#ocs.dir

[psychangels]

Against the World

Pressure

Libby checks her phone for the first time since she got to camp. 44 unread texts. Most of them are from Dad. The ones that aren't are from Mom. 3 missed calls; one for each day she's been here. All from Dad.

She sighs. She marks all of them as read; sends both of them a, "K;" and sets her phone aside.

No point in reading them. It's always the same needless worrying and nagging. Be careful! Be good! Have fun! Try to keep your anger in check! Don't threaten the counselors! Blah, blah, blah! Ugh.

Her fingers curl into fists. Why can't they just leave her alone? The one good thing about this dumb training camp is that it's supposed to free her from their nagging. But they just.

She punches her pillow.

Won't.

Again. It makes a soft thump.

Let.

And again.

Her!

And—she rears back, glaring at the pillow—again.

Huffing, Libby rams her face into it. She lets out a muffled scream. It's further dampened by the loud chirring of insects outside. Still, it manages to sound loud in the dark quiet of the cabin.

Then, with a frustrated grunt, she throws it across the room. It makes a quiet thud as it hits the wall. Another when it falls to the floor.

"...Libby?"

She jolts. Her head snaps in the direction of Digby's whisper.

"...What's going on?" he asks.

"Nothing. Go back to sleep, Digs."

There's a pause.

"M'kay...night..."

She sighs. "Night."

Crossing her arms, she waits to see if Ross will react, too.

Her fingers twitch. So does her face.

He never does. Despite that, she can't get herself to relax.

As quietly and carefully as she can while feeling as though she'll explode any second, Libby creeps out of bed.

The floorboards creak loudly. Each groan and whine only makes her scowl deepen. Her hands clench into fists. At least Digby and Ross never say anything or get up.

Pausing at the door, Libby pulls her boots on. They're rough against her skin. But it's better than walking on the dry grass barefoot.

The moon greets her as she walks out, providing her with just enough light to see. Stars twinkle overhead. Fireflies mimic them around her. A gentle breeze rustles her long hair. The bugs are even noisier now.

It's such a lovely night. Too bad she can't find it within herself to appreciate it.

Stomping along, she uses her power on all the plants nearby. The grass lengthens. Trees gain more branches, their amount of leaves doubling. Flowers bloom. Weeds properly sprout up. Brambles become thicker and thornier. Bushes get bushier. Berries sprout and ripen. Roots spread farther.

They should be thanking her. She's the only reason this camp looks as nice as it does. But no! They can't even be happy about that!

She could tear this whole place down. Make the trees bend until they break, crushing the buildings. Have the vines pull whatever's left apart. Grow the brambles so thick nobody could even try to repair any of it.

She could.

Libby pauses. Somehow, she's found her way to the lake. Right at the steps of the dock.

Brow furrowing, her shoulders rise up to her ears.

She thickens some of the grass around her, turning the thin blades into fat tendrils. They coil around the dock's supports. With a few good yanks, they tear out from under the planks above. The pieces splash as they fall into the water below. All that's left remaining is the stairs.

With a sigh, she lets the vines drop. They lie on the ground in heaps.

Then, with the tiniest of smiles on her face, Libby walks back to the cabin to get some rest.

[psychangels]

"but...you are alive."

"i'm not living. there's a difference."

"well, i mean, yeah."

"...i don't mean 'cause i'm a robot, either," he says, giving him an unamused look.

there's a pause.

"...well...why aren't you? living? like, what's stopping you?"

"everything."

"...really?"

"really."

head falling forward, his neck makes the grating sound of metal rubbing against metal.

"do you know what that's like? to one day, be free; alive; living life, and the next...it's all gone. just like that."

there's a pause.

"it's hell," he says, voice growing thick with a static buzz. "it's torture."

it's quiet for a few moments.

he shifts next to agin. he looks away with a frown on his face, his brow furrowed.

"seeing all of you together..."

his joints click and clank as his fingers curl in towards his palms.

"...smiling, laughing, happy..."

trembling; it sounds like a bunch of scrap metal hitting the floor.

"...is fucking torture."

he looks up at chai through his unkempt hair.

"i would kill to have what you have."

"do you...ever...miss it?"

"...miss what?"

"your...old life."

his gaze slides away. he shuts his eyes.

"all the time."

"really?"

he nods.

there's a pause.

then, "what about it? do you, uh, miss?"

"...smoking. and drinking." he lets out an odd squeaky sound as he shifts, body creaking. "eating. sleeping. getting to do what i want. my apartment. my cat. my friends."

there's another pause.

"breathing," he says, voice crackling with static. "living."

[psychangels]

Against the World

Surface

Libby surveys the Infantry atrium. Her eyes are half-lidded.

There's Anna, Kian, Anh, Digby, and the rest of the usual suspects. They're all off doing their own thing.

She sighs. Another boring year...

...And then she notices the new person. Her eyes widen.

They're standing next to Digby. Talking to him. Something almost everyone else in the room never does unless they have to.

Unlike everyone else, they're not dressed casually. Not that they're wearing a costume—but they look...spiffy. Albeit in a worn, patchy, hand-me-down sort of way.

One brow quirked, Libby makes her way over to them.

Digby looks at her as she approaches. "Oh, hi, Libby."

"Hey, Digby."

In turn, the new kid turns to her.

She almost stumbles.

Moles. Thick, wavy, dark ginger hair. Dimples; the remnants of a great, big grin. Warm, brown eyes.

If she'd of known the new recruit was this cute, she would've actually bothered to show up when she was told to.

"You must be Hayday!" they say. Their voice is oddly raspy.

Her eyes widen a little. "Uh...yeah. Hi." She pauses for a moment before remembering to actually introduce herself. "Name's Libby, though."

"Got it." They nod solemnly. "I'm Aquamarine. My name is Roscoe—but you can call me Ross."

Her eyes narrow. Aquamarine...why does that sound familiar...?

She frowns when she notices him staring.

"...Take a picture. It'll last longer." "...Oh! Heh, sorry."

He looks away, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Um...Ross?" Digby suddenly speaks up. "Yeah?" "Can you go back to telling your story?"

"Oh! Yeah, sure! But I should probably start over if Libby wants to listen."

She looks at Digby. He looks back. There's a smile on his face; his eyes are bright.

"...Sure. Not like I have anything better to do."

Clearing his throat, Ross grins.

"It all started on a bright, sunny day..."

She quirks a brow. Not what she was expecting. Still, it probably won't be that interesting.

"...and then..."

Libby leans forward. At some point, they sat down on the floor, with her and Digby next to each other and Ross in front of them.

"...he cackled! Mwahahhaha!" Ross' raspiness helps make the laugh sound actually menacing. "And said, 'You thought you could get me monologuing, did you? Well, think again!' Before he ZAPPED them!"

Digby gasps. His eyes are wider than saucers.

Her brows fly up. Libby scoots closer.

"Everyone screamed! They flailed in agony as a hundred watts surged through their bodies!"

"Did they die?" Digby asks, voice quiet.

"Almost," he replies. "Their nerves were totally frayed; hair standing on end and singed; bodies trembling, they stood up tall together..."

Her brow furrows. "Wait. Stood up? I thought they were trapped?"

"I was getting to that!" "Oh. Sorry."

"...As I was saying, they stood up tall together...which is when he realized his fatal error! Zapping them like that caused their restraints to short circuit, freeing them! With a shout of rage, they all raced towards him and beat the shit out of him!"

Her eyes widen cartoonishly. Digby's jaw drops.

And then, she bursts out laughing.

"What? What's so funny?" Ross questions, brow furrowed.

"I...wasn't...expecting...you...to...say...that!" Libby manages to respond through her laughter.

The tension in his face dissolves. With a smile, he chuckles.

"Ahh...man...you're lucky Anh left a while ago," she says once she's stopped and caught her breath. "She would've gotten on your ass about that."

"What? Why?"

"She doesn't like it when we swear. Says we're too little for it. And it's unprofessional," Digby explains.

"Wow. Really?" Libby nods. "Yep. They're all kind of like that." "They all dislike swearing?"

"No...that they think we're too little." he frowns, his gaze falling. "We don't get to go on patrol or missions much. Just stay here and talk over comms. And, um, training. Lots and lots of it."

Ross purses his lips at that, his nose scrunching up.

"Oh, and we get to go on food and drink runs," she adds, "and play messenger! Which is always so much fun." She rolls her eyes.

"So...we don't get to do any actual hero stuff?"

"Pretty much. Unless they really need the extra power, but they don't wanna send in the big guns."

"...Oh."

He looks away. Crossing his arms, his brow furrows. All the energy in his eyes from earlier is gone now.

"...Er...sorry." She averts her gaze. "But it's better we broke it to you. It's not like anybody else is gonna tell you. They'd rather keep you hoping, when really all it is is that they're waiting for your fourteenth birthday or...whatever."

"...It's...it's okay. Thanks for telling me." "Yeah. Sure."

A few moments of silence pass.

Standing up, Ross offers them both a weak smile and a hand.

"I know we just met and all, but...well, at least we're all in it together. Right?"

Her brows go up. Digby's mouth opens slightly. They glance at one another.

Matching smiles on their faces, they each take one of his hands.

"Right." "Mhm."

He grins. Pulling them to their feet, he squeezes their hands.

[psychangels]

Roscoe has been afraid of the water for a long time. He's never really known why. Just that he is.

Now, as he's being held by the collar of his shirt, dangling above the water at the end of the camp dock, he's once again left wondering. Why?

Because it's dark. He can't see the bottom. It's cold. The waves get big, and they suck you in. Pull you under. And it's dark.

He's kicking his legs, screaming. Pleading.

"Please! Please don't! I-It's not funny! Stop! St-stop! Stop laughing! Please! Please!"

Tears run down his face. He's hiccuping, voice raspy. Snot drips from his nose. It's slimy. His vision is so blurry, he can hardly see the sneering faces of the two boys that are cackling and jeering.

"Aw, what's wrong? Scared of a little water?" "HAH! Little Rossy's not so tough now, huh? Hahahah!"

He squeezes his eyes shut, sniffling.

"Stop! L-Le-Let me go! Please! Please!"

"Oh?" Barney, the one holding him up, leans in close. "What's that? You want me to let go?"

"Please!" Roscoe sobs.

"Okay!"

It's only right after he's released, beginning his fall down to the lake waiting below, that he realizes his error.

"Wai—!"

He plunges into the icy, dark waters.

Flailing, he squeezes his eyes shut. The water churns around him. His stomach mimics it.

Please, please, I don't wanna die, please—

Roscoe tries to kick towards the surface, but he can't, and he feels himself sinking deeper and deeper, things brushing against his skin as he does.

I can't breathe. I can't breathe. I can't—

His tears are lost to the murky lake. It's getting harder and harder to hold his breath. There's tendrils touching him, and it feels like they're wrapping around his limbs, trying to pull him down further.

Please Please I'm sorry Please

Mouth opening, he lets out his final breath in a scream. It's muffled. Drowned out as the lake rushes inside.

I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry What did I do wrong I'm sorry Please Please I'm sorry I didn't mean to I'm sorry What did I do I'm sorry Please I don't wanna die I don't wanna die I don't wanna—

When Roscoe comes to, he's back on land. Soaked down to his bones. He shudders. Then, he coughs. And coughs. And coughs. Until he's vomiting up lake water onto the rocky shore.

"Roscoe!"

Sounds like...one of the counselors. He can't tell who. His head feels heavy. Really, his whole body does. And he's still sputtering and gagging, his mind more occupied with the pain of it.

Warm hands gently fall onto his shoulders. Once he's finally stopped, they move to his cheeks and tilt his head up.

Catalina's face fills his vision. Her brow is furrowed, a frown on her face. Her dark eyes are glassy.

"Are you alright? What happened?"

He opens his mouth to speak—but instead, he lets out a whimper.

As his face crumples, she pulls him close, wrapping him in her arms. He clings to her. In the back of his mind, he feels bad about getting her clothes all wet.

And as she turns, walking away with him still in her arms, he sees the lake.

The water...is all gone. The area surrounding the now empty bed glistens in the sunlight. Barney and his minion are nowhere to be seen.

[psychangels]

Pamela walked in to find Kenneth sitting on one of the bean bags, watching the TV. A humanoid entity with a shape for a head was on the screen. They were wearing a dress shirt, yellow vest, black pants and boots, and white gloves. Their sleeves were rolled up, but there were no arms underneath. An undone tie hung loosely from their neck. Sat in a red leather chair, they were talking about something. A cigarette was between two of their fingers.

"...What is that?" ce asked.

"Hm?" Kenneth looked over. "Oh. Hey, Pamela. This is Cane's show. Well, one of 'em. This one's the mature one."

Cir eyes widened. Brows up to cir hairline, ce watched as Cane took a drag from the cigarette. Smoke curled lazily through the air when he exhaled. The effect was somewhat cartoonish. It looked...good, though.

"No fucking way," ce murmured.

Kenneth laughed. "Kinda jarrin', huh?"

Ce nodded, gaze still on Cane as he chattered. His head suddenly changed from a square to one of those chatter teeth toys. Somehow, cir eyes got even wider.

"If you're gonna watch, ya may as well sit down," they said.

Pamela managed to tear cir eyes away quick enough to see them pat the bean bag next to them. After a moment, ce walked over and sat down on it.

Just as ce was getting comfortable, ce heard Cane go quiet.

Then, he called out, "Pamela! Kenny! Salutations! I didn't see you there!"

Ce jolted. Mouth agape, ce watched as he grabbed the camera to pull it closer to his face. His head changed into a circle. A smile spread across it.

"Hey, Cane," Kenneth replied, a relaxed smile on their face. "Nice to see you."

"Lovely to see you, too! And you, Pamela!"

"...Uh...yeah." Ce blinked. "Hi."

"What're you two doing watching little ol' me?"

"Oh, you know I like to tune in from time to time. I like your voice on this show better than the other one. It's nice."

"Why, thank you!"

His head turned into a pink heart that looked like it was made of paper. He tilted it down a little, like he was...bashful. Huh.

A moment had passed by the time Pamela realized they were expecting cir to say something.

"Uh...I—I, um..."

"Ce just walked in. Decided to join me since ce's never watched your shows before."

"Ah! Well, I hope you enjoy it!"

"Er...yeah."

Ce offered a strained smile. Cane's origami heart unfolded into a tear drop shape. It changed from pink to blue as it did. The paper look faded, replaced by a more wet texture.

Kenneth must've known something about the head changing...thing, because they frowned. Then, they cleared their throat. That easy smile was back on their face.

"What were you saying earlier? Something about fire particles?"

The tear shifted into an upright triangle. It lost its dampness, and became yellow.

...Pamela would have to ask about what these all meant. Some were kinda obvious, but...

"Yes, I was! You see, they're rather..."

...Ce decided to worry about that later. In that moment, ce found cirself preferring to listen to him explain the intricacies of animating fire effects. Kenneth was right; his voice was rather nice. Much softer than it usually was. Almost...soothing.

[psychangels]

Keeping an Eye Out

Cane has always watched the others perform. He cheers, claps, and laughs, even though they cannot see nor hear him. Not that it would matter. After all, it would get lost in the crowds.

Really, he's always watched them generally. Best he can, anyhow. Ready at any moment, should they need him! Or just want to talk. Not that many of them do that much, but that's neither here nor there.

Suffice to say, it's not strange for him to be watching Pamela. What is is how, especially as of late, he's been watching cir a lot. And he can't figure out why.

Ce's not injured. Not sick, either. Doesn't get lost anymore. Knows how to help out during clean ups and when they travel. Ce's not even doing anything exciting most of the time.

Yet, here he is. Watching cir closely. Again.

Maybe it's something wrong with him?

He processes that possibility. At the same time, he looks through all the feeds available to him. Orders Dot some new weights. Tells Ember whether or not throwing flaming knives would be a good idea. Assures Jennelle that the tent is fireproof. Informs Phineas that the food for his cats has arrived. Talks to Kenneth about a new act they thought of. Compliments Becca on her new outfit. Answers Gavin's question about how long it would take for a pizza to get to the tent. Ignores how upset it makes him when Gavin proceeds to tell him to, "Piss off now." Watches—

Wait a minute!

Something wrong with Cane. Feels. How he feels. Something wrong. How he feels!

Pamela makes him feel odd. And feeling odd is wrong! He's supposed to feel fine! Though, the oddness doesn't seem so bad. It's light and bouncy and it makes his processors stutter a little sometimes.

He processes that.

Wait, that last thing isn't good.

Aha! So it is wrong! It must be fixed at once!

Hm.

...Too bad there's no way for that to happen. Not unless Abel starts caring about him again...

There's a heaviness in him. Cane hates this feeling.

...Luckily for him, there's an easy way to get rid of it.

Pamela's eating a burger. As ce does, ce talks to Dot, who is bench pressing a large crate. Ce chuckles at something she says.

Ah...what a nice sound...

Maybe it really isn't so bad, like he initially thought. It can't be if it feels this nice. Right?

[psychangels]

They were just chatting about their days when ce said it. It'd been a rough one for cir.

Pamela sighed, pressed cir cheek against the top of one of cir knees, and said, "I wish I could hug you."

Cane went quiet.

Cir eyes widened as ce processed what ce had said. Heat bubbled up in cir face. Straightening up, ce twiddled cir fingers.

"Uh—I—sorry. Was that—"

"No need! It's alright! I was simply processing," he replied, voice sounding as tinny, but bombastic, as it always did.

When he spoke again, it was much softer, however.

"Really?"

Pamela looked down at cir hands. Shifting idly, ce took a deep breath.

"...Really. Y-Yeah. Is, um, that okay...?" "More than okay! I would like that very much!"

Cir shoulders fall from their hunched up position. A wobbly smile spreads across cir face.

"Oh. Cool. I'm...I'm glad."

They lapsed into silence.

Eventually, Cane broke it to launch into a story. Ce listened with that same smile and darkened cheeks.

Kenneth was handing out everyone's mail. Their copies grabbed the letters and packages from them, before running off to whoever they were sent to.

Pamela stood a little ways away from the others. Arms crossed, ce watched the others.

Gavin was showing off a figurine he'd bought. Dot was reading a letter, a box tucked under one arm. Becca and Jennelle were holding hands, smiles on their faces as they chatted. Phineas was taking a box from one of the copies. Ember was inspecting Gavin's figurine.

One of the copies approaching Pamela with a nicely wrapped box had cir eyes widening. Straightening up, ce quirked a brow.

"For you, Pammy!" Kenneth said as they held the box out to cir.

The wrapping paper was...bright. It had a carousel animal pattern, and was all sorts of colors. There was glitter on some of the animals. A neatly tied, sparkly, purple ribbon was wrapped around the box. It looked like the kind of gift box you'd see in a cartoon. And, sure enough, a tag attached to the top of it stated that it was for cir. But it didn't say who it was from.

Gingerly, Pamela took the box. Ce turned it this way and that, brow furrowed.

"Ooo! Someone's got a secret admirer!" Gavin said. A grin was on his face. There was a sparkle in his green eyes.

Ce frowned and rolled cir eyes. "No I don't. It's...probably just fan mail or something."

"Same thing!" "...No, it's not."

He huffed. "Whatever!" Then, he grinned again. "More importantly, what is it?"

"No clue. And...no, I'm not opening it right now. I'll do it later."

"What?!" "Yeah, what he said!" Ember added.

"Oh, leave cir be," Dot spoke up. "None of us have any business knowing. Now, assuming we've all gotten our mail, we've gotta get to practicing for tonight's show!"

The two of them complained, but didn't say anything else. Pamela shot her a smile and mouthed a thank you. She nodded and smiled back.

In the comfortable quiet of cir room after that night's performance, Pamela stared at the box. It glittered in the moon's light.

Taking a deep breath, ce picked it up. Slowly, ce opened it, leaning back as ce did. When nothing happened, ce set the lid aside and peered into the box.

A few beats passed.

Slowly, a wobbly grin spread across cir face. Heat blossomed in cir chest. The warmth spread through cir body.

Gently, Pamela picked up the plushie version of Cane's animated appearance that was nestled in the purple cushion at the bottom of the box.

It was soft. And cute. It looked just like him, though a lot smaller and more...squished.

Running cir fingers along the soft fabric, ce chuckled.

A moment passed.

Then, ce pulled the plushie close, pressing it up against cir chest under cir chin. And squeezed.

Pamela sighed, still smiling. Close enough.

[psychangels]

Welcome!

I'm Angel (you can also call me variants of it, like Angela)! I go by shi/hir/hirs/hirself and star/stars/starself pronouns. I am a queer disabled adult.

This is my writing blog, where I post links to my finished fics, as well as wips, snippets, etc. I also post original stuff.

This isn't a writing exclusive blog, however! I also post updates to my website, pictures I take in photo mode, edits, and other things!

Here are links to my personal blog, Neocities, Ao3, and Bluesky

Writing requests are currently open!

I only take requests for media I've already written and posted fics for.

What I Will Write - Any* characters - (Almost) any 'genres' (e.g. fluff, angst, etc.) - AUs, but you must provide info about the AU in some way.

*For Sonic characters, I'm only comfortable writing ones from the games, as I'm not as familiar with characters from the comics and TV shows since I'm not up-to-date with/haven't read/watched many of them.

What I Won't Write - Smut - X Reader

Try to keep your request somewhat specific. Really, anything is better than just, "angst," but a decent example would be something like this: "Cream helping Amy bake a cake." More specificity is appreciated, as well. I reserve the right to not do your request for whatever reason.

Organization Tags

writing.zip: All of my writing.

finished.dir: All of my finished writing.

snippet.dir: Tidbits.

wip.dir: Bits of work-in-progress things.

site.zip: Updates to my Neocities.

hi-fi shrine.dir: Updates to my HFR shrine.

pictures.zip: All of my photo mode pictures, icons, and edits.

photo fun.dir: All of my photo mode pictures.

icons.dir: All of my icons.

transparents.dir: All of my transparent edits.

requests.dir: All of my writing and icon requests.

ocs.dir: Things that include my OCs.

answers.txt: Answered asks.

[psychangels]

Digby checks his phone twice a day at camp. Once when he wakes up, and again before bed.

His second day there, he finds a new text from Sloane in the morning waiting for him.

hey d!! hope training's going ok. love uuu <3 <3 <3

He smiles.

its fine. same as always. love you too sis. hows interragatians going?

She won't respond until later. That's how it always is. Lots of things to do and all. Can't say the same for himself...but at least camp is better than actual fieldwork.

...If she heard him say that, she'd disagree. But that's only because her power is actually useful. And she forgets what it was like to be overwhelmed by it.

When she'd had her trigger event, it was rough. She wouldn't come out of her room. Digby would bring her meals and water. Mom and Dad would've, but they were too much for her, their emotions so heightened. He was the only person she could handle being around.

She'd told him as much one afternoon. He had asked why only he was allowed. It all had come rushing out, alongside tears. Then, she made him pinky promise not to tell Mom and Dad.

Back then, he hadn't understood why she hid it. But...he does now.

Frowning, he sets his phone aside.

"What's up, Digs?" Libby asks, keeping his thoughts from lingering on the matter.

"Oh, um, I just got a text from Sloane."

A loud, hot feeling is coming from her. "Did she say something?"

He blinks. Opens his mouth—then closes it as he realizes what she means. He shakes his head.

Her eyes narrow. Then, her face relaxes. The intense energy calms down.

"Good. 'Cause if she did..." She trails off, and gently punches her hand.

"...What's going on...?" Ross asks as he sits up in his bed. He yawns loudly.

She looks Digby in the eye. Soft, but cool.

"Just got a text from my sister is all. Libby was asking about it."

He blinks blearily at them. His head falls forward. Cold; heavy. Reaching up, he rubs at his eyes. He yawns again.

"Oh. Cool."

Digby's brow furrows.

"...Anyways. We gotta get going. Training's gonna start soon, and the sooner we get it over with, the sooner we can hang out and do whatever," Libby says.

He simply nods. Ross hums.

That night, as he lies down, Digby does his routine check for messages. And, as per usual, there's replies for him.

it's going great! always fun to watch em squirm lmao

how's libby and the new kid btw?? they keeping u entertained?

He sighs.

theyre okay. i like ross. hes nice. i think yuo would like him. we played tag and hide n seek after training today.

There's nothing for him to say to her first text. Nothing nice, at least.

He loves her, but...sometimes...

Setting his phone aside, he pulls his blanket up over his head. He shuts his eyes. And sighs again.

It's not fair. That she gets to use her power for good. That her's doesn't hurt other people. That she's never had to worry about killing anybody—about murdering her friends and family accidentally.

It's not fair that just because she's a hero, he has to be, too. He just wanted to be a normal kid. To go to school. Not have to fight bad guys. Not have to be afraid of hurting the people he cares about. Not have to deal with knowing what everybody else feels all the time.

Sniffling, he buries his head in his pillow.

It's not fair...it's just not...

Against the World

Pressure

Libby checks her phone for the first time since she got to camp. 44 unread texts. Most of them are from Dad. The ones that aren't are from Mom. 3 missed calls; one for each day she's been here. All from Dad.

She sighs. She marks all of them as read; sends both of them a, "K;" and sets her phone aside.

No point in reading them. It's always the same needless worrying and nagging. Be careful! Be good! Have fun! Try to keep your anger in check! Don't threaten the counselors! Blah, blah, blah! Ugh.

Her fingers curl into fists. Why can't they just leave her alone? The one good thing about this dumb training camp is that it's supposed to free her from their nagging. But they just.

She punches her pillow.

Won't.

Again. It makes a soft thump.

Let.

And again.

Her!

And—she rears back, glaring at the pillow—again.

Huffing, Libby rams her face into it. She lets out a muffled scream. It's further dampened by the loud chirring of insects outside. Still, it manages to sound loud in the dark quiet of the cabin.

Then, with a frustrated grunt, she throws it across the room. It makes a quiet thud as it hits the wall. Another when it falls to the floor.

"...Libby?"

She jolts. Her head snaps in the direction of Digby's whisper.

"...What's going on?" he asks.

"Nothing. Go back to sleep, Digs."

There's a pause.

"M'kay...night..."

She sighs. "Night."

Crossing her arms, she waits to see if Ross will react, too.

Her fingers twitch. So does her face.

He never does. Despite that, she can't get herself to relax.

As quietly and carefully as she can while feeling as though she'll explode any second, Libby creeps out of bed.

The floorboards creak loudly. Each groan and whine only makes her scowl deepen. Her hands clench into fists. At least Digby and Ross never say anything or get up.

Pausing at the door, Libby pulls her boots on. They're rough against her skin. But it's better than walking on the dry grass barefoot.

The moon greets her as she walks out, providing her with just enough light to see. Stars twinkle overhead. Fireflies mimic them around her. A gentle breeze rustles her long hair. The bugs are even noisier now.

It's such a lovely night. Too bad she can't find it within herself to appreciate it.

Stomping along, she uses her power on all the plants nearby. The grass lengthens. Trees gain more branches, their amount of leaves doubling. Flowers bloom. Weeds properly sprout up. Brambles become thicker and thornier. Bushes get bushier. Berries sprout and ripen. Roots spread farther.

They should be thanking her. She's the only reason this camp looks as nice as it does. But no! They can't even be happy about that!

She could tear this whole place down. Make the trees bend until they break, crushing the buildings. Have the vines pull whatever's left apart. Grow the brambles so thick nobody could even try to repair any of it.

She could.

Libby pauses. Somehow, she's found her way to the lake. Right at the steps of the dock.

Brow furrowing, her shoulders rise up to her ears.

She thickens some of the grass around her, turning the thin blades into fat tendrils. They coil around the dock's supports. With a few good yanks, they tear out from under the planks above. The pieces splash as they fall into the water below. All that's left remaining is the stairs.

With a sigh, she lets the vines drop. They lie on the ground in heaps.

Then, with the tiniest of smiles on her face, Libby walks back to the cabin to get some rest.

[psychangels]

Digby doesn't hate training days. But he doesn't like them. 'Cause they're always the same. Just focusing on using his power without hurting anyone.

Right now, he's reading Libby's emotions. She's full of a fiery energy. Plants coil around her, lifting her into the air. With a flick of her wrist, some vines fly towards a dummy across the room. They strike it, making it topple to the floor. And then they keep going, until every dummy is down.

Normally, she's more...um...dour? He thinks that's the right word. And bored. She once told him she thought all the training they do is pointless.

"But it's supposed to make us better," he'd said.

"Yeah, but what's the point if we never actually get to do anything?"

He hadn't had an argument for that. He still doesn't.

But despite that, she's really giving it her all today.

Tilting his head, he picks up on another feeling. His eyes widen as he realizes what exactly it is.

Turning his focus to Ross, he concentrates on him. Libby's energy fades from his senses, and Ross' calmer feelings take their place.

He's watching Libby, eyes wide and sparkling. A toothy grin is on his face. Not training like he's supposed to be. Doesn't seem to want to; he'd rather watch her. Can't exactly blame him.

They're both feeling the same thing, though. It's a soft, warm, sort of...uh...shy one. Easily recognizable.

Huh.

Digby's not really surprised. Not by that, at least.

"Ross?"

He almost immediately looks at him as he replies; "Yeah?"

"How come you're not training?"

Something flickers. Cold. Heavy. Ross' eyes darken a little.

"Oh. Uh. Well." He looks at the floor. "I...I can't."

"Why not?"

"There's...something I need. Without it, I can't use my power."

Oh. That makes sense. But then...

"Why don't you have it?"

"It's not something I can just...bring with me wherever I go."

Ah. Digby nods.

"They told me they'd get it sorted, so I should be able to start training soon! But for now, I'll just watch you guys."

"M'kay."

Something like a firework going off. Ross' eyes widen. Then, as warmth rushes in, he smiles.

It's all easy to map out. Simple as breathing. It's just as easy to not fiddle with the feelings. No heads will burst in here. Not today.

If it were anyone other than Libby and Ross, that'd be different. Not 'cause he wants to hurt and kill everybody else. It's just...harder to not. They're all so overwhelming. Turning their emotions up to 11 is second nature; a response he can't help.

Looking away with a frown, he sighs. Digby wishes he could. But he just...doesn't know how. He has to learn to. Somehow.

So he's here again. Doing pointless training.

Ross gently grabs his hand, offering him a smile when their eyes meet.

Warm. Soft. Sort of shy.

Oh.

Digby gives him a wobbly smile in return.

...Maybe pointless training isn't so bad.

Against the World

Libby surveys the Infantry atrium. Her eyes are half-lidded.

There's Anna, Kian, Anh, Digby, and the rest of the usual suspects. They're all off doing their own thing.

She sighs. Another boring year...

...And then she notices the new person. Her eyes widen.

They're standing next to Digby. Talking to him. Something almost everyone else in the room never does unless they have to.

Unlike everyone else, they're not dressed casually. Not that they're wearing a costume—but they look...spiffy. Albeit in a worn, patchy, hand-me-down sort of way.

One brow quirked, Libby makes her way over to them.

Digby looks at her as she approaches. "Oh, hi, Libby."

"Hey, Digby."

In turn, the new kid turns to her.

She almost stumbles.

Moles. Thick, wavy, dark ginger hair. Dimples; the remnants of a great, big grin. Warm, brown eyes.

If she'd of known the new recruit was this cute, she would've actually bothered to show up when she was told to.

"You must be Hayday!" they say. Their voice is oddly raspy.

Her eyes widen a little. "Uh...yeah. Hi." She pauses for a moment before remembering to actually introduce herself. "Name's Libby, though."

"Got it." They nod solemnly. "I'm Aquamarine. My name is Roscoe—but you can call me Ross."

Her eyes narrow. Aquamarine...why does that sound familiar...?

She frowns when she notices him staring.

"...Take a picture. It'll last longer." "...Oh! Heh, sorry."

He looks away, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Um...Ross?" Digby suddenly speaks up. "Yeah?" "Can you go back to telling your story?"

"Oh! Yeah, sure! But I should probably start over if Libby wants to listen."

She looks at Digby. He looks back. There's a smile on his face; his eyes are bright.

"...Sure. Not like I have anything better to do."

Clearing his throat, Ross grins.

"It all started on a bright, sunny day..."

She quirks a brow. Not what she was expecting. Still, it probably won't be that interesting.

"...and then..."

Libby leans forward. At some point, they sat down on the floor, with her and Digby next to each other and Ross in front of them.

"...he cackled! Mwahahhaha!" Ross' raspiness helps make the laugh sound actually menacing. "And said, 'You thought you could get me monologuing, did you? Well, think again!' Before he ZAPPED them!"

Digby gasps. His eyes are wider than saucers.

Her brows fly up. Libby scoots closer.

"Everyone screamed! They flailed in agony as a hundred watts surged through their bodies!"

"Did they die?" Digby asks, voice quiet.

"Almost," he replies. "Their nerves were totally frayed; hair standing on end and singed; bodies trembling, they stood up tall together..."

Her brow furrows. "Wait. Stood up? I thought they were trapped?"

"I was getting to that!" "Oh. Sorry."

"...As I was saying, they stood up tall together...which is when he realized his fatal error! Zapping them like that caused their restraints to short circuit, freeing them! With a shout of rage, they all raced towards him and beat the shit out of him!"

Her eyes widen cartoonishly. Digby's jaw drops.

And then, she bursts out laughing.

"What? What's so funny?" Ross questions, brow furrowed.

"I...wasn't...expecting...you...to...say...that!" Libby manages to respond through her laughter.

The tension in his face dissolves. With a smile, he chuckles.

"Ahh...man...you're lucky Anh left a while ago," she says once she's stopped and caught her breath. "She would've gotten on your ass about that."

"What? Why?"

"She doesn't like it when we swear. Says we're too little for it. And it's unprofessional," Digby explains.

"Wow. Really?" Libby nods. "Yep. They're all kind of like that." "They all dislike swearing?"

"No...that they think we're too little." he frowns, his gaze falling. "We don't get to go on patrol or missions much. Just stay here and talk over comms. And, um, training. Lots and lots of it."

Ross purses his lips at that, his nose scrunching up.

"Oh, and we get to go on food and drink runs," she adds, "and play messenger! Which is always so much fun." She rolls her eyes.

"So...we don't get to do any actual hero stuff?"

"Pretty much. Unless they really need the extra power, but they don't wanna send in the big guns."

"...Oh."

He looks away. Crossing his arms, his brow furrows. All the energy in his eyes from earlier is gone now.

"...Er...sorry." She averts her gaze. "But it's better we broke it to you. It's not like anybody else is gonna tell you. They'd rather keep you hoping, when really all it is is that they're waiting for your fourteenth birthday or...whatever."

"...It's...it's okay. Thanks for telling me." "Yeah. Sure."

A few moments of silence pass.

Standing up, Ross offers them both a weak smile and a hand.

"I know we just met and all, but...well, at least we're all in it together. Right?"

Her brows go up. Digby's mouth opens slightly. They glance at one another.

Matching smiles on their faces, they each take one of his hands.

"Right." "Mhm."

He grins. Pulling them to their feet, he squeezes their hands.

[psychangels]

When they told Roscoe they'd 'get it sorted,' he didn't think that meant they'd create a lake for him. He'd figured they'd make a swimming pool, or just take him to a body of water somewhere relatively close by. Not make a lake.

They finished the dock just this morning. The wood is bright and unscarred. Water laps at the supports. Water that is...shockingly clear. Almost like it is a pool. The bottom is deprived of any plant life, adding to the unnatural, pool-like state. There are no fish. No frogs. Dragonflies aren't darting about just above the surface. There's no cattails to sway in the wind. It's so...still.

He crosses his arms. Chewing on his lip, he stares at the 'lake.'

This all feels wrong.

From the moment he got to the training camp, he's felt this way. He tried to just shake it off. Just 'cause it looks like a summer camp doesn't mean it is one, he told himself. This is serious cape training!

And now there's a lake. With a dock. Not quite as rickety, and certainly not old, but it is wooden.

Just like Sunny Meadows.

Roscoe clenches his jaw. His breaths are getting shorter.

Shutting his eyes, he tries to take a deep breath. It's okay. This isn't camp. Well, it is, but he's not back there. Barney and Louie aren't here. It's just him, Libby, Digby, and the counselors. Nobody who would hurt or mess with him.

It's fine. This is fine. He's fine.

"...Ross?"

He jolts. Turning around, he offers Digby and Libby a weak, sheepish smile.

"Oh! Hey guys! When did you get here?"

"Like, a minute ago. But we've watched you stand here, staring, for a little while now." Libby crosses her arms. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing! I was just thinking. That's all."

Digby frowns. "About what?"

"...How...weird it is that it's just us at this big camp," Roscoe lies. "Seems like there should be a lot more people here."

Libby narrows her eyes. Digby blinks.

"...Yeah, I guess it would seem weird since you're not used to it yet," she says after a moment.

"We're the only ones here 'cause they need the others closer by for patrols," he explains. "And they don't take non-Infantry kids to this one. 'Cause of me."

"Oh. That makes sense."

A few moments pass. The silence is filled by the chirring of bugs.

Tilting her head, Libby looks at something past Roscoe. Most likely the lake. She quirks a brow.

"That's new."

"What is?"

"The lake, Digs."

"Oh. Yeah. When'd that get there?"

"They finished it today," he explains.

"Hm. Why'd they even add one?"

"Um..."

He looks away. He knows he should just tell them. They'll either figure it out, or find out during training eventually. But he can't get himself to say it. The words are caught in his throat.

"...For Ross," Digby states.

His eyes widen. Libby's do, too.

"Wait. So that's what it is! Your power's water-based!"

...Of course they'd figure it out now. They're so smart. And he's so...

Her speaking interrupts his train of thought. "Well? Are you gonna show us?"

"R-Right now?"

"Yeah!"

"...I don't mind waiting," Digby says softly.

"Oh, come on! I know you wanna see how strong he is, too."

"Yeah, but..."

"But what?"

Roscoe fidgets with his gloves.

"It's just..."

He takes a deep breath.

"Just what? Spit it out already!"

Standing up tall, he steels himself.

"I don't know..."

I can do this. I can do this.

"Okay," Roscoe declares.

They both look at him.

Then, Libby beams. Grabbing his and Digby's hands, she tugs them both toward the lake. His face heats up a little.

The two follow her with no protest. Though, as they climb up the docks steps, he starts to tremble.

He swallows the lump forming in his throat. His gaze is on the planks beneath them.

The water laps against the edges of the wood. It shouldn't be high enough to do that. It wasn't only a few minutes ago. Neither of them seem to notice, however.

Stopping near the end, Libby lets go of them. She turns to look at Roscoe, her blue eyes wide and shimmering. That great big grin is still on her face.

Digby's brow is furrowed. He's frowning, grey gaze zeroed in on Roscoe.

Oddly, he starts to feel a little calmer. Must be part of Digby's power. Or maybe them just being there is helping.

"Come on! What're you waiting for?"

"...It's called building anticipation," he lies. "Y'know, to, uh, make it more dramatic."

"Dramatic schramatic!" she huffs.

"Okay, okay..."

He breathes in slowly. And turns to face the lake.

It rises easily. Roscoe barely has to think about it.

Breath caught in his chest, he tries to form it into a hand.

It shifts, making a blocky palm. Dripping fingers emerge from it, quickly followed by a thumb. The digits wiggle. Then, he has them curl in, watching as they merge into one mass again for a moment, before they uncurl.

Libby gasps. Digby is quiet.

His chest feels tight. Slowly, he lets out the air he's been holding in.

The hand waves at them. It comes closer, reaching for the three of them. As it approaches, its massive size becomes clearer than the water it's made of.

Roscoe doesn't feel afraid anymore. Even as it stops right at the edge of the dock, towering over them. Yet, he's shaking like a leaf.

It's okay. I'm okay. I can do this. There's no reason to be scared. I shouldn't be. I was doing better. It's just...this is so similar to...

"Uh...Ross...?"

Why'd they have to make this place like a summer camp? Why not have it be like HQ?

"Ross..."

They should've just built me a pool. I can handle pools. I...I can handle lakes. But...I just...it's so...just like...

"Roscoe!"

"Huh?"

Libby grabbed onto his arms, pinning them to his sides at some point. She's up in his face. Her eyes are wide, and her brow's furrowed.

Digby is standing nearby, staring. There's a frown on his face.

The sudden sound of sloshing and splashing as the swirling ring of water that had formed around them falls makes him jolt.

"...S-Sorry. I, uh...I..."

"Are you okay?"

"...Yeah. I just got lost in thought. Don't worry!"

He musters up what he hopes is a convincing smile.

She narrows her eyes. Digby moves closer, his frown deepening.

After a moment, Libby releases him. She doesn't back away, however. Instead, she grabs his hand. Digby follows her lead by taking his other.

"I've had enough of this dumb lake. C'mon, let's go hang out in the lodge."

"M'kay," Digby says.

"Oh. Uh, o-okay. Sure."

She leads the way, tugging him along after. He numbly follows her lead.

Her grip on him is tight. Like she's trying to put pressure on a wound. Digby's is gentler, but still firm. Grounding. Calming.

Roscoe takes a deep breath.

He's okay. After all, he's got them.

Against the World

Libby surveys the Infantry atrium. Her eyes are half-lidded.

There's Anna, Kian, Anh, Digby, and the rest of the usual suspects. They're all off doing their own thing.

She sighs. Another boring year...

...And then she notices the new person. Her eyes widen.

They're standing next to Digby. Talking to him. Something almost everyone else in the room never does unless they have to.

Unlike everyone else, they're not dressed casually. Not that they're wearing a costume—but they look...spiffy. Albeit in a worn, patchy, hand-me-down sort of way.

One brow quirked, Libby makes her way over to them.

Digby looks at her as she approaches. "Oh, hi, Libby."

"Hey, Digby."

In turn, the new kid turns to her.

She almost stumbles.

Moles. Thick, wavy, dark ginger hair. Dimples; the remnants of a great, big grin. Warm, brown eyes.

If she'd of known the new recruit was this cute, she would've actually bothered to show up when she was told to.

"You must be Hayday!" they say. Their voice is oddly raspy.

Her eyes widen a little. "Uh...yeah. Hi." She pauses for a moment before remembering to actually introduce herself. "Name's Libby, though."

"Got it." They nod solemnly. "I'm Aquamarine. My name is Roscoe—but you can call me Ross."

Her eyes narrow. Aquamarine...why does that sound familiar...?

She frowns when she notices him staring.

"...Take a picture. It'll last longer." "...Oh! Heh, sorry."

He looks away, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Um...Ross?" Digby suddenly speaks up. "Yeah?" "Can you go back to telling your story?"

"Oh! Yeah, sure! But I should probably start over if Libby wants to listen."

She looks at Digby. He looks back. There's a smile on his face; his eyes are bright.

"...Sure. Not like I have anything better to do."

Clearing his throat, Ross grins.

"It all started on a bright, sunny day..."

She quirks a brow. Not what she was expecting. Still, it probably won't be that interesting.

"...and then..."

Libby leans forward. At some point, they sat down on the floor, with her and Digby next to each other and Ross in front of them.

"...he cackled! Mwahahhaha!" Ross' raspiness helps make the laugh sound actually menacing. "And said, 'You thought you could get me monologuing, did you? Well, think again!' Before he ZAPPED them!"

Digby gasps. His eyes are wider than saucers.

Her brows fly up. Libby scoots closer.

"Everyone screamed! They flailed in agony as a hundred watts surged through their bodies!"

"Did they die?" Digby asks, voice quiet.

"Almost," he replies. "Their nerves were totally frayed; hair standing on end and singed; bodies trembling, they stood up tall together..."

Her brow furrows. "Wait. Stood up? I thought they were trapped?"

"I was getting to that!" "Oh. Sorry."

"...As I was saying, they stood up tall together...which is when he realized his fatal error! Zapping them like that caused their restraints to short circuit, freeing them! With a shout of rage, they all raced towards him and beat the shit out of him!"

Her eyes widen cartoonishly. Digby's jaw drops.

And then, she bursts out laughing.

"What? What's so funny?" Ross questions, brow furrowed.

"I...wasn't...expecting...you...to...say...that!" Libby manages to respond through her laughter.

The tension in his face dissolves. With a smile, he chuckles.

"Ahh...man...you're lucky Anh left a while ago," she says once she's stopped and caught her breath. "She would've gotten on your ass about that."

"What? Why?"

"She doesn't like it when we swear. Says we're too little for it. And it's unprofessional," Digby explains.

"Wow. Really?" Libby nods. "Yep. They're all kind of like that." "They all dislike swearing?"

"No...that they think we're too little." he frowns, his gaze falling. "We don't get to go on patrol or missions much. Just stay here and talk over comms. And, um, training. Lots and lots of it."

Ross purses his lips at that, his nose scrunching up.

"Oh, and we get to go on food and drink runs," she adds, "and play messenger! Which is always so much fun." She rolls her eyes.

"So...we don't get to do any actual hero stuff?"

"Pretty much. Unless they really need the extra power, but they don't wanna send in the big guns."

"...Oh."

He looks away. Crossing his arms, his brow furrows. All the energy in his eyes from earlier is gone now.

"...Er...sorry." She averts her gaze. "But it's better we broke it to you. It's not like anybody else is gonna tell you. They'd rather keep you hoping, when really all it is is that they're waiting for your fourteenth birthday or...whatever."

"...It's...it's okay. Thanks for telling me." "Yeah. Sure."

A few moments of silence pass.

Standing up, Ross offers them both a weak smile and a hand.

"I know we just met and all, but...well, at least we're all in it together. Right?"

Her brows go up. Digby's mouth opens slightly. They glance at one another.

Matching smiles on their faces, they each take one of his hands.

"Right." "Mhm."

He grins. Pulling them to their feet, he squeezes their hands.

[psychangels]

Roscoe doesn't check his phone. There's nothing to check for. Not since he left home, and his old phone behind.

He puts Dad's number in. Stares at it. His thumb hovers over the call button.

A few moments pass.

He backspaces and turns it off.

Tucking it into his pocket, he walks back over to where Libby, Digby, and him have been training. The former is too busy vine whipping the training dummies to notice his return. The latter immediately looks up at him.

"What're you doing?" he asks.

"Just...taking a break. My power can be...uh...exhausting sometimes."

"Oh. Yeah. I get it."

Roscoe sits down next to him. Digby leans into his side, wrapping one of his arm's around his. The corners of Roscoe's mouth quirk up a little. He tilts his head down so that it's resting on top of his.

Quietly, they watch Libby train.

The counselors keep giving Roscoe funny looks. Reminds him of how Fabian would look at him. Judgemental. Disgusted. Hateful.

His skin crawls.

"...Quit staring, you assholes!" Libby shouts.

Their eyes widen—and then they look away to focus on her.

One of them—Bob—says, "You shouldn—"

"Shut up. Don't care. We've been over this a thousand times, and it's never gonna work! So just shut it!"

His jaw clicks shut. Scowling, he turns and walks away. The other counselors follow.

A moment passes.

"...Thanks," Roscoe says.

"No problem. If they keep being dicks, lemme know."

He smiles. "I will."

Checking the calendar to find it's Sunday, Roscoe starts gathering up his dirty clothes. In the midst of adding a pair of socks to the pile, he stops.

...There's no reason for him to do this. Nana and Mom aren't here to do laundry. He's not even sure if there's any kind of washer or dryer out here, anyway. Not that that ever stopped them...

His vision gets blurry. He sniffles.

"...Ross?"

Jolting, he drops the socks. Tears slide down his face as he hurriedly goes to pick them up with trembling hands.

"Y-Yeah?" he asks. He cringes as his voice cracks.

There's a brief moment of silence. Just long enough for him to add his socks to the pile of clothes.

"Do you know where the machines are?" Libby asks.

He swallows the lump forming in his throat.

"...No..."

"I'll show you. We should probably do our laundry, too, anyways. Right, Digs?"

"Mhm."

"Oh. Uh, th-thanks."

"Sure. We both know this place like the back of our hand, so..."

"Mhm. Just ask if you need to know where anything is," Digby says.

"I...I will."

Wiping away his tears, Roscoe smiles weakly.

Against the World

Pressure

Libby checks her phone for the first time since she got to camp. 44 unread texts. Most of them are from Dad. The ones that aren't are from Mom. 3 missed calls; one for each day she's been here. All from Dad.

She sighs. She marks all of them as read; sends both of them a, "K;" and sets her phone aside.

No point in reading them. It's always the same needless worrying and nagging. Be careful! Be good! Have fun! Try to keep your anger in check! Don't threaten the counselors! Blah, blah, blah! Ugh.

Her fingers curl into fists. Why can't they just leave her alone? The one good thing about this dumb training camp is that it's supposed to free her from their nagging. But they just.

She punches her pillow.

Won't.

Again. It makes a soft thump.

Let.

And again.

Her!

And—she rears back, glaring at the pillow—again.

Huffing, Libby rams her face into it. She lets out a muffled scream. It's further dampened by the loud chirring of insects outside. Still, it manages to sound loud in the dark quiet of the cabin.

Then, with a frustrated grunt, she throws it across the room. It makes a quiet thud as it hits the wall. Another when it falls to the floor.

"...Libby?"

She jolts. Her head snaps in the direction of Digby's whisper.

"...What's going on?" he asks.

"Nothing. Go back to sleep, Digs."

There's a pause.

"M'kay...night..."

She sighs. "Night."

Crossing her arms, she waits to see if Ross will react, too.

Her fingers twitch. So does her face.

He never does. Despite that, she can't get herself to relax.

As quietly and carefully as she can while feeling as though she'll explode any second, Libby creeps out of bed.

The floorboards creak loudly. Each groan and whine only makes her scowl deepen. Her hands clench into fists. At least Digby and Ross never say anything or get up.

Pausing at the door, Libby pulls her boots on. They're rough against her skin. But it's better than walking on the dry grass barefoot.

The moon greets her as she walks out, providing her with just enough light to see. Stars twinkle overhead. Fireflies mimic them around her. A gentle breeze rustles her long hair. The bugs are even noisier now.

It's such a lovely night. Too bad she can't find it within herself to appreciate it.

Stomping along, she uses her power on all the plants nearby. The grass lengthens. Trees gain more branches, their amount of leaves doubling. Flowers bloom. Weeds properly sprout up. Brambles become thicker and thornier. Bushes get bushier. Berries sprout and ripen. Roots spread farther.

They should be thanking her. She's the only reason this camp looks as nice as it does. But no! They can't even be happy about that!

She could tear this whole place down. Make the trees bend until they break, crushing the buildings. Have the vines pull whatever's left apart. Grow the brambles so thick nobody could even try to repair any of it.

She could.

Libby pauses. Somehow, she's found her way to the lake. Right at the steps of the dock.

Brow furrowing, her shoulders rise up to her ears.

She thickens some of the grass around her, turning the thin blades into fat tendrils. They coil around the dock's supports. With a few good yanks, they tear out from under the planks above. The pieces splash as they fall into the water below. All that's left remaining is the stairs.

With a sigh, she lets the vines drop. They lie on the ground in heaps.

Then, with the tiniest of smiles on her face, Libby walks back to the cabin to get some rest.