quietly, having not paused in her orders even as blood had welled up about her gloves. “He shall be all right.” She met Hunk’s eyes. “He is dear friends with a certain princess after all, and she will not accept any other outcome.”

Hunk let out a wet, slightly hysterical chuckle.

“Hear that, hermano?" he squeezed Lance’s hand, choking back a sob. "No dying now. Princess’s orders.”

“'kay,” Lance breathed. “No… no dying.”

“No dying,” Hunk repeated, feeling something loosen in his chest.

Even though he knew Lance was delirious at this point he felt comforted by the words, the promise.

Lance was many things but he was not a liar, not even now.

Hunk believed him with all his heart.

Lance was going to be okay. Here. Now. And later.

Hunk would make sure of it.

That was his own promise.

Author’s notes: Writing delirium is really really really fun. Thank you, blood loss, for this opportunity. Platonic Hance for my soul and a little Allura too. Precious. Enjoy? Reblog, leave a comment below or on the fic and give some love to the author!

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