#cw: microaggression

[in-sufficientdata]

This can be a huge source of medical trauma and it's so cruel that it's being imposed on people by the medical establishment itself. How can they help but feel anything but helpless? There's no fighting that.

I can't help but think of this from my own perspective as a fibromyalgia patient who keeps having to fight being thought of as (or even being labeled as) drug-seeking.

I am literally just trying to live life closer to the standard that 'normal' people have every day.

Why is it in any way fair that most people are mostly pain-free and capable of doing the things they want to do, but I have to suffer with pain on a daily basis that is at minimum, on a very rare, very good day, at level 5?

Why is it when I report that my pain level is at level 7, 8, 9, I only get doctors side-eyeing me and explaining my OTC options?

I have had chronic pain since I was 8. I'm very fucking aware of my OTC options, so no thank you, doc.

And when I spend 20 minutes explaining in detail that my daily pain has noticeably increased and changed in quality since around January 1st, why should I have my PCP giggle at me every time I say that I need help with managing my pain and learning ways to deal with it?

It felt incredibly invalidating and I wish he would have said, look, I don't have the expertise to help you, so here's a referral to a pain specialist.

I only found out there was a such thing by trying to research the topic after this on my own!

So yeah, it's not just the insurance companies, it's the doctors, too.

It's almost like having a profit-motivated medical establishment hurts patients.

#LizMelrath@twitter #twitter #death cw #cancer cw #chronic illness #chronically ill #chronic #fibromyalgia #doctors #microaggressions #reposting everything from my twitter feed #i'm about to delete everything so get it while it's hot #tweet: 2022 #molly's mad life

[racheldi]

#jewish things #jumblr #jewish stuff #jewish #hp #harry potter #fuck jkr #cw jkr #antisemitism #goblins #microaggressions #fuck rowling #joanne rowling

[some-anonymity-preferred]

real talk

Coffee in bed this morning, brought to me by my Stede-coded partner. ☕️👩🏽💖👱🏻‍♂️☕️

Sitting here catching up on y'all's posts, and at the same time fielding texts from my sister.

She took her very white friend to the ER in Austin this morning with presumed gallbladder issues. Staff did intake on the friend without asking for ID or proof of insurance.

Now she's waiting for the friend, and she's watched two Mexican (Texas speak for brown; they could be from Texas, Mexico, Central America) patients come in and be asked for multiple forms of ID, their SSN, and so on, before anyone will even look at them. They sent one of them away and he came back 20 minutes later with ID. 20 minutes.

And I start remembering last night, and the little queer gaming con I went to in support of my partner and his young teen.

While we were registering, an attendee came up to me and said I looked like someone they knew, and what was my name?

I answered with my government name (I'd considered using my stage name on my badge, shoulda done that), and they recoiled. Looked me over for a beat and said, "So you're Israeli?!?!"

(Whoa, my person, that's several long leaps to a wrong conclusion, though I support what I guess is your anti-Zionism.)

Taken aback just long enough to keep my sigh and eyeroll internal, I corrected, "No, my name is Mexican."

And they recoiled again, "You're from Mexico."

"I... yeah. Sure."

I didn't manage to keep the sigh internal that time. No matter. They'd already turned away to my white companions to invite them to play board games with them.

(I saw one other person of color, likely Native, at the con. Two of us out of maybe 40 people in the room. We're in a large city in the Upper Midwest, but this all could have happened anywhere in the US.)

Anyway. These are the things on my mind as I drink my Princess Coffee and read all your comments on @tfemteach's post about Izzy's missing apology, and I just want to say that I love each and every one of you who has also been feeling ill and ill-served about it. Whatever your reasons. I see you and love you.

@scarrletmoon @daria-meoi @naranjapetrificada @jaskierx @cursedgaysuit @tfemteach of course, and many others. 💖

#ofmd #ofmd season 2 #real life #cw racism #cw microaggressions #cw racism in healthcare #izzy critical #being a fandom is suffering #izzy x the consequences of his own actions #his own racist queer phobic abusive sell out actions #this redemption arc is a fucking trust fall for me #apparently into a pit of despair #fandom racism #la vida es dolor

[drfrankensteinvsthequeerborgs]

Lucifer: "Oh don't get me wrong, I don't like you. I've never liked you, you're sort of prissy."

not being homophobic is free, it literally costs you nothing

#dfvq liveblog #dfv queue #dfvq spn #spn11x10 #quotes #sam winchester #sam vs homophobic microaggressions #lucifer supernatural #cw homophobia #3-time glaad nominee supernatural

[peridot-tears]

I was chatting with my 弟弟 from China who's been in NYC for less than a year, and manz was talking about how he's afraid of taking the subway. I was damn shook, because that means he's been walking to our gym and hasn't seen much of the city.

He explained that people would push him, and just walking on the street people would try to shove or fuck with him and make racist remarks.

I was just like, "说出难听话，这些事我早习惯了。”

His response was, “我知道我该习惯上，但是我不想。”

#cw racism #cw anti asian hate #i always stick up for myself and those around me so i don't mean this in a passive way #but every time you step out the door and go exploring the city you do run the risk of being racially harassed or attacked #and the tension is something i have to live with especially now #every time you choose a fight you accept the risk that comes with it #i think every time someone from asia comes west they can't stand even a little bit of microaggression #and then they can't believe that this is just how i live #it's just a reality check every time that this is not okay #tears falling like peridots

[entity9silvergen]

The grocery store put four oranges in a bag??? During Chinese New Year??? Microaggression honestly

#/s #wrote chinese instead of lunar bc idk if other people do this #chinese new year #lunar new year #holiday #chinese #asian #asian american #asian culture #united states #oranges #tw food #cw food #grocery store #luck #microaggressions

[porcelaintoybox23]

I will always side eye anyone that redesigns the Powerpuff Girls and makes only Buttercup darker skinned.

#a lot of ya'll do it #always the more aggressive and less feminine one #microaggressions #racism #misogynoir #powerpuff girls #buttercup utonium #rarely do i see bubbles or blossom #those artists are cool #the cw did it too

[humanitys-strongest-bamf]

Anon sounded so dissmisive abt your issues with weight. They were like yeah yeha you have a problem taht sucks but look at what you said lets forget abt your problem.

yeap. that too.

not only is it dismissive but it's also like, really indicative that the anon doesn't know much about intersectionality? like being thick in a culture that doesn't really recognize sizeism as a form of oppression fucking SUCKS. weight issues and race are not mutually exclusive!

again if they legit want to learn, i got resources to shoot their way to educate themselves, although i would much rather them to do their own research because the fact that i even have to justify my own experiences is not great

#kat chats #i appreciate y'all that are coming in to support :') #i struggle a lot as someone thats AANHPI over if i'm even allowed to be upset about microaggressions #so getting that ask made me all skdfksdflskdfj #cw: sizeism #cw: racism #delete later

[halfdeadfriedrice]

i've just had a flashback to high school where i had a pink tshirt with raised embroidered FBI written on it.

i don't know why (my dad?) bought me a pink FBI shirt (I wore it because I had a limited number of shirts), but people definitely used to ask me if it meant 'female body inspector,' and at the time I assumed that was because you could find 'female body inspector' shirts in any given mall store as a stupid (sexist) shirt

but if i were writing a memoir this would be a striking image of my queer coming of age, in a cloud of opaque obliviousness, weird extremely fem right-wing-ish tshirts, vague homophobia, memes, and a burgeoning understanding of a genuine attraction to women 

this is also why bits of homestuck are hitting particularly hard (see: that first conversation with john, dave, and karkat where karkat is trying to get the boys to stop flirting with vriska/terezi and dave makes fun of karkat for being into john)

#ITS ABOUT THE LEVELS OF IRONY #VISUAL INCONGRUITY #REAL MESSY FEELINGS #CONFUSION #AND HAVING A LIMITED WARDROBE #but LARGELY #it's about not knowing if you're experiencing a homophobic microaggression in particular or just being subjected to memes #who #if anyone #is sincerely represented in this scenario #halfdeadhomestuck #and real high school flashbacks #cw homophobia #sort of #also i didn't mean to have this as my top post before following a bunch of fleeing twitter people #sorry all #it's not /not/ representative

[iheardyourprayer]

So how many episodes do we think before carlos and latika get hate crimed for 'period accurate racism'? And do we think its sooner or later than carlos gets hate crimed for 'period accurate homophobia'?

#not in a. this show will deal with racism in a meaningful way. way more in a off handed and out of pocket microaggression way #bcz it wont deal with that but im willing to bet it comes up like oh well its the 70s there was racism #well its the 70s we gotta use degrading euphemisms on the bi one #ems being loud #you cant tell but i actually am excited for the show lol #cw racism #cw homophobia

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

Am I the asshole for telling my mum she's being ignorant?

cw// racism .

I (18MtF) have a really, really good mum all things considered. She's been amazing about my transition, has gone to marches, spoke on radio, written articles and gotten into public spats on twitter (she's a semi-public figure) defending me. We live in the UK, so this is really a big thing on terf island lol. She's pretty good about mental health, and advocated in my youth aswell when I got diagnosed autistic.

Here is where it gets messy. My mum works in education for context, so is very clued in to the news and things. She's a hard-core feminist (I would probably call her a radical feminist to be honest). All of her friends are older women in education and journalism professions, and she speaks to them about feminist topics regularly. The thing is that ALL of them are white. Most of them are upper class (my parents both grew up dirt poor and had to work hard for everything they had). I have a number of bipoc friends, and there has been some weird instances of my mum accidentally breaking out the microaggressions that made me uncomfy, never anything massive, but enough to make me feel just a bit weird.

Tonight we watched the new Martin Scorsese film Killers of the Flower Moon. Often on the way home from seeing films like this, my mum and I will discuss politics and society, but I usually steer the conversation away from race because it isn't something I want to bring up with her, especially in a space where i cant exactly roll my eyes and go quiet without annoying her. However, race is a key topic in this film. Discussions were going fine, and then my mum did this weird thing I've noticed her do before. I had been explaining that indigenous women go missing and are often barely looked for because of factors of racism and misogyny, she immediately chimed in talking about a very different situation, about the cervical cancer scare in Ireland where tests for cervical cancer weren't carried out properly, but all the women were told they were clear anyway, resulting in many women suffering from a disease that could've been caught much earlier.

Normally I would just move on and engage with this, but it enraged me this time, mostly because it was an evocative film that left me with a lot of emotions and also because earlier that day she'd said something microaggressive about my girlfriend, who is black. I told her that it was obviously awful and I get she was just trying to empathise, but that it was a completely different situation because it didn't have that intersection of race and misogyny. She made some point about how she was "Sure there were people of color affected by the scandal" but I told her that that wasn't the point and that she was being ignorant. She got passive aggressive and didn't talk to me for the rest of the night.

I seriously don't know if it would've just been better to engage with her on that and then steer our conversation back to something more focused on race or to just abandon it altogether or whatever. I guess im also sick of not being able to talk about race at all with her, and feeling embarrassed bringing my friends over because I feel like she's gonna say something. I just don't really know how to bring it up because the only thing she can ever compare it to is misogyny, when obviously these are very different things, but I don't feel like this was the best way I'd gone about it.

Was I the asshole ?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

[izvmimi]

cw: part of nrc college au! reader has friends with names (who will appear in other fics). reader is a mermaid and also Mostro lounge resident barmaid. crack.

your friends are huddled around your section of the bar at the Mostro lounge, and there's been a quiet lull in conversation while you were off, until rook speaks -

and rook should always be careful when he speaks but alas when you return, this is his question to the group:

"so if i requested fish sticks right now, would that be considered a microaggression?"

you can see your friend maira tense up as she sits precariously on the booth, while vil appears shocked that rook had the audacity to ask a question like this, and your other friend kanila seems to be awaiting the answer intently as well. might as well take in the opportunity to hear the answer to a ridiculous question.

"what kind of topic-" vil begins, aghast, but is cut off.

"yes, rook. yes, it's considered a microaggression," maira says. she's quite bold now, but she should be thankful it was rook who said it, not her partner, malleus, who misses few opportunities to deeply embarrass her.

rook ponders this for a moment then looks back at you who have stopped glancing in his direction and are back to moving from place to place behind the bar.

"mon amour, did i offend you?"

you turn quickly to him, watching his face for genuine concern. then you decide you might as well tease him.

"absolutely. let's break up."

"what!?"

in seconds rook is over the bar, unfortunately knocking a glass over and cupping your face in his hands. maira groans something about how did he even know the word microaggression before grabbing both vil and kanila by the wrists and dragging them out of Mostro lounge.

"i would never eat you," rook whispers, stroking your face. the true, genuine, unwavering compassion in his face is too much for you, and you can only hold in your laughter so much.

"i promise i will never say anything offensive about fish again. i know that fish are a great people, and you are the greatest person alive, and quite honestly, if you were to hunt me, i would be happy and so deserving because i'm no better than you in any way-" he starts and finally you can't take it, pushing him away to double over laughing.

"i had fish sticks last week, rook!" you giggle.

rook's eyes go wide.

"murderer!"

"stop!" you repeat, slapping his chest. he grabs your hand, but still steps in closer.

"we're not broken up? we cannot, right? c'est impossible," rook insists. his green eyes shine with desperation and he even nods.

you giggle and kiss his forehead.

"couldn't get rid of you if i tried."

he gasps dramatically then lifts you off your feet and twirls you around.

"but say some off shit about fish again and i'm stabbing you," you warn in a mock-serious tone.

"i would deserve it. you could even ask me to do it myself."

#rook x reader #rook hunt x reader #twst x reader #daydreams: twst #mimi's notes

[kikiiswashere]

Children of Zaun - Chapter 19

Pairing: Silco/Fem!OC

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Canon typical violence, drug use/dealing, dark themes, eventual smut

Chapter Summary: Viktor senses something is off. Grayson touches base with Bone. The Children attempt their hiest!

Chapter CW: Canon typical violence. PTSD.

Previous Chapter

Word Count: 4.5K

When Katya picked Viktor up on Friday, she barely acknowledged Ivy. Partly due to her anger, partly due to shame about her behavior the day before. She took the rucksack from the aide, her eyes downcast, hands reaching out to grab protectively at her brother’s shoulders once it was secure across her back.

Ivy watched the other woman sadly, wanting to say something, but not knowing what that would be; nor knowing if it would be wise to say anything in front of the boy.

“Have a good weekend, Viktor,” she said instead, a reassuring smile on her cherry-red lips.

“You, too, Miss – “

“Let’s go, Viktor,” Katya interjected, guiding him away.

Viktor’s brows furrowed as he began to awkwardly fall into step with her guided gait. He looked back at Ivy one last time before turning his attention toward the walk home.

He could sense something was wrong. It didn’t take an especially astute mind to see that Katya was in a foul mood. What was trickier for him was determining why. People had too many variables for his liking – it completely negated the scientific method. The backbone of chemical, biological, and physical theories and laws were their relatively controlled environments. If A, then B. If A, and C is present, then D; and so on.

People did not, as far as he could tell, live by such rules. Their feelings and actions could not be counted on to be consistent. And he found it vexing. And intimidating.

Viktor stuck close to Katya’s side as they made their way to the Bridge, his chin tucked in and eyes occasionally peering up at her, hoping he could glean any information from her stony profile.

“What is wrong?” he finally asked as they stepped into the Promenade.

Katya winced and chewed her lip. The pause scared him.

“Nothing,” she finally said, ushering him toward the Conveyor Car station. “I’ve just had a bad week.”

“Oh,” he murmured. He knew Katya didn’t lie to him, but he felt unconvinced.

“Come. Let’s get home.”

The weekend went by quickly, as it often did. But instead of feeling comforted and refreshed by time away from Piltover, he felt on edge and smothered. Whatever had happened during the week to his sister, clouded their home. It kept her irritable and clingy at the same time. She sat too close, touched him too much, didn’t really speak with him, and didn’t really listen. Despite her near-suffocating proximity, she seemed very far away, and he didn’t know how to call her back.

On Monday, when she dropped him off with Ivy, her fingers clawed at him when they hugged. Desperate and lonely.

“I’m sorry,” Ivy kindly said, “but we need to get going.”

Viktor made to pull away, ready to start his week. But Katya held on for a beat more. She touched him for as long as possible, letting her fingertips trail down his shoulders and arms as he stepped over to the aide.

“I love you, Viktor. I’ll see you Friday.”

Her voice was hollow and heavy. He didn’t understand. And he didn’t like it.

“I love you, too,” he replied. He attempted a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

Grayson knocked on Councilor Bone’s office door and waited. Usually, Councilors had receptionists. Bone did not. Something the Captain took note now only because she wondered if this was another microaggression against an Undercity citizen.

“Come in.”

She stepped inside, removing her cap as she did. “Councilor, sir.”

“Ah, Captain Grayson,” Bone sighed, peering over his spectacles at her. “Please, come in. Have a seat.”

He gestured to the simple chair in front of his desk as he pocketed his glasses, and put the paper he was reading down. Grayson did as instructed, removing the folders from under her arm as she sat.

“I have looked through what you gave me,” she said heavily, placing a palm on the documents. His nod was equally somber, and he waited for her to continue. After a long moment, she added, “I see what you are saying.”

Bone nodded again, closing his eyes. He made to swallow and his throat hitched. He clasped a hand around his mouth as his lungs tried to push an angry retch up his trachea. His other hand fished out the handkerchief he kept in his breast pocket. He covered his mouth, and swiveled away from Grayson. After a few more bone-rattling hacks, a warm, slimy wad crawled its way up Bone’s throat and mouth, and landed in the cloth. Very carefully, not wanting to disturb his guest, nor let on the severity of his condition, he coolly removed the handkerchief. Carefully pinching it to contain the bloody lump, he stowed it in his pocket and turned back to the captain.

“Apologies,” he rasped.

Grayson’s eyebrows creased in concern. She’d heard that the last Assembly had been cut short because of an acute health issue of Bone’s; now she wondered just how acute it was.

“I can come back another time, Councilor,” she offered. “Perhaps you ought to go home and rest.”

“No, no,” he said, waving a dismissive hand. “Rest will not help. I do not want to rest.”

That statement made the lines on Grayson’s face deepen. What he had said did not have the calming effect she suspected he wanted. However, she was not in a position to argue with a Councilor. No matter where he hailed from. Not if the work he wanted to do with her was on a time crunch.

“Thank you for taking the time to look over those files,” Bone said, genuine gratitude shining in his pale eyes. “Unfortunately, those are only a fraction of the cases – “

“I know.”

“ – and Enforcer brutality is ongoing.”

Grayson closed her eyes. “I know.”

She had never partaken, and she had never taken it as seriously as perhaps she should have, but she was well-aware of trainees and rookie Enforcers going into the Undercity and finding citizens to fight. In the name of tradition. For meaningless clout. She had recently reamed a trio for that very activity. Not only was it unprofessional and shameful, but they had had their asses handed to them by whoever they had tried to intimidate.

“I would like us to put the data together in a thorough and concise presentation format,” Bone said, “and present it at an Assembly.”

“Us?” Grayson gasped. “Shouldn’t we get LeDaird on board, too?”

“We will. Eventually.” He fixed her with a sly grin. “Better to ask forgiveness than permission, yes?”

“I suppose,” she conceded, settling back into her seat.

She knew from experience (her own and her peers’) that sometimes bending or skirting protocol was the best way to get things done, to solve cases. Even LeDaird knew that. “Hopefully after that attempted robbery at the docks a couple weeks ago, things will be relatively quiet so we can work on this.”

The first step in stealing the money, Katya found out, was sneaking across the Pilt. The airship port was on Piltover’s side of the river; built into the cliff faces on the outskirts of the city. The captain Beckett worked for was also a part of the Children, and was allowing him to use a small dinghy to ferry himself, Silco, Katya, and Annie to the opposite shore.

The night of the job, Katya met Silco at The Last Drop’s backdoor. Vander and Enyd stood behind him; the barkeep looking hopeful, but stoic. Enyd was pale, her hands continually fretting with the dark clothes her son wore. Katya was wearing dark ones, too; something that he had suggested when they had met up with Annie and Beckett to go over the plan.

“We’re meeting Beckett and Annie there,” he said, stepping away from The Drop. Enyd followed and began to fuss over Katya.

She nodded, and asked, “Are we ready?”

“Wait a moment,” Enyd breathed, her hand snaking into her satchel. She pulled a small, folded pile of cloth out and handed it to Silco. “To cover your faces with,” she explained.

He nodded and handed one of the four handkerchiefs to Katya. Taking it, she unfolded it once, a glimmer against the pitch fabric catching her eye. She squinted in the low light, and saw that there was a small ‘Z’ stitched into the corner with silver thread.

“Be safe, yeah?” Vander said, shifting restlessly. While his strong jaw remained set, his eyes shone with worry.

Silco nodded. “We will be back in a few hours.”

Enyd threw herself into him, holding on tightly. He drew her close and reassured, “It will be uneventful. In and out.”

Katya nodded; so did Vander, as he swallowed the lump in his throat. Reluctantly, Enyd pulled back from her son, only for her slim arms to reach for and hold on to the young woman. Thrown off, but grateful, Katya returned the embrace.

“In and out,” she repeated. “Like he said.”

Regardless, Enyd insisted, “Be careful.” She stepped back and gave the pair a warning look. They nodded and stole away down the alley. Vander placed a massive hand on Enyd’s shoulder as they watched them go.

Silco and Katya slipped silently through Zaun’s alleyways and to the docks. Annie and Beckett met them in the shadows of the Harbormaster’s hut, both looking uncharacteristically serious. In addition to their dark outfits, Beckett wore a black knit cap over his fire-red hair, and Annie had spun her own dark locks into a tight braid, instead of her usual loose pigtails. There were quick ‘hellos’ – Annie simply jutting her chin in Katya’s direction – and Silco handed the pair the remaining two masks.

The docks were dark and quiet as they strode for the small dinghy lazily bobbing in the water, waiting for them. Beckett took the back and readied the motor. Annie took the middle bench, while Katya and Silco sat hip-to-hip at the bow. Beckett untied the vessel and ripped the motor’s cord. It puttered to life and they began the short voyage to a small grotto just beneath the airship base. The boat would hide there while they executed their plan.

The water beneath the boat was so still; a smooth, black mirror of the sky. Beckett captained the vessel gently, leaving only a glossy ripple in their wake. None of them spoke. Katya’s knee bobbled nervously as they went. Eventually, Silco put a hand on her leg, keeping his touch light.

“It’ll be okay,” he promised. He paused, and added in a quieter whisper, “I got you. I won’t let anything happen.”

Katya gave him a thankful smile, but her heart thundered on. It was a moment before Silco realized that he had left his hand on her thigh. Slowly, so as to not draw attention to himself, he drew his hand back. His fingers tingled and he flexed them, wondering why it suddenly felt difficult to breathe.

With the pace they kept, it took a little over an hour to reach the grotto. Beckett harbored the small boat just out of sight of any prying eyes. As they exited the vessel, both Beckett and Annie swung large, empty sacks over their shoulders and handed one each to Katya and Silco. They tucked Enyd’s masks up over their noses, and they ascended the steep cliff face. The climb became easier once the natural, jagged rock gave way to the smooth stone that built up the tower of the hanger. However, the biting wind off the Pilt stung their eyes and cheeks now that the extra rock cover was beneath them.

“The third hanger,” Annie whispered as they approached the first massive cavern in the cliffs. She pointed up for good measure.

While Katya had of course seen airships and blimps far up in the sky, it was very different seeing them up close, tethered and waiting in their bays. Impressive, hulking machines made from metal, wood, glass, and fabric. She didn’t know if it was because it was so late, but they did not have to dodge as many workers as she expected. The few she spied were lazily leaned against the iron gangways that bracketed each airship, smoking and distracted by conversations they were having with one another.

The ship in the third bay up was not as large as the one beneath, a fact Katya found comforting. Less room to have to search through, fewer crew members to have to avoid. The small group huddled together at the mouth of the cavern.

“The delivery from Clapper should already be aboard,” Silco said. “Stowed in the belly of the main cabin. Time?”

Beckett checked the chrono on his wrist. “It’s 9:30.”

“The ship is supposed to sail at 10:00,” Annie supplied.

Silco nodded. “Right. We sneak in, find the delivery, get the coin, and get out.”

Katya swallowed and set her jaw. Her heart tapped and she steeled her nerves. Stealing from the mines medical supplies seemed so much less risky compared to this.

They carefully crept onto the catwalks, mindful to keep their footsteps as soft as they could. They ducked behind crates and kept careful watch of the workers above and below them. They approached the ramp that led onto the ship and paused. Silco and Beckett looked to Annie, who skirted around them and sneaked up to the door, and silently slid it open. She peered inside, and after a beat, beckoned them to follow her.

The cabin was dimly lit and full of boxes. To their right there was a door and a brighter light spilled beneath it. Muffled voices murmured behind it. At once, Beckett began silently stacking boxes in front of the door. Katya joined in and set additional crates in front of that pile.

“Here,” Annie whispered. She handed each member a chem-torch from a nearby shelf. She flicked hers on and held it beneath her chin, making a twisted face.

“Not now, Annie,” Silco admonished, turning his own on.

Annie rolled her eyes at him and began looking absently around the cabin. “Oh! Look at this!”

The other three turned, expecting to see a crate with the Clapper insignia on it. Instead, Annie enthusiastically thrusted a small, metal and glass contraption towards them.

“It’s a camera! I think,” she said excitedly, spinning the object in her hands to look at it. “I’ve never seen one.”

“Put it back, Annie,” Katya hissed. “That is not what we’re here for.”

The other woman ignored her and stuck the camera in her bag.

“Come on,” Silco insisted. “There’s a door over here. It should take us below.”

Indeed, the door opened onto a short staircase that took them below the main cabin. Larger boxes were stowed there and the group dispersed, looking for their target.

“Here,” Katya called after a minute. Her torch’s beam shone over a large, squat box with Clapper’s logo stamped across the wood. The rest of the party gathered around, and Beckett withdrew a prybar from his sack and opened the crate. They pawed through the paper confetti cushioning the delivery until they finally uncovered the curtains beneath. “Nasha said the coin would be sewn into the hems.”

Silco and Annie reached in, feeling for the ends of the fabric.

“Here,” Silco said, lifting the end of one panel up. The fabric sagged and sifted over his hands, gently clinking as it moved. He withdrew the knife from his boot and slashed the hem open. Gold hexes fell out. Katya’s mouth went dry, both Beckett and Annie’s eyes went wide.

“Fuck,” Beckett breathed. “I’ve never seen so much coin.”

“And this is only a fraction of it,” Silco said, and Katya could hear the smile in his voice.

They filled Annie and Beckett’s bags first.

“Fuckin’ Janna,” Annie complained as she slung the pack over her shoulders. “This guy must be in deep shit if he owes this much coin.”

“It’s 9:45,” Beckett announced, adjusting his partner’s bag.

Silco nodded. “You two go. Start heading back down to the boat.”

“Be careful,” Katya implored as they crawled back up the stairs.

Together, she and Silco dug through and cut open the remaining curtains, emptying the gold into their bags. Once they got to the bottom of the crate, they carefully pawed through the panels again, making sure not a coin was left behind.

Above them, a door opened and loud footsteps stomped along the floor. Both Katya and Silco froze, bodies tense like springs, hearts thundering. There wasn’t another way out. Only up, back through the main cabin – where someone was traipsing about, entirely unbothered by the amount of noise they made.

They should’ve checked how many of the crew had been in the main bridge of the airship before boxing it up . . .

“What the fuck is this?” an unfamiliar gruff voice muttered. Then the sound of him shifting boxes around.

Silco turned to say something to Katya and she jumped, knocking into the crate’s lid, and toppling it over. It wasn’t a loud sound, but noisy and unsuspected enough that it alerted the crew member above them.

“Whose down there?”

“Hide!” Silco hissed, pushing Katya into a darkened corner.

No sooner had she stumbled behind another tower of crates, did the door at the top of the stairs open, a large shadow looming down the steps and into the cargo hold. She hurriedly turned her torch off, gulping down a scared gasp. Silco sprang for the shadows. But the light pouring in caught his boot before he could slip away entirely. His own chem-torch rattled and rolled away across the floor. The man grunted an amused tone and began down the steps, each footfall heavy. Meant to intimidate.

Katya pressed her back into the wall behind her, scarcely daring to breathe. This couldn’t be happening . . . This couldn’t be happening. This was supposed to be an in-and-out job. Her skeleton wanted to crumble to the floor; her meager supper threatened to make a reappearance. She shouldn’t have agreed to this; she hadn’t been in the right state of mind when she agreed. What had she been thinking?

She’d been thinking of her brother, she knew. Of how he deserved the world, and that this was supposed to be a way of giving it to him.

She bit her lip under her mask to keep from making a sound. She had also been thinking of herself, if she was honest. She was so angry with Piltover. So, so angry that they wanted to take another thing from her. Like she didn’t deserve it. Like Viktor would be better off without her. That she was nothing, and deserved to fall into soot-covered obscurity in the Sump and die.

“What’s this?”

The man spoke and Katya started, peering out from behind a tower of crates. Her stomach curdled. The crew member – a very large man with a sneer on his face and an iron bar in one hand – had pulled Silco out of the shadows and now stood over him. Silco glared up at him, his blue eyes shards of ice that cut between the space of his hair and the mask. Next to his side, the bag of coins was open, its golden belly glittering in the light.

Suddenly, there was a rumbling. The frame of the airship thrummed and vibrated. And then it jolted forward. Katya’s stomach tumbled. The ship was leaving port! Her mind raced. She couldn’t get caught. And she couldn’t be hauled off to Bilgewater. She couldn’t abandon Viktor. She had to figure out an escape. At this point, whether or not the money made it back to Zaun didn’t concern her.

“Thieving little Sumprat,” the crew member growled at Silco, taking another step towards him. The meaty fist that held the iron bar twitched.

Katya’s hand twitched too. Toward the small revolver tucked in her trouser pocket. She had debated leaving it at home, and was now glad she hadn’t. Before the man could raise the bar over his head, she took the gun out, aimed, and fired. The pop of the gun was sharp, and rang off the metal hull of the ship. The bullet lodged itself into the back of the crew member’s knee, and he howled in anguish, crumpling to the floor. Silco lurched forward and grabbed the iron bar, and cracked him across the head.

The Enforcer fell. Katya’s father stomped on his ankles.

Bones crushing. Hollow wails.

From the ground, the Enforcer delivered one blow of his baton to Katya’s father’s head.

Katya’s mind spun and her body froze, cold terror leaching out any warmth in her. Her vision began to white out around her periphery. Silco shouting her name, and reaching for her shook her out of the memory and back into her body.

“Kat! Are you okay?” He gripped her shoulders tightly as his eyes scoured her body. “You’re not hurt, are you?”

Katya took a couple shaky breaths and shook her head. “No. Are you?”

“No. We need to get moving. The other crew members will have heard that – “

“The ship is moving!” Katya suddenly cried. The floor was softly rumbling beneath her feet.

“I know,” Silco said. His hands flew from her shoulders to cup her face. “We’re going to get back home. Okay? You hear me? I got you.”

She swallowed and nodded. Her eyes flicked over to the prone man behind him. “Is he . . .?”

“No, just knocked out. I think,” Silco assured. He stepped over and quickly assessed the man. “No. He’s breathing. Come on.”

As they scrambled up the stairs, the rest of the crew was shouting and ramming into the door Beckett and Katya had blocked off. A fair amount of boxes had been knocked away, the door open enough that one of them could shove his shoulder and arm out, trying to topple some of the crates just out of reach. His eyes bulged seeing the two stow-aways skitter to a stop.

“Who the fuck are you?!”

His outburst caused the other members behind him to scuffle and fight to get looks at who he was referring to.

“Thieves!” Someone yelled.

“Move!” Another screamed, knocking the man in front aside. A gun barrel appeared in the doorway, and it fired.

The shot was not aimed at anything, and Silco and Katya ducked as the bullet hit a crate. It exploded in a burst of splinters and paper. Another shot was fired; this one ricocheting off a metal pipe, causing sparks to rain down from the ceiling in a fine mist.

“Stop wasting bullets!” Someone yelled.

The distraction was enough to let Silco and Katya throw themselves into the door and crush the people behind it. The gun went off again as the nose of it was flung up by the impact. The bullet sliced through a tube slung on the ceiling, and fluid began spraying out of it in wide swaths.

Katya screamed and leapt back. She tripped over a crate and fell. Silco went after her, grabbing her arm. As he went to pull her onto her feet, he paused, sniffing. They both looked over to the decimated crate. It was smoking, orange embers slowly licking to life, eating away at the wood and paper. Growing bigger, stronger.

“Fuck,” he whispered. For the first time, he sounded uncertain. Scared.

Behind them, the door to the bridge finally burst open, the three remaining crew members tumbling out, ready to fight. Katya’s eyes immediately picked out the woman who held the gun – a rifle, judging by its long barrel. She pulled her own gun back out and fired at her shin. The woman screamed and collapsed to the floor. Silco tackled into the man that had been trying to wedge through the door earlier, bowling both of them over back into the airship’s bridge.

The second man eyed the growing fire behind Katya with big, terrified eyes. He froze up as his counterpart on the floor yelled at him to do something. So, he did. Wrenching open the sliding door on the ship’s hull, he let a huge gush of air into the cabin. The embers sucked the sudden onslaught of oxygen up in a mighty WHOOSH. The flames ate and grew, licking up the walls and lapping at the ceiling. All three screamed, Katya scrabbling away from the fire. The heat bit at the sliver of flesh visible between her bangs and nose bridge. The smell of burning chemicals, hair, and heat filled the air. The crew member who had opened the bay door looked out at the view below him, back at the fire, to the woman on the floor, to Katya, to the gun in her hand, and jumped out.

The woman on the floor screamed and thrashed, trying to grab Katya’s revolver. Panic sluiced over her body, taking control of her limbs, as her assailant grabbed at her pant leg and attempted to pull her down. Katya’s limbs locked up a moment before exploding into action. Her free leg swung, the toe of her boot connecting with the underside of her attacker’s jaw. There was a sickening crack! and a garbled, anguished howl as the crew member was flung to the side. When she didn’t move, Katya lurched forward and grabbed the rifle before running into the airship’s bridge.

Silco had taken care of the final crew member; the man was slouched against one of the seats, blood dribbling from his lips, one of his hands pierced to the floor by a knife. Silco himself was at the consol, frantically looking over all the levers and buttons.

“The fire is spreading!” Katya cried.

Silco looked over his shoulder at her, and saw the blaze in the other room. The sweat trickling down his back was not only from the heat. Above them, there was a loud metallic groan and crash as the flames began eating away at the frame around the canvas balloon. Katya shrieked and jumped to Silco’s side. His mind raced, but no idea landed. He stared out the windshield at the expanse of black in front of them. Below, he could see the stars reflected off the Pilt, the orange fireball he and Katya were now engulfed in.

“We need to jump!” she shouted. He looked at her, eyes wide. “It’s our only option! Jump and swim to shore!”

Behind them, another gust of wind fanned the fire, and it surged up and around. Each of them could feel the thread of their clothes beginning to burn, the buckles of their boots becoming blisteringly hot. Silco agreed with her: jumping would be their only chance. He grabbed the rifle in her hand and beat it against the airships windows until they shattered. They scrambled up onto the consol and peered down below. The cool, briny air was a welcome relief from the heat and smoke. Less appealing was the very large drop between them and the water. Katya felt Silco freeze next to her, his body going rigid with fear.

“Come on!” she screamed, grabbing his hand and knocking her shoulder roughly into his. “Please!”

Silco grit his teeth, his fingers clamping down around Katya’s. “I got you,” he promised.

Katya wasn’t sure what made her say it, but she nodded and replied, “You have me.”

Together, they leapt from the airship. Plummeting down, down, down to the water below.

Notes: Cliffhanger! Cliffhanger! Wuh-oh!!!!

Coming Up Next: The Children of Zaun make their prescense known.

Next Chapter

Taglist: @dreamyonahill, @pinkrose1422, @altered-delta, @truthandadare. @sand-sea-and-fable

#children of zaun #coz #arcane #arcane fanfic #silco #vander #viktor #original characters #young silco #young viktor #young vander #my writing #silco fanfic

[pigeonwhumps]

Imprisonment

Immortal Cannon Fodder masterlist

Taglist: @extrabitterbrain @wolfeyedwitch @fuckcapitalismasshole @ghost-whump @whump-tr0pes @rainbowsandwhumperflies @painful-pooch @i-eat-worlds @a-funeral-romance @rainydaywhump @whumpinggrounds

Phoenix gets imprisoned overnight in the HAL prison cells. For Lian, it's one surprise after another.

Set soon after Alicia's torture.

1.6k

CWs: imprisonment, villain whump, mentioned institutional whump (kinda?), implication of microaggression against asexual person, past torture and death, mentions of interrogation, implied beating, mentioned drugging, past blackmail

Phoenix! You're early for your visit, don't you usually come on Fridays? And you've brought someone new to visit? asks one of the friendlier prisoners. Wildfire. Telepathic. Low-level criminal. Stronger powers than he's let on to anyone but Phoenix (they're honoured, really). He bats his eyes at the guard holding Phoenix's shoulder. It's quite dark in here, which is presumably why Wildfire hasn't noticed their wrists. Phoenix usually brings a lantern covered in red cellophane.

Wildfire must say something to the guard because he says gruffly, "Stop flirting. It won't work."

Phoenix bets he's turned bright red.

Wildfire stopped flirting with them when they told him they were asexual. It's nice to have someone listen.

The guard unlocks the cell. "In you go, Phoenix. I'll be back to let you out in the morning. I'll tell your team where you are."

Wait, what?

Phoenix holds up their wrists on the dim glow filtering in from the tiny window.

"Thanks," they murmur, as he unlocks their cuffs and places a nightlight in their cell. Then he pauses and rolls his eyes.

"Yes, I'll get you a damn nightlight too."

Oh yeah, the flirting's working.

The guard locks the cell door and begins to walk away.

"Wait!" calls Phoenix. The guard pauses and turns. "Why are you, um, being so nice?"

It's a dangerous question but it's true. They can easily break out of here, shouldn't they have been given a sedative or something to block their powers or something? For that matter, shouldn't they been given it as soon as they were arrested?

"Because if that woman had said to me what she did to you, I'd have done the exact same thing."

He leaves the room.

What did you do?

Phoenix takes their time positioning themself relatively comfortably on the mattress, legs pulled up to their chest and arms around them, tapping their feet nervously.

Phoenix.

I punched a member of upper management, thinks Phoenix loudly. Okay?

Wildfire pauses, taken aback they think.

Can I...

Go ahead.

Wildfire passes the news down the line, and Phoenix can hear when it reaches each person. Finally, when it gets to Vulture, at the end of the block, she says thoughtfully, "I shouldn't be surprised. You've always had hidden depths."

"You've only, um, you've only known me a few, um, months."

"Yes."

There's the sound of footsteps on the stairs and the whole block tenses. Phoenix scrambles to their feet. Everyone there knows what some of the nastier guards are capable of.

As the person reaches the bottom they pause, and in the light Phoenix catches a glimpse of pink hair.

"Elemental?"

He rushes over to their cell. "Firebird! You're uninjured?"

"I'm fine." Well, they are now. In the rush to cuff them before they did any more damage someone caught skin in it, but the guard was quick to rectify it once he noticed. There's a possibility they've got a lump on the head too. But there's nothing bad. "And you can, um, call me Phoenix in here."

"Are you sure it's a good idea, a bunch of powerful villains knowing your name?"

"I'm offended that you think I'd do anything to them," replies Vulture, and she actually does sound a little offended.

Lian sighs. "Phoenix, she's one of the greatest supervillains this country's ever seen."

"I'm flattered."

Phoenix shakes their head. "Never mind that now. How's Alicia? Has she, um, woken up yet? Is she going to be, um, to be okay?"

"Dr A thinks she'll be fine. Physically, that is, she was tortured so who knows what her mental state will be like. She's not awake yet, but they're weaning her off the medicines keeping her in the induced coma, so apparently she should be awake in about a day or so. So you might be there in time for her to wake up. And in the meantime the rest of us are taking it in turns to sit with her."

"You remember she, um, needs an AAC board until her device is fixed? And she's touch averse? And–"

"Hey, hey. You told us all this." He catches their hands through the bars. "It'll be okay. We know what we're doing. Besides, you might be there anyway."

"Sorry."

Lian waves off their apology. "I have some food for you, since the guard said you missed mealtime. It's from the vending machine, I would've got you something hot but I don't think a plate would fit through the bars of your cell and I don't have your lock picking skills."

Lian passes a pasty and a packet of crisps through. Phoenix almost smiles.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome. Now tell me. How did you befriend all these villains and why is Wildfire in my head giving me a shovel talk? And what are you in here for anyway?"

Wildfire, get out of his head. To Lian, they say, "You know I, um, I had to go to that stupid meeting? Well, I, um, punched one of senior management. She said I, um, I shouldn't have gotten Alicia out of there without prior approval, because, um, it might've let villains know who I am and obviously as one of their more valued assets I'm more important than, um, an unarmed civilian who happens to be my sister, and I shouldn't have, um, killed Villain because it'll bring unwanted attention, even though, um, again, an unarmed civilian and my sister's life was at stake! He would've killed her!"

"Who exactly did you punch?" asks Lian curiously.

Phoenix winces. "The, um, the director?"

"Damn. I'm impressed."

She deserves worse.

"You're impressed? I thought you might, um, say I shouldn't have, um, shouldn't have done it."

"Well that'd make me a hypocrite." Phoenix frowns. "I tried to attack the board of directors when I was 15. I found out they blackmailed my dad into infiltrating Razor's base. They killed him."

"I'm sorry." There's nothing else to say, really.

"Yeah, well." He coughs, voice thick. "So. How do you know all these villains? And how are you friends?"

I'm starting a conference call.

Phoenix nods. "Lian. Um, prepare yourself."

"For what?"

Hello. There should be Phoenix, Elemental and Vulture in here with me. Are you there?

Yep.

Wait, what? Since when were telepathic conference calls possible?

Why am I last? This is about me, I should be first.

Phoenix can sense Wildfire rolling his eyes. Vulture, shut it. Elemental, do you really think I revealed the full extent of my powers to HAL? I'm not that stupid.

I was the one who arrested Wildfire, starts Phoenix. A few months ago. I was feeling a bit guilty about it so I went to visit him. And I saw...

They trail off. How do they describe it? Vulture takes over, faux-nonchalance in their thoughts.

There's no cameras down here. No surveillance. And some of the guards... they're not too fond of us, to say the least. It was one of the worst ones on shift that night. There wasn't much light, but Phoenix apparently created an illusion of fog around them and when he was confused, knocked him out with his own baton.

Fucking hell, Phoenix, thinks Lian.

Phoenix shrugs. It was the right thing to do. Despite what anyone might've done, they're still people, fundamentally, with human rights who deserve to be treated humanely. I had a red torch, and I could barely distinguish the blood from its light. Took forever to do the makeshift bandages.

They're good to us, is what I'm saying, explains Wildfire. Brings us good food and extra water, treats our injuries from beatings or 'enhanced interrogation'. Helps when people have withdrawal symptoms from the sedatives or they're forced to have power blockers or sedatives of any kind or even if they're just scared. And they're good company too. Others help, but they're mostly more brusque, just doing what they need to and leaving. Plus, they can't pick locks.

Lian looks at Phoenix with such awe it makes them blush. I take it this isn't officially sanctioned?

Neither part. But if it's useful I'm not sure how much they'd object if they knew.

Lian switches to talking out loud again once they've stopped covering the sensitive topic.

"You're in here overnight, right?"

"Yep."

"Would you like me to stay?"

Phoenix glances at the dim nightlight and the darkening night sky outside the window. And the relatively small cell. They shiver.

"If it's not too much trouble."

"Of course not. They'll know where I am."

"You were the distraught teenager, right?" says Vulture suddenly. "About fifteen years ago."

"Yeah."

"Huh. I wondered what was up. This is why I became a villain."

"Sure," mutters Phoenix sceptically. It was nothing to do with power or rebellion at all.

Lian settles down outside of the cell and there's quiet for a while. Then Phoenix, mustering up all their courage, says, "I'm sorry. About Villain. I didn't... he tortured my sister because he thought it was me, and then he kept going after she was unconscious, and I was trying to save her but I got a bit too angry. I'm sorry."

We understand. Right?

"Yeah. Yeah, of course. It's not like I've never killed."

"Reassuring," mutters Lian.

You're not going to be able to make the visit this Friday, are you? asks Wildfire sadly. It's in two days time.

I– well, I mean. I'll try.

Your sister needs to come first. We'll survive for a week.

Phoenix nods. They feel a bit guilty but... Alicia does come first.

#whump #whump writing #immortal cannon fodder #phoenix oc #lian oc #wildfire oc #vulture oc #villain whump #villain whumpee #hero and villain #phoenix can befriend anyone istg #well #almost anyone #lians like wtf? #he never knew about any of this #nor did most people for that matter #phoenix is very quiet about the good things they do #and its just kinda natural to them #why *wouldnt* they help these people? #hero whumpee

[drfrankensteinvsthequeerborgs]

remember that time Metatron called Cas a nancy? like, the other characters were always homophobic to him but it hits differently now knowing that he is in fact canonically queer, it's deliberate

#cas vs homophobic microaggressions part ♾️ #hey remember that time #dfvq liveblog #dfv queue #dfvq spn #spn11x6 #metatron supernatural #castiel winchester #cw homophobia #nothing but respect for my patron gayngel

[offsidekineticist]

Sorry it's been so long, everyone. I hit my head while playing hockey last weekend, so everything slowed down while I was supposed to avoid screens and rest. In any case, I'm feeling better now, and I managed to sit down and write today! So here's the next chapter of the breakup arc.

CW: burning alive, microaggressions (racism), burns, attempted suicide, Theo is sad

Take Me To Hell

You wake up in the hold of a boat. You know because of the dark and the dank and the smell of the sea. You are a halfling who has never had a home. You learned early that superstitious captains will give you food and shelter during a voyage because you are a halfling, and halflings are good luck on ship's. You never took to life at sea--you get seasick and hate eating hardtack riddled with maggots--but you've escaped starvation and arrest by leveraging your alleged luck often enough that you recognize your surroundings easily.

You're in a hammock, pressed against someone else's body. That's a bit odd--you've never met a captain so hard up for space that he couldn't find a private corner for Lucky (they always called you that on the ships). You open your eyes to find Thay, sound asleep, curled into your side. You've never seen him asleep before.

Someone clears their throat. You startle, rocking the hammock, at the sight of Qweck sitting cross-legged at the other end of the hammock, glaring at you. And all at once you realize there's something wrong here. You lost control. You were stabbed and dying and lost control, and She came out. You should have woken in a desolate, scorched field with nothing but charred corpses as company. It should have been like last time.

"What happened?" you ask, and you're almost afraid of the answer.

"I should be the one asking you that," Qweck snaps. "Since when do you wield hellfire?"

"None of your fucking busisness," you snap.

"Oh, it is very much my business, considering your hellfire almost consumed me and Theo and did consume several paladins."

You go cold at that, and your gaze flickers towards the sleeping gnome by your side. You notice bandages on his face covering what you could have sworn had been healthy skin before you were stabbed, and his lips are a dark, burned shade. 

You burned Thay.

You close your eyes and sigh. "Since I was fifteen. I was stupid and got myself tied up in some shit." You open your eyes and force yourself to hold Qweck's gaze. "How are you alive?"

"Theo did some kind of ritual to stop you.  I don't know how it worked. Just one second you were floating, shooting fire at people, the next you were unconscious on the ground."

Of course it was Thay. Because of course he would be the one saving you after you fucked up trying to save him. 

Gods, you're pathetic.

"Where's the ship headed?"

"Kintargo. They're independent - for now - so we should be safe there."

That sets off alarm bells. You don't know much about what's been going on in Kintargo (unsurprisingly, Queen Abby and her lackeys were doing their best to keep the whole thing quiet), but you do know this: hell does not lose. If Kintargo is trying to escape hell's grasp, then a reckoning is coming, one you do not want to be around to see.

"No. We need to keep moving."

"We don't have the money to keep moving. And besides that, there is no 'we.' I hired you for a job, and that job is over. If you want to keep moving, be my guest, but you're not responsible for us after this point."

She's right. Of course she's right. As far as she knows, you've never met Thay before this job, and you only took the gig because–uh–well, you're not sure why she thinks you took the gig. Sure as hell wasn't the pay. She certainly doesn't think it's out of loyalty to Thay, though. Even if she did, looking at what you did to him, you can't blame her for chasing you off. You're made of fire. The best way to survive you is to avoid you. 

So when the ship docks at Kintargo, you leave. You leave before Thay - who has spent the voyage sleeping - can wake, or before Qweck can pay you. Taking her money would be stealing food out of Thay's mouth, but you don't know how to explain that without also admitting that you've known Thay for decades, so instead you just leave. 

Shipping is a bit of a mess in Kintargo right now. The pompous Thrune in charge of the city (until the magnificent bastards calling themselves the Silver Ravens got to him) imposed a litany of bizarre restrictions, and the instability of the city certainly hasn't invited trade. You can probably find passage out - you are a halfling, after all - but if you want to pick a specific destination you will have to wait. But you still have to eat while you wait, which means you need to pull a job.

There's no thieves guild in Kintargo, just a couple of small-time gangs hoping they can wipe out the others and take over the city's criminal enterprises. That makes things both easier and harder. Easier because thieves guilds can be a bitch to deal with, harder because the good ones will usually have jobs for freelancers. As it is, you're probably best off with an old-fashioned burglary.

It only takes a cursory reading of the list families in the Council of Coin to find your target: House Jhaltero. Slavery is frowned upon in Kintargo, but Jhaltero's wealth comes from silver mines and stone quarries far from the city. It's not hard to guess who works in those mines and quarries. You won't lose any sleep over emptying their vault.

Most of your haul from the Jhaltero mansion is in valuables: fine silverware, a golden goblet, a tarnished candlestick that you’re fairly sure from the weight must be solid silver–the sort of stuff that’s useless without a fence, and you don’t have the connections in Kintargo to fence the goods safely. You’ll have to wait until you get to Varisia–you have contacts there. You did manage to pinch a few silver pieces you found (you weren’t able to get into the main vault, but the children seem rather lackadaisical about misplacing their spending money), though, which will be enough to keep you fed until you can get settled in Kaer Maga. You have enough to afford an inn, too, but you’ve always found the beds in those places too soft, and felt too exposed sleeping with large groups of strangers.

You take shelter in yet another abandoned temple. You’re not foolish enough to think the now sacked temple of Asmodeus is entirely stripped of unholy power, but the temple has a basement, and the broken lock on the trap door leading down there tells you the local gangs have already had their run of the place. From the smashed crates and spilled rancid grain, you figure this was where the priests stored their mundane supplies, which makes you feel better about not accidentally falling prey to infernal curses.

Taking shelter in the house of Asmodeus after taking over a dozen souls for me? Good boy. Maybe you are a hound, after all.

You freeze at the burning at your chest. It doesn’t hurt like it does when she’s displeased. For now it’s just unpleasantly hot. Glad you’re happy. It's a lie, but she knows that.

When did I say I was happy? The burning in your chest turns even hotter–still not hot enough to make you reconsider whether she was displeased, but enough to make a point. Don’t assume you’ve done well. You left Andoran without consulting me. No more Aasimars, then? I don’t remember there being nearly so many in Varisia.

You are suddenly extremely aware of your breath. Probably because you might be about to take your last one. No more anything. I’m done.

There’s a brief moment of stillness. Nothing happens. No sound, no sight, no feelings. And then you feel your chest burn, and not as it did the last time you spoke, but as it did the first time you met, when her stone melted its way through your chest into your heart.

No. This is worse.

YOU ARE DONE WHEN I SAY YOU ARE DONE.

You were standing when she first spoke. Now you are on your hands and knees. The top of your head is resting on the blessedly cool floor while your chest burns. And oh, you want to give in. You want to beg for her forgiveness. You want to promise to bring her more souls, to say whatever the fuck you need to say to get this to fucking stop.

But you can’t. You won’t. You already decided: no more. Thay is safe. The job is done. You don’t have any reason to keep this up except to save your own skin, and you won’t do that anymore. You can never be as good as Thay, you know that, but you can do this. You can cut to the fucking chase.

Then take me to hell. 

You have so much more you want to say, but you can’t fucking get your thoughts together enough to say it. Maybe you wouldn’t be able to even if you didn’t have a fucking rock in your chest burning you from the inside out. You might not have the words. That’s ok. You don’t need words. She doesn’t have to understand. You understand, and that’s all you need.

The fire spreads from your chest to your belly, your shoulders and arms, up your throat and into your mouth and nose. She is burning you up from the inside out. They will find you down here, days from now. You will still look like a person, still like yourself, because there was nothing left to rot. When they touch you they will watch the thin layer of skin crumble away, because everything inside burned away into ash, leaving nothing but a thin shell.

And then, all it once, the burning stops. You are sweating, gasping for breath, lying on the floor, but you are alive, and from the way your heart races and lungs heave and your stomach turns, you’re pretty sure your internal organs are mostly intact.

Foolish fly. I don’t need to take you to hell. Hell is coming to Kintargo, and you will be here to welcome it.

She is gone. You know she is gone. You don’t know when she will be back, but you know she will be, and she will make you do something terrible, something that will hurt the whole city. You are out of time.

You don’t sleep that night. By the time pale beams of light slip into your hiding place between the floorboards, you know what you will do. You don’t have your dagger–it was left in Rivad–but for all your experience with boats, you never learned to swim. You are made of fire, but even the hottest of fires dies in the sea.

You walk the streets, making your way from Temple Hill towards the Yolubilis River. You don’t mean to find your way to the bridge–it doesn’t matter where you enter the water, after all–but you do. You look over the side and wonder briefly if there’s a way to climb down. You’ve never liked heights. You don’t want to fall and die by hitting the water, to feel your bones break and spend your last moments drowning and in pain.

(It shouldn’t matter. You are here. You can die. You should do it now, before someone–before she–can stop you. What does it matter if it hurts? You’ll be dead soon anyway.)

You never apologized to Thay.

It hits you all at once: you never apologized for throwing the hat at him, for telling him to have a nice life alone–and oh, that was especially cruel, knowing what he’s told you about his youth. Never told him how sorry you were for making him your accomplice. Hell, you never even made sure he knew you didn’t turn him in. Does he know? He must know–why would you turn on him and then rescue him?

You can’t die now. Not without saying goodbye. Not without saying sorry. So you back away from the edge of the bridge and cross back the way you came, moving towards the poorest neighborhoods of Kintargo–the only places where Thay and Qweck could afford an apartment. You don’t know where they decided to live, but Thay stands out even among gnomes. He won’t be hard to find.

(It takes you two days)

Qweck answers the door of the cramped, single room apartment they’ve bought for themselves on top of what is practically a pile of other cramped apartments in Redroof. She looks exhausted.

“What do you want?” she snaps. “If you’re here for the money, we don’t have it anymore. You left without any sign you’d come back, so we spent it on the apartment.”

“I’m just…” It takes you a minute to find the words. “I’m about to ship out,” you say, and it’s only half a lie. “I wanted to stop in and say goodbye since we probably won’t–”

“Gilly?”

His voice is thin and weak–hoarse and exhausted. You lean to the side so you can see past Qweck’s shoulder into the apartment. He’s forcing himself out of the ragged human-sized cot that probably came with the apartment. His legs buckle and he slips onto his knees, but he manages to steady himself with an arm still on the bed. He’s staring at you with wide, charcoal gray eyes, even though you know that without his glasses he probably can’t make out much more than a black and brown blob behind Qweck’s tan and green.

Qweck rushes to his side. “Careful! You still need to sleep–”

“Gilly,” he repeats, staring at you. You cross the room, almost in a trance. You stop in front of him, and then you crouch down so you’re at eye level with him.

“Hey, Thay,” you say. “I came to say goodb–”

He wraps his arms around you, practically hanging on your neck. You fight to keep your balance as he starts weeping into your shoulder.

“Don’t leave me again,” he sobs. “Please don’t leave me again.”

You should say no. He would want you to say no–if he knew why you had to go, if he wasn’t fucked in the head from Rivad, if he wasn't so obviously exhausted he would want you to go. He would want you to gently pry him off your neck and tell him you’re sorry and that he’s better off this way because you're made of fire and–and that you love him. Because you don’t really care if he loves you back, you just need him to know, before you die, that you meant what you said all those months ago, that you love him.

But that’s the problem. You love him. You would damn all of Golarion a thousand times over before you leave him like this.

You take him in your arms and hold him close. He must truly be exhausted because he’s asleep within minutes, cheeks still wet with tears. You look up at Qweck. She’s staring at you with an unreadable look, her lips together into a thin line. “I, uh…I guess I’m canceling that trip.”

“I guess you are,” she says flatly. “I guess you are.”

#pathfinder wotr #oc: theoven derenge #pwotr pals #oc: giliys #oc: qweck #the (Completely Platonic!) Breakup Arc #part 11