Archive of Our Own ^beta

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Gus ran into the Human Appreciation Society room out of breath and with a haunted visage on his face. The rest of the gang (minus the yet-to-arrive Luz) looked ready to leap into action, but Gus held up a hand and they relaxed and let their youngest member compose himself.

"Guys, I just overheard Luz say the most casually horrifying thing," Gus began once he stopped sucking wind. "She was chatting with the twins and mentioned that, besides the Slitherbeast, something called 'The Frostbite' posed the most risk to her during her trip out to the Knee."

"Is it possible Luz knows of another monster out there we don't?" Amity fretted. She hadn't seen any other creatures attacking Luz, and she'd spent the most alone time with Luz at the Knee besides Eda. It’d be just like the Demon Realm to spawn a brand-new nightmare for the populace to deal with. 

"It's more likely that Luz is unfamiliar with whatever she encountered and gave it that name herself," Willow replied. "She's still fairly new here; there's only so much she'd be able to learn in that time."

"Gus said casually, though," Amity said. "So if Luz was blasé about it, how dangerous could this thing possibly be?"

"Well, she ranked it right next to one of the Boiling Isles’ apex predators, so I'd say very," Gus said. "We gotta ask her when she arrives. Forget the presentation I had planned for today!"

"What did you have in store for us?" Willow asked.

"Not telling!" Gus sing-songed. "I'll just save it for next time."

"I just hope Ed and Em don't keep Luz too long," Amity said. "Gus is really selling this, and I want to see if all this suspense is warranted." 

“What suspense?” asked Luz, popping her head into the room. 

“Luz! Just the person we need to settle this,” Willow said, ushering the human into the classroom. “Gus came in here all discombobulated and it was all because of something you said.”

“Huh? What’d I say?” Luz cocked her head to the side, glancing at Gus. 

“What Willow is trying to say,” Amity interrupted, “is that Gus got freaked out by The Frostbite, and none of us know for certain what that is.”

“Yeah, as I was coming to the meeting, I heard the twins and you talking,” Gus started. “What up on the Knee could be in the same league as the Slitherbeast as far as danger goes for you, Luz?”

“Is that all?” Luz looked sheepish. “Sorry to burst your bubble, but it’s just frostbite - no The in front of it.” 

“What do bubbles have to do with this?” Amity and Willow both muttered, then looked at each other before quickly looking away.

“Burst your bubble is just a human expression, means to rid someone of a false illusion they have,” Luz said. Gus looked intrigued, and the other two continued to look anywhere but at each other. “But back to frostbite. It happens when you stay out in the cold too long, and your nose, ears, fingers, toes… any extremity, really, start to lose feeling and the skin and tissue underneath begin taking damage from the prolonged exposure.”

“Is that common in the Human Realm?” Gus wondered. “You just rattled off that knowledge like you didn’t even have to think hard about it. Man, humans are tough!” 

“In certain places, it can be,” Luz put a finger to her chin. “Y’know, I’m surprised that frostbite is a new concept to witches. Sure, the Boiling Isles runs warmer than average, but you do have cold places.”

“No one probably stayed up on the Knee long enough to fall victim to it,” Amity said. “Training up there for a few hours was enough, thank you! And I wouldn’t have gone at all if it wasn’t the only place we could train that for sure would be deserted.”

“Hey, maybe witch biology can explain it!” Gus piped up. “We’re so used to being by our boiling ocean that we’ve adapted to be used to the higher heat and humidity. So we’re adverse to going into the colder climates.”

“Must be it,” Luz nodded. “Humans are warm-blooded, so we have some built-in protection for when we venture into colder areas. Back when humans were first starting out, that let us venture into new territory and eventually become the dominant species on the planet.” Gus looked like he was itching to take notes. “I wonder if bile functions like witch antifreeze?” 

“Just how much protection are we talking?” Willow asked. “Could your warm blood melt snow and thaw ice?”

“Nothing so spectacular,” Luz answered. “Just means we don’t have to bask in the sun to raise our body temperature. Staying in the cold long enough will start to hurt you. Then - bam! - you get frostbite from being out in the cold too long. But your body will start shivering and give you other warning signs for you to get to somewhere warmer. It’s only mountain climbers and such that have their fingers and toes turn black and fall off.”

“Wait, I thought you said frostbite was MILD!” Amity said. 

Luz rubbed the back of her head and half-heartedly chuckled. “Well, what can I say? The Boiling Isles doesn’t have the monopoly on seemingly innocent things that can turn deadly in an instant. Speaking of which, have I told you guys about Monopoly yet?” 

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The bow and arrow just made sense to Merida. It seemed simple: nock arrow, pull string, aim and loose. The tricky part was just how much practice was needed to get competent, and Merida wasn’t scared off by the effort needed. She reveled in the toil that signified progress being made, and how that progress might one day earn her an actual measure of power over her future. 

There was a security she felt with a length of yew in her hand that was absent in other parts of her life. With archery, she controlled the outcome. The rest of her life… far less so. With a taut bowstring sitting next to her cheek, Merida felt an unmatched calm. The momentary cessation of breathing to steady her shot was Merida’s mental happy place. 

That Merida had to be furtive about this major part of herself galled. What she’d like to crow about the loudest instead had to be played close to the vest - a trump card no one would see coming. 

If Merida had to take control of her destiny at the point of arrow, well, she’d trained her whole life for it. She was ready; was anyone else?

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James Hook wasn’t born into privilege, and he learned to fight for what he wanted early on. Being a leader of men was a learned skill, one he certainly didn’t pick up at home. What he did develop there was a mean streak, a ruthlessness that couldn’t be stamped out. It was once he escaped there that things started looking up. With an Eton education under his belt and pockets lined with ill-gotten gains, any future James wanted seemed within his grasp. 

In Neverland, Hook commanded a crew just desperate enough to follow him and just varied enough to carry out any plan he could dream up. With Smee at his side as a sounding post, those plans usually fared well. But Pan and his boys had made an annoying habit of showing up his full-grown men. 

A common enemy was a good enough motivator for most, but Hook still sought more. Peter, he assumed, had been without meaningful parental supervision for just as long as himself, but he’d come out with the qualities Hook was still working on cultivating to perfection. Hook had more people in his crew, he had the advantage in armament, and his take-no-prisoners demeanor should mean that the mental edge was in his favor.

Why, then, did one reptile, one noise, send him crumbling to pieces?

The Jolly Roger was both physically hunted and terminally haunted by the spectre of Tick-Tock the Croc. No manner of dissuasion could get the beast to stop his chase, but James also had no luck in ceasing to dwell on his lost hand and its fate. The sharp, shiny hook and the passage of time were constant reminders - he was incomplete in all the ways that mattered till he reclaimed what was rightfully his.

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If Robin was honest with himself, Marian was the voice of reason in their cohort. She certainly was their beating heart of compassion. Robbing the rich to aid the poor was all well and good, but Marian made time for the children of Nottingham. She used sweet words, not violence, to get her way. 

Were the times different, a vixen like Marian would be sitting on England’s throne. She had the bloodlines for it. But John was what they were stuck with. Robin would never stoop to kiss John’s hand in fealty, but he’d gladly take Marian’s in its place.

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It was easier to disguise her femininity than Mulan had thought it’d be. Not only the physical aspects, but the mental hardship of donning her father’s army and training for war just… wasn’t for Mulan.

After being granted access to the troop camp, nobody had questioned Mulan’s presence there. As Ping, she was a mostly anonymous figure amidst a sea of similar men. All it took was tying her hair up, binding down the little chest she did have, and affecting a voice when she was forced to speak to someone else. None of this was very challenging, though going through rigorous training with strips of cloth squeezing her ribs tight was unpleasant. And the less said about the quick, cold dips in the river with the constant fear of discovery, the better.

But aside from that, Mulan found herself adapting almost easily into the military lifestyle. The experience was wholly different from the expectations heaped on her when she was at home. Divorced from the Mulan she’d been, facing familial obligations willingly taken on, Mulan actually had direction in her life for once. It was ironic, in a way, in that not following orders now had her following a different set, but Mulan didn’t mind. Those orders were means to an end, and that was restoring her family’s honor.

Indeed, it was a mental pick-me-up, going from being told she’d failed to being the first solider to make it to the top of the pillar. The longer Mulan spent as Ping, the more at ease she became with the whole situation. But without Mushu at her side, Mulan is sure she wouldn’t have taken everything so well. The little dragon was her levity in an otherwise serious predicament. But he could only encourage or console her; Mulan was the one who had to put in the work and not arouse suspicion while doing so. And she’d done so well, for so long, that when it all finally unraveled, Mulan couldn’t even call it the inevitable outcome because she’d put so much belief into making this impulsive plan work that failure never registered as a possibility.

When battle had finally come, the old Mulan would’ve hid, but this Mulan marched off with the others. This Mulan not only acquitted herself well, she became the surprising hero of the day. But that was just smoke and mirrors, too, as afterward she was left abandoned as Shang’s way of settling a life debt. Only then did Mulan feel like the past months were the deception they truly were. Only, not quite in the way she expected.

Perhaps, in doing her best to deceive those around her, Mulan had stopped deceiving herself. She was comfortable as Ping in a way she wasn’t as Mulan at home. Here, she mattered. Here, she was doing something worthwhile. And, as she saw their buried enemy emerge from the snow, Mulan knew their fate rested in her once-comrades believing she wasn’t deceiving them still. 

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Della deserved the moon.

Its barren gray landscape was as bleak as her parenting skills, which were just as bereft currently as Della’s composure was. Truly, it was the perfect setting to mope in. Her amputated limb and enforced solitude were ample penance for her hubris. But giving up hope here would quickly kill her, so as much as Della wanted to throw a pity party for herself, she had to shelve her feelings and get to work.  

If she ever did get off the moon, Della was sure she’d never get the taste of Oxy-Chew gum out of her mouth, nor ever shake all the moon dust out of her feathers. But carrying those things around as a constant reminder of her ordeal was a best-case scenario in the moment. Sheltering in the shadow of a crashed rocket, with the fresh pain of a prosthetic leg rubbing against a raw stump, Della had little in the way of even cold comforts to indulge in.

The beacon of her family on Earth was just enough of a glimmer to keep Della going. She might feel unworthy of redemption, but her pluck wouldn’t let Della fight for anything less.

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Dave Stutler believed in the power of science. But since Balthazar popped into his life, that belief was shaken. So, his scheduled tutoring session with Becky in his private basement lab had two purposes: to get the girl to go on a date with him, but also to reaffirm that science, not sorcery, was the driving force in his life.

And, as the music played and the wonder dawned across her face, Dave didn’t know what was more gorgeous - Becky or the arcing electricity. The only thing he was sure of was that, in this moment, he felt settled.

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After moving out of Middleton, Kim Possible was going to do the one thing that hadn’t been possible for her while living in her hometown - reinvent herself.

She loved her life of cheerleading, crime fighting, and camaraderie with Ron, Monique, and the rest of her high school friends. But now, they’d all graduated high school and were heading in separate directions for college and their adult lives. And while Kim thrived on the adrenaline rush during missions and reveled in a righteous sense of well-being afterwards, she also worried about being pigeon-holed into a role that she’d eventually outgrow. One day (hopefully far into the future), her reflexes would slow, and her body would start to break down from the rigorous life it’d been put through. So, to get ahead of that eventuality, Kim had to decide what direction to take her future in. 

Taking the summer after high school to truly relax for the first time since she’d started solving sitches, Kim realized that the one thing she did not miss was the danger… at least the life-threatening variety. The more daredevil antics would always hold an allure, but being one lucky break away from a supervillain permanently eliminating her from the picture was a stress she was glad was off her shoulders. Yet, Kim couldn’t help but miss being put into those situations in the first place, because she thrived when it was crunch time.

Shego, out of all of Kim’s foes, knew how to toe the line between comically over-the-top evil and truly reprehensible barbarity. Her brand of villainy was all elegance and stealth, the promise of pain always there to serve more as a deterrent to keep pursuers away. Against Kim’s modus operandi of gymnastic flexibility, they were an even match. And now that Kim had left that behind, there was nobody around who played foil to Kim in the same way, who could push her to her limits and make her grow through the experience. 

Ron was that person, but they’d been partners (and partners) for so long that he, too, was one of those comfortable ruts Kim feared getting stuck in. There was an easy familiarity between them, a quiet understanding, but that missing spark of something lingered in the back of Kim’s mind. She could be happy, following Ron’s lead. But would she ever be fulfilled, feel like she’d reached her true potential? It was the expected thing, the easy choice, but being a Possible was to pick the far-out possibility because it was there. 

That lingering discontent was what kept Kim up at night, what had her bored with even contemplating planning out a more mundane, civilian life. Did she miss the battles, or miss the challenge of one certain individual? In Middleton, she’d never find out. But allowed to spread her wings and fly afield, Kim could determine without the spotlight of a city’s expectations what to become. 

Kim was certain that complacency wasn’t in her vocabulary, that sitting stagnant was anathema to her. Whatever she chose, it’d be a challenge. But giving it the ol’ college try, well, Kim would relish in whatever was thrown her way.

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Hawaii was a paradise destination for most Earthlings. But to one lonely little lost visitor, the lush jungles, sandy beaches and pristine waters all felt so alien.

Where were the teeming, towering cities he was created to conquer? Despoiling the picturesque landscape would only sate so many of his urges. Occasionally, Experiment 626 could hear one of the local lifeforms shrieking, but it was in laughter, not fear. 

Freedom beat being imprisoned, but he was wholly unprepared for it. Cringing away from the sun in the shadow of trees far taller than him, 626 felt insignificant, his chaos all internal.

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Helen was incredibly proud, but incredibly worried, about her kids following in their parents’ footsteps. 

Before Syndrome, suppressing her Super-ness was second nature, if always just a bit uncomfortable. But after, the idea of making Violet, Dash and Jack-Jack go through the same thing was unthinkable. Her whole family had acquitted themselves well, and the children learned to take pride in an innate part of themselves that society might shun them for. But choosing to don a suit, take up the mantle of a superhero name and its associated persona was different from a (hopefully) one-off battle for their security.

Dash, in particular, seemed keen to find any and every excuse to flaunt his speed. Helen was worried he’d barrel headlong into a world he didn’t have the training for. Violet showed no such inclination. The mom in Helen was just relieved to see her shy daughter start to come out of her shell somewhat. And who knew what Jack-Jack would grow into? With his enthusiasm fueling his powers, his potential was undeniably potent, but tricky. 

As the matriarch, Helen had to set an example for all her offspring to follow. For years, that had been as a doting housewife and a tough-but-fair mom. But now the kids had seen her in action, and that couldn’t be taken back. Bob was no help in that department, as being benched was obviously rougher on him than it was on her. He’d champion the children being full-time Incredibles with very little hesitation. But Helen, above all, wanted to keep them all safe. And if that meant putting her foot down and forbidding (at least temporarily) the dreams of one or more of her kids? She’d deal with whatever pushback she received; after all, resilience was in her DNA. 

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Mowgli smelled. It wasn’t a charitable first thought to have of someone, but Shanti thought it anyway. The river wasn’t the most fragrant place to begin with, so Mowgli’s surprise splashdown into it hadn’t helped matters. Yet Shanti found the nearly-naked boy intriguing, and the feeling was obviously mutual. So, she gathered the water like she’d been tasked, and brought back a bonus as well.

Thanks to the village leader, Shanti found herself working alongside Mowgli regularly. He learned simply by watching her, and Shanti learned to hold her tongue when Mowgli messed up. They bickered, and they bonded. 

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When Molly laid eyes on what was to become her bedroom, it was a mess. Strewn with abandoned doodads, festooned with dust and cobwebs, her new home’s attic had a ways to go to meet Molly’s standards.

One decoration she hadn’t been planning on was Scratch.

The ghost was vehemently against Molly’s planned changes. But Molly’s persistent personality won a “trial basis” concession out of the spirit. Now the attic was even more messy, but undeniably more homey. Molly’s personal touch was a part of it, but having a roommate filled the space more completely than mere objects could.

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Belle couldn’t decide what was worse: knowing she was a prisoner in a castle with an unpredictable beast, or that said beast willingly kept secluded in the sprawling stone fortress lest the villagers tear him to shreds.

Her poor misguided father got Belle into this predicament, but she didn’t hold it against him. Her scorn was aimed at her unwilling landlord. Maurice’s only offence was becoming lost in a dark forest and seeking shelter in the nearest safe spot. Yet the Beast leapt straight to throwing an old man in a dungeon, and only released him if another would take his place. That the Beast couldn’t (or wouldn’t) see reason, that this blunder could’ve happened to anyone, left Belle at his wavering whims and fearful of what punishment he’d come up with next. 

There was a modicum of logic behind the Beast’s actions. He was scared of himself, the potential for carnage held within his frame. A fragile human would be safest from him behind metal bars and under lock and key. It was a kindness steeped in cruelty, but then, the Beast didn’t deal with anything with a soft hand. After all, it was only at the behest of a talking candelabra that Belle had an actual room rather than her father’s previous accommodations - and those had left Maurice trembling with sickness. 

Having nearly an entire castle to roam would likely keep Belle occupied, but it’d only be a temporary balm on an unsettled mind. Gaston’s unexpected proposal, followed by having to rescue her father, left Belle on uneven footing. She in no way wanted to be wed to such a boorish man, but having this as an alternative almost made her want to reconsider. The Beast had already shown his terribleness, whereas with Gaston it was just the brimming potential of barbarousness that Belle had been subjected to. A lifetime of being a trophy wife to a barrel-chested braggart or an interminable sentence with a caged animal on his home turf was a no-win choice.

The dinner the Beast had invited her to that evening was another such lose-lose proposition. Either go and be subjected to her captor’s "hospitality" or shirk the get-together and possibly face repercussions for it. Well, just because the Beast had her here didn’t mean Belle had to march to his tune. She’d rather explore her confines and seek out its secrets while she still had the opportunity. After all, this stunt was likely to get her actually locked up at best, and facing a snarling, violent behemoth at worst. 

The transformed servants (a ludicrous reality that Belle was still trying to process) were happy to feed her when she ran into them. It seemed that Belle wasn’t the only resident of the castle willing to subvert the master’s orders. But it’d take more than Belle’s brains and a bevy of enchanted objects to thwart the Beast. It’d take patience, and that, at least, Belle trumped the Beast at.

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Coaching a team of high schoolers was easier to Jim Morris than riding the pine in a Triple-A bullpen. At least he had experience out on the dusty ballfields of Texas. There, he was the adult in charge and truly enjoyed nurturing the players’ developing talent. Here, a step away from the major leagues, was a reality that wasn’t matching his dreams. Jim was the old man amongst teammates all easily a decade younger than him. He had a hard-throwing arm, one he knew likely came with a short shelf life.

He had left his family back home for a largely thankless existence as a relief pitcher in the unforgiving world of minor-league baseball. The bills were starting to rise, and Jim was so close to giving up. It was hard to remember, sitting on uncomfortable wood while waiting for the phone to ring, what made Jim love the game of baseball in the first place. 

But he’d made a promise, to both his family and the Owls. Jim would see this season through, whether he made the big leagues or not. At his age, he’d already exceeded expectations. And that was the biggest relief of all.