#the center is always on shaky legs financially

[note-a-bear]

Don't go into the notes of any of the posts about the proud boys getting bashed back. So many people adoringly and self congratulating themselves for wanting 'drag queen bodyguards because they're so tough'

If yall don't shut the fuck up fetishizing forced resiliency. And all the soft uwu 'I have anxiety but I'd merc a fash' riding alongside it isn't helping.

An article about drag queens/allies HAVING to physically fight off an attempted assault by state supported bigots is NOT the place to talk about how magical action movie badass they are. It's the place to ask 'what can we offer for post-incident support'

[manyfictionsmusings]

Pull Me Like A Ripcord

Summary:

This story takes place immediately after the events of X-Men Apocalypse, where Peter decides against going back to Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters, despite seeking his father’s attention prior. This fic will just be growing and “mutating” as I write but promising lots of Dad/son angst, hurt/comfort etc.

Chapter 1: AfterEffects

As naïve as it was, Peter had hoped Erik would somehow realize he was his son, now that idea seemed cold and stupid. Why would Erik magically know who he was? He wasn’t Charles, a mind reader, and this wasn’t a fantasy kingdom where the orphan got his father in the end of the story.

Peter pulled his legs up to his chest, or at least he would have if he could have moved his shattered knee, the pain, coupled with the emotional turmoil of the long day sent him easily to tears. He wasn’t used to losing, he wasn’t used to being physically injured. The finale of the Egyptian battle had seen the x-men triumph, but Peter himself had lost…lost another chance to connect with Erik, if only he’d been able to get the better of the Immortal it might have impressed his father enough to take note of him, but instead if it hadn’t been for Raven’s distractions, the Beast’s strength and his own father’s shift in loyalties, he would have been just another victim in the note book of Apocalypse.

Peter drew a shaky breath, trying to force the events to wash over him, normally things didn’t bother him, but the last few months he’d changed, the others here at the school, or what was left of the school…he didn’t want to call them family but that’s what they felt like to him. It scared him and it was too much to hope for, he’d been disappointed to many times to open up like that. Which was why he’d told Beast to take him to a regular hospital in Cairo and he’d make his own way home once he was healed.

Beast had had his reservations about it, leaving the scrawny, pale kid who’d been with them since he’d saved literally everyone at Xavier’s school for gifted youngsters seemed a shitty way to repay him, but he’d finally consented to it, only after Peter had gotten angry and started yelling.

He felt lonely now, in the hospital bed, with an oxygen tube in his nose and his injured leg casted and hoisted by a sling, a thousand miles from anyone he knew, but the pain was reminding him of his failures as one of the x-men and the isolation served to remind him why he didn’t bother with people, especially his father.

They always left. Or were never there to begin with.

He deserved this.

“You don’t deserve any of this, Peter.”

Peter jolted, startled for only a second by the gentle voice, there was only one person it could be, to know what precisely he was thinking. He hurriedly wiped tears off his face before Charles came any closer.

“I told Beast I was fine. I don’t want anyone wasting any more time on me.”

“Beast didn’t tell your secret, but I was worried about you, Peter. You think I was going to just leave Egypt without you? I wouldn’t leave here without any of you.” Charles stepped closer, softly he took his hand and squeezed gently.  “You all mean so much to me. I owe you my life, Peter.”

He removed his hand and crossed his arms. “I didn’t do anything, if…if Erik hadn’t stepped in, we all would have been killed-including you.”

Charles glanced towards the monitors attached to the young man, before his eyes roamed across the physical state of Peter, in contemplation. “It was a group effort; it took all of us.” He finally spoke after a moment of hesitation. “I know you seek his attention and yet you’re afraid of it…Lehnsherr is coming back with us to New York, he’s going to help me rebuild the institution.”

Peter glanced up, his eyes reflecting a youthful hope the professor hadn’t seen for some time. “I thought he left.”

Charles shook his head. “It’s a way to…perhaps earn his attention, little by little anyway. What do you think? Will you return with me?”

Peter grimaced. “I’m not in great shape professor, encase you haven’t noticed. I might swing in when I’m up and around.”

Charles raised an eyebrow. “I know all your pains, I’m sorry. I put your life in such horrific danger-”

“I came along on the mission of my own free will, no one forced me,” Peter interrupted.

Charles gripped his shoulder suddenly with an assertive intention. “Let me oversee your recovery, Maximoff, please, it’s the least I can do. I won’t leave here until you agree to be transferred to a hospital in New York, preferably close to Salem Center. You don’t have to be bothered by anyone from the school. But knowing you aren’t in Egypt would put my mind at ease.”

Peter sighed, he was feeling it again, the warm sensation that made him relaxed and somehow extremely uncomfortable at the same time. Family was something he would never be able to hold on to. He was going to mess it up, he knew that. He could already feel the threads slipping between pale, desperate, grasping fingers. But in the meantime, Charles cared about him enough to hunt him down in one of many Cairo hospitals, and he’d checked in under an alias. The professor cared enough to come back, or had he never left in the first place? His caring nature was beyond consolation to Peter’s broken, cold body, so comforting in fact he felt tears welling up again!

He sniffled and hurriedly wiped his brow before their return, nodding. “I’ll come with you.”

Professor Xavier had kept his word, medically and financially he’d arranged for everything to be taken care of, transporting Peter from Cairo to New York. He’d also arranged for him to have his own private room in Sheeran Hospital—a private hospital in upstate New York, forty-five miles from the current disaster of Xavier’s school for gifted youngsters.

Over the next two weeks physically Peter’s injuries slowly healed but mentally he felt wrecked beyond compare. He started having reoccurring nightmares that he couldn’t run; his ability had been fractured when the monstrosity had snapped his leg like a twig under his boot. In the dream he was trying to run away from someone, his first thought was that it was Apocalypse but a couple nights later he realized it was just a shadowy figure, one he could never outrun. Each time he fell, immobilized as pain shot through his leg, the sound of his own bones crunching reverberated in his ears, just as it had that day.

The nurses had unfortunately taken note of his mood, though Peter hadn’t put much effort into hiding his grim attitude, he’d slipped in a snarky remark about getting some extra drugs for an overdose. The nurse didn’t find his dark humor amusing and Charles suspiciously showed up the very next day.

He didn’t say much at first, just sat near Peter’s bed, looking out the enormous rectangle window that looked west, on a glowing sunset. “You have a good view though,” he finally spoke.

Peter pursed his lips. “I do appreciate your hospitality Professor, but I’m fine, you don’t have to check in on me. Just... really bored here you know, I don’t think I’ve ever stayed in one place this long…it’s wearing on me, I feel weird being at this speed.”

Charles turned his chair to face him, hands in his pockets, yet concern on his features. “Must be very uncomfortable to be forced to slow down. How’s physical therapy going?”

Peter avoided the older man’s gaze for some reason and snorted. “I mean it’s slow, I’m not the patience type or a patient for that matter…”

Charles nodded. “But the sooner you’re hobbling around, the sooner I can get you out of here.”

“And take me where?” Maximoff snipped with his signature deep-set frown.

Charles chuckled, “You’d be surprised what several telekinetic mutants can accomplish when it comes to construction. The east wing is already rebuilt, for now we’re using it for sleeping quarters. It’s a little crowded but…”

“…Anything is better than the smell of hospital?” Peter finished, trying to keep his mind in constant motion—moving from thought to thought. He didn’t know how much the professor knew about what he was thinking but Xavier had already noted his inward conception about seeking Erik’s attention in Egypt, so his guess was he was an open book, but Peter’s thoughts could be about as fast as his movement when we wanted them to be. “Well sounds like I need to hit therapy harder, if you’re actually going to get me out of here.”

As much as Peter didn’t intend to be shambling around a cramped wing in the school, Charles’ visit served to kick him in the butt about getting out of Sheeran soon, regardless of where he went afterward. And if he was being honest, he had never planned to go back to the school, though he also wasn’t ready to face his reasoning for not returning there.

No one was going to miss him, well not the one person that mattered, because he couldn’t even see Peter for who he was. A new plan had quickly formulated—get his leg in good enough shape to slip off before Charles came back for him and circumvent the entire situation altogether.

The nightmares continued to plague him, as day after day he added a little weight to the tender broken leg, between tears and a lump that had formed on his lip from how many times he had bit it to deal with the pain, he started making it all the way through the routes the therapist had set up for him. Once he realized he could make it to the end of the routine he had to mentally stop himself from trying out his true speed. He continually checked himself, forced himself to be normal, move slowly. He embraced the pain wholly, promising himself a whole box of Lemonheads when he got out of here.

A week and two days after Charles’ visit, Peter decided he was going. He’d woke up from his worst nightmare by far, clutching his throat, covered in sweat, his heart was beating hard enough his chest ached. His leg was throbbing with shadow pain from Apocalypse breaking it, only in this dream he hadn’t been saved before the giant mutant had slit his throat and tossed him aside like trash. His father hadn’t even noticed or cared.

Peter swallowed painfully, still tracing his fingers across the smooth, blanched flesh of his neck as he slipped out of bed. His x-men costume had been lost somewhere in the shuffle, or maybe the professor had taken it, either way Charles had been kind enough to replace it with his current pajamas and a change of clothing. Not the usual silver tinted clothing but considering he still wasn’t up to his Quicksilver speed, it seemed fitting to pull on the dark blue jeans and faded orange hoodie. Peter sighed in comfort at the velvety worn state of both items as they contacted his skin, though he tried to ignore how billowy the clothes were on him, he’d lost a significant amount of weight since Egypt—which the nurses had been lecturing him over—but what could you expect when there was only hospital food and no snacks to be seen.

Next Peter attempted to calm his silvery hair, by brushing his fingers through it repeatedly, which only seemed to make it worse. Between the wild shock of hair and the dark rimmed eyes, his reflection looked ghostly, coupled with the dim hospital lighting.

Peter exhaled calmly before grabbing the only items that had made it back with him from Egypt, his googles and his earphones, he stuck one of the foreign crutches under each armpit and silently slipped out of Sheeran Hospital…

[chokememcgrath]

'Eat Me Up Like Apple Pie.'

Pairing • Lena Luthor x Reader

Warnings / Notes • NSFW, office sex, slight dom/sub dynamics, DIRTY TALK . This is the first Lena story I've written so!!! Let me know if you want more and my requests are always open 💕💞

Words • 2,210

Tag List • @ahs-honey (I love you🥺)

"What do you keep looking at?" The dark brunette CEO tilts her head to the side as she watches you on the other side of your desk.

A dark and prominent blush fills your face and gods you wished you could hide it from those icy blue-green eyes. You hadn't even realized you were staring at her hands for that long. You both were talking about CatCo and how well it was going financially and then the perfectly manicured fingers slid across the white pristine desk to the keyboard and that was it. You were transfixed. "Huh?"

Lena chuckles then, and it's dark and sultry and it has such a flirtatious tilt that you were sure you were either going to die or completely ruin the chair you were in. "I said what are you looking at?"

"Oh! Oh I um," You nibble your bottom lip as you try to think of an answer, an excuse, anything at this point to get the woman to stop looking at you like that. "I was just checking out the pen you had, the new one." You nod then, and you were so sure of yourself.

Lena raises her left eyebrow and she smirks then, she didn't even have any pens on top of the desk. She didn't even have papers on it. She relied on her iPad and her computer for paperwork and documents of every kind. "My pen?"

"Yes Ms. Luthor, " You nod once more, "I really like it, red is my favorite color."

Lena licks her lips then and she slides her rolling office chair back so she could stand. "A red pen you say?" The CEO walks around the desk, she then looks down at her nails and her smirk deepens. Her nails were painted red. Interesting.

Your body temperature started to rise as soon as the woman stood up from her seat. Oh god, she looked so good today too, she always did. But today she was wearing a suit and they always made you weak at the knees. The black form-fitting three-piece suit just seemed to enhance Lena's power. And it was so hot.

"I have no pens darling," Lena stands in front of you then and she leans back onto her desk, "So what were you really looking at?"

You stammer for a second as you look up at her, she was so close you could smell the perfume she wore. "I... Well, I..." You lick your lips. "I was looking at..." Your eyes move down from her face and they stop at the woman's hands again. Her arms crossed so delicately.

"Oh, I see" Lena hums then, "my hands?" She holds one out and checks the back as if she was looking at her nail polish. "Are you interested in them?"

You gasp and your eyes snap up to meet the brunettes, you were ready to deny it but there was no use. Lena knew, and her face showed it. "I apologize, Ms. Luthor, I know I should've been focused on the meeting."

"Oh, I'm not worried about the meeting dear," Lena takes her heeled foot and she slides it up from your ankle to your calf. "We can always talk about the budget another day because I think someone was super preoccupied with other thoughts, don't you think?"

You look down a bit in shame and you nod, all the while your heart raced at the feeling of Lena's heel sliding up your leg. "Yes, Ms. Luthor," You look up from under your eyelashes and you bite the corner of your bottom lip as your mind works a mile a minute. "Well, maybe i can make it up to you?" A smile fills your face then and you look at her excitedly. "If you want that of course."

"That depends, what do you have in mind sweet girl?" Lena places her palms down behind her on the desk, looking down at you with slightly darkened eyes.

You deliberately let your gaze drop to her slacks and you clear your dry throat. "Can I touch you?" The question leaves your soft lips before you even thought it through.

"Yes." Lena's answer is breathy and you could see a tremble in her covered thighs, it was like a switch was flipped. It was if now that she knew for sure that you were interested in her, you could take control at the moment and it made your center throb.

"Thank you," You lick your lips and you stand, your eyes now locking directly with the CEO's. You lift Lena up onto the white porcelain and your fingers glide up to her hips. You could see how dilated her pupils became the more you touched her, and you could feel the womans stuttered breath against your face.

Lena couldn't even believe this was happening, she had a crush on you sure, but no one ever wanted a Luthor. She had decided weeks ago that she would just allow the feelings to pass, she would push the want she had for you deep into that little box inside herself so she would be able to stay professional. It didn't matter that she touched herself every night thinking about you, god she hoped this wasn't just a dream.

"Are you sure about this Lena?" Your gentle hands find the Gucci belt and your nimble fingers play with it as you wait for an answer.

Lena gasps and as she stares into your eyes she nods softly, careful not to break contact. You have never said her first name before, ever and she could feel her panties dampen from it. "Please."

A moan leaves your lungs and you unlatch the belt, leaving it in the loops of the pants you simply unbutton the black material and make quick work with the zipper. "I can't wait to explore you, Lena," Your voice is deeper, huskier, and you couldn't even stop it. "I've been dreaming about this for so so long."

Just as you allow your fingers to slide across lace panties Lena's eyes roll back and loud moan echoes off the office walls.

"Oh, baby..." You give her a small pout and you move a bit so your fingers were under the panties instead. Collecting the hot juices that were steadily flowing from the woman's center. "You're so wet, soaked even, is that for me? Hm?" Your middle finger circles the brunette's clit and the woman's hips jump.

"Yes!" She bites her bottom lip and she nods rapidly, looking into your eyes once more. Lena's eyes were pitch black now, the light blue-green you were used to was gone. "It's yours, all yours I promise." Whimpers and whines leave the brunette's lips as your fingers explore her entrance and she tries her hardest not to lose eye contact.

"Mmm good," You take your fingers out of her panties and a smirk fills your features when she whines at the loss of touch. "Patience." You kiss her cheek, and then her jaw before you pull her slacks and panties down to her knees. Allowing her to sit on her desk bare.

Lena watches you carefully and she clears her throat a bit. "What are you doing?"

You kiss her neck, sucking the spot right beside her birthmark "You said I can make it up to you, so that's what I'm going to do Ms. Luthor"

Lena moans when you say her last name but as soon as you kneel she thought she was going to come right then. You were going to eat her, oh my god you were going to eat her out. You were going to taste her. Fuck.

You kiss the inside of her right thigh and your heart skips a beat as you feel it quiver under your lips. How was it that you could make this woman vulnerable like this? It felt euphoric. The closer to her pussy you got, the faster Lena's breathing got. Her chest rising and falling in a quick and shaky manner. Gods she was so hot, you weren't sure you were going to survive this. "Lena." You whisper and your breath brushes against the brunettes center, her hips jump again.

"Mhm? Yes?"

"Keep looking in my eyes okay? I want you to see who's doing this to you." It sounded like a request, a mere question, but Lena knew you really wanted it. So the woman nodded and she licks her lips.

"I will I promise." She whispered and she raises her ass up off of the desk a little to try to bring your mouth closer.

You push her hips down with your hands and you cover her core with your mouth, moaning deeply as you sweep your tongue through the brunettes folds. You were right, she was sweet.

Lena reaches down with her right hand and she grips your hair in a fist. Keeping you there, "Yes, god you feel so good, please? Fuck, please, just... Please?" She blinks a few times to try to clear her mind so she could focus but then your tongue brushes against her clit and it would turn cloudy again.

You had never heard Lena curse before, it was like you removed every single filter the woman had, her body was slouched over and she was looking at you like you were everything. You moan once more but this time you were right on her sensitive clit and Lena's thighs squeeze together around your head.

"Fuck!" She leans back onto her shakey left elbow. Her leg sliding up your side until she could dig her red stiletto into your back.

You moan again, feeling the sharp end of her heel in your back and seeing the usually kept together woman become unraveled was something you would never forget. You wanted to draw this out, you wanted this to last forever but Lena was clenching and fluttering against your tongue and you knew she needed to come soon.

"Mmm." You pull back for a second but you flick your index finger over her clit as you spoke so the woman's orgasm would continue to rise. "Do you want to come? Do you want to soak my face, Lena?"

She nods rapidly and she bites her bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. Pulling your hair a little harder. "Make me come," She husks, her voice scratchy and oh so deep. "Make it yours, make me yours."

"Yes ma'am." You move your finger and cover her with your mouth once again. Using your tongue to rapidly cross over her clit until she was a trembling mess.

"I'm close, I'm going to come." The brunette warns before she grabs a new fistful of your hair, tugging harshly so she could stay grounded.

You nod and the look in your eyes tells her that it's okay, you collect the new arousal from the woman's entrance with a pleased hum before you suck the woman's sensitive nub hard.

Lena's lungs empty completely as she squeals and her left arm gives out as she is brought to her climax, her back arches and her head tilts back as she feels the overwhelming ecstasy wash over her body.

You moan softly as you help the woman down from her intense high, cleaning her up slowly and lazily. Your fingers slide up and down her thighs as you kiss around her core and her hips.

"Come here." Lena rasps out and she stares at her office ceiling, laying on the desk as she catches her breath.

You lick your lips and you nod, loving the way that you could still taste her. "Okay," you get up off of your knees and you pull up the woman's pants and panties in care. Buckling her belt before you lean over to smile at her. "Yes?"

Lena looks up at you in awe and she swallows thickly. You took care of her, you didn't just take what you wanted and go. You stayed behind. You dressed her. This wasn't just a one-time thing for you, she felt it in her heart "Do you want to have dinner tonight?"

"Yes of course I do! But... But first, I need something."

Of course. Of course, you did. Lena was fooled once again, she fights her eyes from watering and she swallows the pins and needles in her throat. She was a Luthor, and you knew it, she could get you anything in the world. "What is it?"

"A kiss." You whisper with a blush.

Oh. Lena blushed darkly and she looks over at the wall before chuckling. Of course, you were too sweet for your own good. "Yes my darling you can have a kiss." she turns to look at you again before she grabs your shirt and yanks you down into an earth-shattering kiss.

[tallyzwolf]

Pyke x Reader: Harrowing

Had an idea and I went with it. Let me know what you think!

--------------------------------------------------

You were dreaming. It was a strange dream: quiet and loud, colorful and monochrome. There was no explaining it, and you had already forgotten it as you were jolted awake by the sounds of gunfire. Above on the deck, you heard the crew screaming and running about. It was pitch black, and you frantically searched for a source of fire to light the lantern by your cot. You threw your boots on and scrambled up the ladder.

It was nighttime, but the fire igniting the mast of the ship brought light on the chaos. You grabbed for a shipmate and flipped him around to face you.

"What the hell is going on?" you shouted. Your voice was almost lost in the noise. Your frightened friend just shook his head and pushed your hands from his shoulders before he fled. You had no time to react before he leaped over the side of the ship.

You looked to the sky and saw it then, a dark, swirling mass of green mist; it was intimidating and terrifying, though all rational thought argued it. The wails of men rang in your head, screeching and reverberating in your skull. You clamped your hands over your ears and shut your eyes, trying to comprehend what was happening around you.

The white noise grew louder, and before you realized what had changed, the sea had swallowed you whole.

The sinking ship created a vortex, and you kicked. You reached for the surface that only flew farther away from your desperate fingers, as did the light of the burning vessel. Your eyes wide with fear, your lungs burning.... this was it. Whatever just sunk your crew had claimed you, too. Your eyes closed and your arms went limp above your head.

Fingers touched your lips and you gasped for breath under the waves. Alive! Alive, and somehow you knew how... his face appeared in front of yours, and he had his hands cupped your jaw as you collected yourself. He collected you in his arms and swam, propelling you both toward the surface like a sailfish.

You spat water as you coughed, the salt and soot splattered all over the dock. The screams hadn't stopped, and you were surprised to feel embarrassed being this vulnerable at the Fisherman's feet.

"Are you hurt?" he asked, his voice warbled and gritty as always. You spat and wiped your mouth. Was the answer not obvious? He pulled you up by your arm so you were back on your feet.

"We have to go. It's not safe here." He looked like a hawk, searching for threats. You snatched your arm away from him and took a step back.

"Pyke, what the hell is going on?" You snapped. A woman shrieked nearby, and you watched as she, too, leaped from the docks and into the water. She didn't come back to the surface.

"Harrowing," he replied. His eyes rested on yours, and you were shocked to see the slightest tinge of worry in them. "I'll explain when you're someplace safe."

You didn't want to argue. You followed closely behind him, keeping your footing.

There was an inn, and the bottom piece normally served as a bar. The door was boarded shut, which seemed strange. Pyke grabbed you and pulled you through the wall seamlessly, as if there were an open door. He leaned you against the wall and hesitated. There was no one here. The place was dark, except for the eerie green glow from the Mist outside. You sunk to the floor, taking the past several minutes into account. He stood over you for a moment, in some sort of protective understanding.

"The Harrowing," he began. "There's a long story about the Shadow Isles and how it got... sick. All you gotta know right this moment is it's pissed, and Bilgewater is the closest thing for it to leak into. Happens once in a while."

You scoffed. He talked about this like it didn't just sink your ship and probably the Captain with it. Though you supposed he had been through worse.

"What do we do?" You asked, ruffling your hair nervously. He looked around, surveying the bar. He paced for a few seconds and peeked out a window.

You screamed at the sound of shattered glass. A creature had used it's face to break a window on the other side, and chewed at what remained of the glass in the window frame; it's teeth and lips were sliced and bleeding, and the Mist rolled off its tongue. You were so shocked, you hadn't realized you weren't screaming anymore.

Pyke drew back his harpoon and threw. It landed with a wet THUNK in the thing's skull and returned to his hand. The body slipped under the broken window.

"Not safe," he growled. He looked like he was searching for something again, and then said, "Stay here."

It felt like a burst of air as he dashed through and behind the wall you sat against.

Your chest tightened. He left you alone, after that? Your eyes were fixed on the broken window and the little streams of Mist that slithered through the shattered glass. You pulled yourself onto your shaky legs and over to a wooden chair that had been toppled on it's side in the excitement. You brought your boot down on it and it broke. You picked up a leg and held it like a knife. It was a sad excuse for a weapon, but at least it had a sharp point if anything with flesh decided to come through that window.

You backed against the wall, faced the broken window, and held the chair leg with both hands. It was only a few minutes until a pair of hands grabbed you from behind and sunk you through the wall again.

"Damn it, will you please just let me use a damn door like a normal human?" You snapped, throwing the chair leg onto the ground. Pyke looked offended for a moment.

"Let's go," he said. You followed him quickly and quietly through the market alley, until he stopped you. You crouched and waited. He sunk into a wall and appeared as a shadow for a moment; the shadow slinked around the corner and then returned. He stepped down out of the wall and signaled for you to follow again, silently.

This place was the Slaughter Docks, and it certainly smelled like it. Above the center of the circle hung a giant creature's corpse, still slowly dripping blood into a deep drain in the ground. It was easily a hundred feet long. He fumbled around for a moment in one of the vendor stands, and you scoffed as he pulled up a sack of coins.

"Is now really the time?" You crossed your arms. He opened the pouch and handed you a little silver coin.

"Financial support." He chuckled, and stuffed the sack in his belt.

A moment later, Pyke's hand grabbed your shoulder and he pulled you back behind a market stand. You peeked, and another creature rounded the corner, dragging elongated arms behind it like heavy chains; it's mouth was a disgusting oval, stretching inhumanely down to it's sternum. The Mist poured from the gape, and it's sunken black eyes were fixed on the sky.

"Take this," Pyke whispered, handing the dagger to you. It was much heavier than you thought, and you found yourself speechless wondering what he had planned. You watched his shadow swim towards the monster.

The creature was forced to his knees by a ghostly force. Pyke grabbed the thing by the back of the head and brought it down onto his knee. He let go, and his knee making a squelching sound as it was pulled from the corpse's mouth-hole. He turned to you, but was suddenly knocked down by another creature.

You startled and gripped his blade and the coin, watching helplessly as he wrestled the thing. His hands were in either side of the creatures mouth, trying to keep it from biting him. He was struggling. Pyke needed his weapon, and you had it. Why did he give it to you??

Your knuckle turned white as you gripped the coin in a fist. You felt so helpless, so utterly helpless...

But you weren't helpless.

He grunted loudly and tried to push the creature off of him. The dagger stuck in the thing's head, and it went limp on his body. He whipped his head to you and smiled under his bandana as the dagger returned flawlessly to your hand several feet away.

"Nice hook, kid," he chuckled, pushing the dead thing off of him. You approached and helped him to his feet.

"Let's get the hell out of here," you sighed. Pyke brushed off his pants.

"Gimme that, first."

You handed him his weapon, almost reluctantly.

You came upon a grate in the street, and the Fisherman stopped before it. He hooked the back of his dagger to it and lifted, revealing a small crawlspace with a ladder leading down.

"Safer down there," he grunted, tossing the metal grate aside. "You ok going first?"

It seemed like there wasn't much of a choice. You stepped onto the ladder and descended. Your boots clanged on each step, and the echo made it sound like whatever was down here was very spacious. There was no light as you stepped onto solid ground. It made you anxious. Pyke appeared beside you and lit a lantern. You took a moment to wonder where he got the lantern, and also if it would be too much for him to use a ladder.

The place was simple and surprisingly not disgusting, for what you believed was a drainage system beneath the Slaughter Docks. You walked with Pyke for a moment until he found a semi-dry spot of concrete. He sat, his belt jingling with coins and metal. You sat beside him and sighed.

"Should be safe here til it blows over." He said. He set the lantern down on his opposite side.

"Mm," you were at a loss for words. You were exhausted and overwhelmed; you rubbed your eyes in silent hope that when you opened them, everything would be normal. But this was normal now, it seemed.

You laid your head on his lap, unconcerned what he thought.

"You saved my life back there," he stated. You chuckled with your eyes closed and replied, "You aren't alive."

He actually laughed.

"Yeah, you're right. Maybe we can do this again next Harrowing, then we can be even."

Your eyes opened.

"Next Harrowing?" You asked.

He laughed again and rested his hand on your head, letting a few strands of your hair run through his fingers.

[vegetacide]

Whump●tober - Stitches

Veg-notables: Annnnndddddddd… here we are again.  I just can’t escape this one right  it seems. It keeps demanding I give it more attention… So.. I broke the boys a bit more… 

@gumnut-logic  ::tosses a powdered donut at Nutty… cause she just wants to get icing sugar EVERYWHERE::

Thunderheads!  Calling all ThunderHeads!  You guys are awesome!

Obligatory whumptober stuff: @whumptober2019 @la-vie-en-whump

Blanket warning: Big brother be pissed...brain ouchie and other not so great things and foul language. 

Characters: Virgil/Kayo, and Scott. 

Whumptober - TaG’verse

Previous parts can be found -> Part 1 Unconscious | Part 2 Shaky Hands 

Also connected to the Coffee series post Insomnia which can be found HERE

11. Stitches 

Enjoy…

oOo

Scott slammed the data pad down on his  Father’s desk with a bit more force than was really called for and the litany of curse words that followed tinted the air blue.

The pair sitting in the lounge playing Zombie Apocalypse instantly stilled and quieted.  Their gaze flickering back and forth between where Scott was sitting and each other.  

Erring on the side of caution and a healthy instinct for self-preservation,  Alan and Gordon calmly stood without a word between them and fled the room for safer environs. Being in their big brother’s sights when that foul tongue started spewing out invectives was tantamount to throwing your freedom away. The last thing either of them wanted to do was end up scrubbing carbon deposits off of the launch pads…

It had happened before and it hadn’t been a pleasant experience for either of them. 

Scott saw the not so subtle fleeing of his younger siblings and dropped his face into his palm with a groan.  If they were puppies they would have have had their tails between their legs and their ears flat to their skulls in fear…  

That image stuck with him as he once again picked up the inventory report that he had requested Brains put together from Two stores and read over the data again.

He couldn’t decide who he was more pissed off with.  Virgil for being an idiot or himself for not paying better attention.  

He tended to leave his next closest brother to his own devices as his own attention was usually pivoting back and forth between Alan and Gordon. Trusting Virgil’s judgement when out in the field but maybe he had put a little too much faith in it. 

The numbers he was looking at were certainly evidence of that.  

Sighing, he dragged a frustrated hand through his graying hair.  The last person he expected to be adding to it was Virgil..  They were going to have to have a serious talk once the engineer emerged from his rooms.   

Looking at the time on a desktop display, he figured he had a couple hours to mentally prepare himself for that conversation.  There was only a slim chance though that by then his temper would have cooled off enough for it.  One thing he knew for sure…going head on with Virgil when he was this steamed didn’t usually end well for either of them.  

Maybe his younger brothers had the right idea after all. 

8-8-8

Several hours later, Virgil roused from the depths of sleep again to find himself all but wrapped around Kayo.  

Her head was tucked up tight to his chest,  hands loosely clutching at the front of his shirt, her chest rising and falling evenly in a way that indicated deep sleep. Her eyes were a bit puffy and there was colour still high on her cheeks but she was sleeping peacefully.  

After her bout of; as she termed it, ‘female hysterics’  she’d settled in to his side and they’d spent a good hour talking.  

He could admit that his brain hadn’t been at its greatest and not all of the conversation had been enjoyable but by the end of it exhaustion and the satisfaction that they had taken some very healthy steps in their relationship had chased them both into sleep. 

Brushing his lips over her brow and down to the crest of her ear as she stirred against him,  he whispered softly that he needed to get up and that she should get some more sleep. 

She nodded groggily, gripped his hand a moment and with bleary eyes looked up at him in question. 

“I’m okay,  I just need food.  I won’t be gone long, I promise.”

Satisfied with that, she snuggled into his pillow and was out again within seconds.

Carefully, he pulled his arm out from under her and swiveled around to get out of bed.   He took care as he placed his feet on the floor to make sure the room wasn't spinning topsy-turvy before he muscled his way up to full vertical. 

Unhooking himself for the IV line as he just couldn’t imagine them getting anymore saline in his body at this point  he carefully slide that catheter out from his vein and bandaged it with ease.  Years of medical practice coming to the fore with little effort from his sluggish brain.  

Mission accomplished, he shuffled over to his closet and dragged on a loose pair of soft cotton sweats. For some reason after a migraine the thought of anything else touching his skin grated on him so he always made sure to have some high grade cotton in his wardrobe for just these occasions.  

On bare feet,  ‘cause it was just too much effort to bend again to deal with socks,  he slipped quietly from the room and headed off towards the main living area and kitchen.  

The house was dark and quiet and as he made his way down the long hallway and he absently took note that someone had dropped the storm shutters in the likelihood that he would venture from the black out curtained confines of his rooms.  Knowing that the bright light of the sun would most likely melt him on the spot in his post brain hemorrhage stage and he hazard a guess it was Scott’s doing.  

His big brother had always been attentive like that,  it was part of his mother henning charm. A trait that was well known to all the islands occupants.  

The soft hum of the A/C and HVAC units pumped fresh filtered  air into the villa and it breezed across the top of his feet as he swung into the elevator and hit  up the main floor of the house. 

The stairs were just a little too much for him to handle at the moment though he would have much preferred to take them. The shift in gravity as the sleek cube of metal silently dropped down had him bracing a hand on the wall and his stomach gave a little lurch in protest. 

God, he really hated the aftermath of one of his episodes. Almost as bad as the migraines themselves… almost.

A soft ding and the elevators opened.  It wasn’t until he stepped out and the doors whooshed closed behind him that he noticed he was on the wrong floor.  Crap... In the post haze he’d hit the button for the comms and lounge level of their island dwelling.    

Turning he glared at the closed metallic panels behind him.   It was already heading down to the sub-levels of the island.  

Not wanting to wait for the thing to return and possibly run into whoever had called it, he grumbled.  He was really not in any state to interact with anyone.  Too much effort was required for that. 

Eyeing the dimly lit hallway and the head of the stairs he said a soft “Fuck it.” What was one flight of stairs...he could manage it and made his way carefully down the hallway. 

At the top, he glanced down the flight to the kitchen area below. Those thirteen steps down could have been the side of a cliff for how far they seemed to drop but he was committed now and he wasn’t going to turn back around.   He needed some form sustenance to fill the hole in his gut.  Something salty and not too flavourful that would get him started on a full recovery of his depleted reserves.  

Grabbing the hand rail, he took one fortifying breath and that’s when Scott came into view at the base of the stairs and Virgil stopped dead in his tracks.

Scott looked up at him with a raised brow and by the look in his eye and the hard set of his lips Virgil knew he was up shits creek without a Thunderbird in sight to save him.  

Well, he really shouldn’t be surprised,  he mused.  He knew this was coming.   Taking his hand off the railing, he took a step back and crossed his arms over his broad chest as Scott made his way up the stairs.  

Scott passed by him in silence and heading over to their Father’s desk,  a cup of coffee in one hand and a glass of water in the other and set them down.  The coffee on his side beside the data pads and the other in front of the vacant chair on the other side.  

His bright blue gaze flashed up at him sternly and pointedly looked towards the chair before he folded his height in the cushioned leather of the high back that they had all coined ‘The Throne.’  

Looks like they were doing this now… Virgil took one last look down to the kitchen, he’d lost his appetite anyways and with as much dignity as he could muster in track pants and a rumbled shirt with his hair sticking up every which way, made his way over. 

He didn’t sit though,  he wanted to be on his feet for this.  For some reason sitting with Scott being that desk in what was their Father’s chair made him feel uneasy and vulnerable.

Scott said nothing, just picked up his coffee and sipped at it as he went back to looking over whatever stock options and financial data he had scrolling over the many pads in front of him.

Virgil’s shoulders tensed and he couldn’t quite hide the wince as a residual wave of vertigo made him titter a bit on his feet.  

“Sit down.”  Scott said, not bothering to look up.  It wasn’t the voice of his brother though, it was the commander of International Rescue front and center and he was pissed.  

No wonder there was no trace of Gordon or Alan about or even Brains for that matter. If he remembered what day of the week it was correctly, Grandma was on the mainland for her habitual backgammon game and wasn’t expected back until sometime the following day. 

Which made now the perfect time for a dress down from his commanding officer.. Cause that was who was in front of him now.  Gone was the caring big brother with his easy smile and semi laid back air, in his place was the military trained officer who brokered no BS from anyone under his command.  

Virgil was a dead man..and he thought longingly of the warmth and comfort of his bed.  The long, lean limbs of his lover… So should have stayed where he was for another century or two so  he would have been more sound of mind to deal with this.

“I’m good standing, thanks.”  His voice was rough from disuse and he clenched his teeth, the muscles along his jawline jumping under the stubbly growth that darkened his cheeks.

Scott’s eyes finally came up and there was a flash of fire in their depth.  “Fine, do as you like.”

Virgil sighed and rolled his eyes.  “Scott, really can we get on with this. I really just want to go back to….”

“You have any idea how worried she is about you?”  Scott spoke over him.  “How worried we both are?”

Virgil clamped his mouth shut,  he was well aware of Kayo’s state at the moment and Scott bloody well knew it. 

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”  Scott’s voice grew in volume and he slammed his coffee cup down on the table, dark liquid splashing out and on to the clutter of data pads.  

“Saving lives, doing my job.  What more do you want from me?”  Virgil shot back,  his own anger growing as Scott scowled at him.  

Scott abruptly sprang from his feet and slammed a pad down on the table by Virgil’s forgotten glass of water. 

Virgil spared it the briefest of glances, Two’s inventory catalogue.  

“I expect you to know better.”   Scott was seething,  his shoulders pumping up and down as he breathed in irate displeasure. 

Virgil’s eyes narrowed and his fists tightened against his biceps.  “What the hell are you talking about?” 

“This,”  Scott snapped again, “Or didn’t you think I’d notice the drop in the stim-tab quantity on Two?” 

Doing another once over of the info displayed on the pad, he caught sight of the discrepancy in the numbers and looked away.  

“Do you care to explain this?”  The demand was loaded and Scott braced both hands on the desktop,  eyes watchful and accusing. “Well…?”

Virgil worked his jaw,  teeth grinding together in a way that sent a spike of pain along the side of his skull.  He was not having this conversation.  He was not going to sit here and be accused and questioned like a junky.  What the hell did Scott expect when he’d spent the better part of the last week circumnavigating the planet at least six times and had what amount to a handle of hours actually sleeping between each call out?  

Not getting an answer,  Scott sighed, “You’re grounded indefinitely,  Gordon wi…

“The fuck, Scott?”  Virgil’s voice boomed,  the top popping off his usual calm and cool.  “What the hell do you expect me to do when I spend more time in the air then on the bloody ground here at home. 

Four days ago I was air evac’ing a town in Panama,  after that digging out a  tribe in Peru.  Two days ago it was Sherpas in Nepal.. Yesterday.., I don’t even remember where I was yesterday.  Was it a Forest fire in BC or a Ski Lodge in Vermont…??  

I was tired and in order to keep Two in the air, I used a few stim-tabs.  That doesn’t make me a drug addict… what it does make me, is bloody good at my job.”  

“Are you using anything else I should know about?” Scott asked indifferently, a cold sharp edge to his voice that cut like honed steal. 

“Oh fuck off.”  

“Is that a ‘yes’ because I don’t know with you anymore.  I thought I could trust you to make the right decisions but I guess I was wrong.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it.” Virgil shouted back,  the chair he had been ordered to use was pushed hard against the desk with a slam. Growling he turned to leave,  he knew this confrontation was going to be rough but hadn’t expected this bad.

A thread had been pulled somewhere along the line and everything was coming apart at the seams and he just couldn’t deal with this right now. 

“I didn’t say you could leave.”  His brother snapped.  “And you didn’t answer my question.  Is there anything else?  Or do I have to have Brains run a toxicology panel”

“For Chris sake, no. I’m not using anything else!”  He stomped back to the desk,  brow twitching with fury,  fists balled tight as if ready to punch something.  “Is there anything else you want from me or can I go back to bed now?”

Scott fumed, eyes dark and enraged.  He seemed to rein himself in a bit because when he spoke next, he voice was quieter. “What I want is for you to know your limits and if it’s not too much to ask, for you to tell me when you’re struggling.”

He folded his tall frame back into his seat again, seemingly spent.  “I expected to have to watched Alan and Gordon,  but the last thing I expected is that I would have to keep an eye on you as well..”  

The words struck a chord in Virgil and the anger evaporated with the disappointed tone in his brother’s voice.  He’s brain wasn’t online enough for this shit but he couldn’t get his feet to do the necessary task. Not now he finally took in how tired Scott was from where he was standing in the dimly lit room.  A room that had been shielded by storm shutters out of love for a brother and a need to not cause him any more pain.  

Shit  

Virgil caved in, slumped into the other chair and dragged a hand over his stubbled face trying to scrub the whole affair out of his frazzled brain cells. 

They sat in silence for a few moments, the anger and disappointment souring the air with a bitter taste of hurt feelings. 

“How long has this been going on?”  Scott asked quietly, fingers fiddling with a stylus. He knew Scott could find out the information himself easily by going back over the inventory logs but he was waving a white flag and contrary to what he’d said, trusting Virgil to tell him the truth.

He conceded, it was easier this way and he was just too worn to put up any more of a fight.  He dragged in a heavy breath.  “Not often, more the last week ‘cause..”  He trailed off, leaned forward bracing his elbow on his knees and eyed the floor under his bare feet,  “..Ya..numerous times around the planet, way too many time zones to count.” 

Scott was silent as he took this news in, long fingers still fiddling with the slender stylus, “When?”  

He knew what he was asking and thought long and hard on how best to answer that.  “Eight month ago after Four.”  

Scott would understand what he wasn’t saying. He didn’t need to elaborate more than that.  It had all started just after the Chaos Crew had taken out Thunderbird Four and Gordon right along with it.  

“When we found out about Dad,” Scott caught on fast and Virgil gave a single nod by way of confirmation.  

“I was having… difficulties…”  

Scott’s eyes widened.  He remembered he’d found Virgil on several occasions working well into the night on some such project or another. Up to his elbows in grease and propulsion systems. Most of the ‘birds’ engines had been overhauled in short order and Four had been up and running faster than their initial repair reports had forecasted.  

“Why didn’t you come to me?”  Scott pushed up to his feet and came around the desk,  leaning back against it in front of Virgil.  His arms crossed over his chest and the concern written all over his face had Virgil looking away again

Virgil just shook his head, shrugged a shoulder.  “You had enough on your plate with Gordon and everything else,  I didn’t want to add to it.” 

“Does Tanusha know?”  

He nodded, “She knows.” 

“Is this going to be a problem, V?”  

Virgil knew the question had to be asked, Scott needed to know if his pilot was compromised or not.  If he brother needed to get help in away that Scott couldn’t provide.  

He shook his head again. “No, I got it covered. Can I ask a  question now?”  

A nod to go ahead and Scott crotched down beside him and put a hand on his bobbing knee to still it. Virgil  hadn’t even realized he had been doing it. It was a nervous habit that he hadn’t employed in year. 

There was a hopeful encouragement in Scott’s voice.. “Ask away?”

His heavy brows furrowed,  “How did you know?” 

Scott’s lips flashed up in a smile,  the first stitch in putting things back together again.  The first sign that things could be fixed. “You’re not as good at hiding things as you think you are, kid.” 

Virgil snorted at the name. 

“Your migraines.”  The explanation came. “You’ve been getting them more frequently lately.  Lead me to suspect there was something possibly triggering them when I saw your bio-readings yesterday so I went digging..”

“And in the process checked the inventory logs”

“Nail on the head.” Scott said giving his knee a squeeze. “Yesterday’s little escapade through la-la-land also brought something else to light..”

“Ya? What’s that?”

“That I need to make sure your fed and watered more regularly.  Any more dehydrated and we could have classified you as a raisin.”  Scott straightened.  “You always make sure we’re all well rested and fueled but for some reason you neglect yourself.  That’s an oversight I intend to rectify.”  

His brother’s hand reached out to him in invitation,  firm and steady.  “Let’s get you something to eat before the Terrible Two sneak in and raid the kitchen dry.”  

Virgil took hold of it and was hoisted back to his feet again.  

Scott stepped past to lead the way to the kitchen but Virgil’s hand on his sleeve brought him up short.  

“Ya?”  He asked. 

“Don’t tell the guys about this..its my ..I have to deal with it.”

Scott slung an arm over his shoulder and brought him in for the hug he needed. “Just between you and me.  No one else will know  but you have to promise me.. if you need help, come talk to me. Or if not me someone else, okay?”   

Virgil clasped on, nodded his head in agreement and couldn’t stop the shuddered from rolling through him as his emotions got away from him.  He really was completely drained  

“Scott…”  His voice caught in his throat and he couldn’t finish.

“I know, little brother. I’ve got you.”  

oOo 

Next part can be found HERE

The Master List of prompts can be found HERE

[jedifighterpilot2727]

Lexington

Alright, so I took a nosedive off a prompts and ended up in this pool of fluff about Supercorp adopting a toddler.

You can thank @kevlarknight94 for getting me all worked up on headcanons and also for helping me come up with the name!!

This ended up way longer and more expository than I intended so be warned! 

There will be more of these!

Read it on AO3 - http://archiveofourown.org/works/9100903/chapters/22318604

Lena doesn’t think she has ever been more nervous in her life.

And she’s been married to Supergirl for three years, so that’s saying something.

She smooths her blouse for what feels like the thousandth time, hands shaky and nerves rattling. She forces herself to take a deep breath.

In.

Hold it.

Out.

In.

Hold it-

Her phone ringing in her purse shatters any sense of calm she was building, and she nearly jumps out of her chair. She glances around the waiting room nervously, relieved when she sees that she’s still alone. Kara’s face is smiling up at her from her phone screen and she swipes to answer.

“Hello?”

“Hey, so don’t be mad."

“Kara, what did you do?” She tries to keep the whine out of her voice, but she doubts she succeeds.

“It’s not my fault! Really! I just-“ Theres the sound of a scuffle and Lena resists the urge to groan, this exactly what she feared.

“Let me guess, Supergirl was needed somewhere.”

“There was a malfunction at the DEO and a rogue alien escaped, but I swear I’ll have it wrapped up soon.”

“Kara! We’re supposed to be adopting a child!” and she knows it isn’t Kara’s fault, but she’s just so on edge, because this is a huge thing and she’s freaking out, and Kara was supposed to be here and Kara was going to be the calm one and -

“I’ll just reschedule!” She blurts.

“Don’t do that! It took us weeks to get this appointment! Just get started without me and I promise I’ll be there- HEY! STOP PUNCHING ME! I AM TRYING TO HAVE A CONVERSATION!!”

A man in a suit walks in the room and Lena’s heart rate sky rockets.

“Kara, they’re calling me back.”

“You’ll be fine I promise, I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Right.”

“1-4-3.”

“1-4-3.”

She tries to hide the fact that her hands are shaking as she slips her phone back into her purse and turns to face the gentleman.

“Mrs. Luthor-Danvers?” She nods and he continues, sticking out his hand. “Pleasure to meet you, I’m Dr. Egrett.”

“Pleasure.” She returns, exchanging a firm handshake.

“It was my impression that your wife would be here?”

“That was her on the phone, actually. She’s a bit tied up at work, I think Supergirl’s out saving the day and you know, the presses don’t stop for anything. She should be here soon, though.”

“Right, well should we go ahead and get started? The children are all in the common room.” He leads her into his office, bright windows all pointing towards a giant room.

“Children?”

“Well, Mrs. Luthor-Danvers, you are here to adopt a child, are you not?”

“Yes, but- I just thought there would be questions or paperwork . . .”

The elderly gentleman laughs gently.

“I’ve read over your rather . . . extensive file. It’s clear you and your wife are more than ready for the responsibility of a child, excellent financial situation, Cynthia tells me the house visit went well . . . All that’s left is to see you around the children.”

Her apprehension must show on her face because he laughs again.

“Oh dear, you look as nervous as I was when my husband and I did this twenty years ago. You’re going to be fine.”

She smiles softly and feels a little bit of her anxiety melt away. God, she wishes Kara were here.

“So, this is the toddler, pre-shool group; I thought we might start with them first.”

“You’re just going to set me loose out there?”

“Well, we usually find that’s best, for the first time at least. The children are used to having volunteers, and so they don’t get too suspicious. Or attached.”

The words are like a weight in her stomach, because she’s been the little orphan girl - trying not to think about the family she doesn’t have.

“Right.”

“Are you ready? You’re welcome to leave your purse in my office.”

She sets her purse down and smoothes her blouse again.

“As ready as I’ll ever be.” He opens the outside door, and she pauses. “You’ll send Kara out as soon as she get here?”

“Of course.”

He smiles, and closes the door and then she’s alone, and holy shit she did not think this through.

She scans the room, taking in the different groups of children. There are a handful of adults watching over them and stopping them if they get too rowdy but for the most part letting them play. The children are scattered all over, involved in various group activities . . .

Except for one little girl sitting in the corner, curled up in a giant arm chair. She’s small, no older than two or three, with brown hair and bright blue eyes. She's a holding a book that’s no doubt too advanced for her to actually read, but the pictures are bright, and Lena suspects that’s what’s drawn her to pick it up. She’s the only child in the whole place that isn’t screeching or laughing, or chattering with friends; and while she doesn’t look sad, Lena feels her heart break all the same.

She steps over, taking in the chess table in front of the girl’s chair, and the stack of giant legos scattered around it.

“May I sit here?” She asks softly, gesturing to the chair opposite.

The little girl doesn’t say anything, but she nods slowly and watches carefully as Lena sits before returning to her book.

They sit like that for a long while,  Lena slowly starting to move the chess pieces around as she keeps one eye on the girl across from her.

She’s halfway through her second game when she feels a gentle tug on her pants leg.

The little girl is standing there, watching her.

She sits back, slowly; and she feels sort of like she’s trying not to startle a wild animal.

Only this animal is climbing up into the chair with her and she freezes, unsure exactly of what she’s supposed to do. The child settles in her lap and opens her book back up.

“Did you want me to read-“ the little girl startles at the sound of Lena’s voice, and gives her a guarded look.

“Sorry,” She whispers softly. “I won’t talk.”

The little girl watches her for a moment before turning back to her book.

Lena's heart is pounding in her chest, and her palms are sweaty, and god, she wishes Kara were here, because Kara would know what to do; and she certainly wouldn’t just sit here frozen.

It takes a good fifteen minutes, but she slowly relaxes, reading over the little girl's shoulder. The book is about Supergirl, of all things, saving the world with some Kryptonian dog named Krypto. She wonders where they got that idea.

Where there even dogs on Krypton? She makes a mental note to ask Kara later.

She isn’t sure how long they sit like that, she loses track after the third time flipping slowly through the book.

They don’t talk, just sit in silence, occasionally the girl pointing to a picture or a word.

Lena finds herself wondering if she knows what they mean, or if she just thinks they’re pretty. Before she can figure out a way to determine if the little girl actually understands the letters written on the page without actually asking if she understands; one of the caretakers stands in the center of the room and claps her hands.

The little girl jumps again, and Lena moves a hand to her shoulder, hoping it’s comforting and doesn’t just make things worse.

“Alright, kids! It’s dinner time, everybody line up to go wash your hands!”

The little girl hops down to the floor and starts to walk away only to stop and turn back to Lena. She still doesn’t say anything, just smiles, holding her book tightly to her chest.

It’s a heartbreaking sight, really.

Lena smiles back and offers a small wave, waiting until the children have filed out before making her way back to the door of Dr. Engrett’s office.

Kara is there just inside the door, standing at the window, and she feels herself relax just a little bit. Her wife may be bullet proof, but it's always a welcome sight to see her in one piece - especially after a fight.

“Hey.” Kara’s smile is soft.

“Hey, did you get everything . . . “ She glances to the desk where Dr. Engrett is pouring through a medical journal and pretending not to listen to their conversation. “Taken care of?”

“Yeah, yeah, Supergirl saved the day - of course - and I got what I needed for my article.”

“Did you just get back?”

“Like . . .” Kara’s eyes dart to her watch. “Forty-five minutes ago?”

“You’ve been watching me from the window this whole time?!”

Geez, so much for Kara coming to rescue her.

“What?! You were bonding, I didn’t want to interrupt.”

Lena wrings her hands nervously before Kara catches them, squeezing them gently.

“I don’t if I would call it bonding, we sat in silence for an hour. It was like a Luthor family dinner.”

“Actually,” Dr. Engrett looks up from his journal. “Lexington hasn’t really spoken to anyone since she arrived. That’s the most she’s interacted with, well; anyone, really.”

Lena’s heart catches in her throat.

“What did you say her name was?”

“Lexington. Her teachers have taken to calling her Lexi for short and she seems to be responding well.”

Lexi.

Lex.

The similarity makes her stomach churn.

“Aww!!” Kara squeals beside her. “Lexi! I always wanted to name my daughter after Alex! It must be a sign!”

It still amazes her, how even after all these years she and Kara can see completely different sides of the same coin.

“Next time, it would be nice to have you both out there, see how she interacts with you as unit. Mrs. Luthor-Danvers, you’ve already established a bit of a rapport so I think it would do best for you to introduce the other Mrs. to Lexi to see how she reacts.”

He studies them over the top of his glasses.

“If that seems like something you’re interested in pursuing.”

She looks at Kara and sees all the confirmation she needs.

“Yes. Most definitely."

[asrarblog]

Dear Colleagues!  This is Pharma Veterans Blog Post #326. Pharma Veterans welcomes sharing of knowledge and wisdom by Veterans for the benefit of Community at large. Pharma Veterans Blog is published by Asrar Qureshi on WordPress, the top blog site. Please email to asrar@asrarqureshi.com for publishing your contributions here.

When a Crisis strikes, more often than not, Truth is the first martyr. Truth is sacrificed in the name of public interest and security if it is a national crisis. Truth is bled in the name of office decorum and company interest if the crisis hits a business. And Truth is slaughtered in the name of family honor and social values if the crisis be in the family. Even in a personal crisis, we feel more secure by adopting lie and abandoning truth. The killing of truth is done ruthlessly and without remorse at all levels.

It may look like a contradiction considering that we claim allegiance to truth by religion. Many others may not take it as religious injunction, but as a moral and social value, truth has always been upheld supreme.

The faces of the death of truth are many; some obvious and some not so obvious. Not-so-obvious methods include propagation of counterinformation, disinformation and misinformation through sponsored media, journalists, public speakers and print media. The campaigns and countercampaigns are so entangled that it becomes impossible for common man to find out the truth.

In Pakistan, it is favorite pastime anyway. We observe another interesting phenomenon here also. Public figures and self-proclaimed peoples’ representatives while sitting in opposition speak reason and logic most of the time. However, when the same men and women get into the power, they forget reason and start speaking gibberish most of the time. It looks like that Power has inherent aversion to Truth.

ICIJ – International Consortium of Independent Journalists, is a Washington D.C. based organization having collaboration in several countries. In their last communication, they have reported on two key questions from journalists from various countries.

Here are the excerpts. [Quote]

What is the biggest challenge you face in your reporting?

Stefan Melichar (Austria)

The biggest challenge …… is the economic situation, which was not good before the coronavirus crisis and has now become even worse. Investigative reporting requires time and resources – and the chance to work on promising leads regardless if they might turn out to be dead ends. Newsrooms have been shrinking for years. The economic fallout of the coronavirus now leads to further severe cost-cutting measures… Risks are high that stories, which are important, but not so easy to do, will stay untold.

Alejandra Xanic and Marcela Turati (Mexico)

First, we need to understand how to cover COVID-19 in a secure way and what we need to cover as we are not a traditional news media, but a journalistic investigative center.

There is also the challenge of obtaining information currently when government sources are not providing it. There are many complaints about hidden data and scientific debates about if things are being done correctly in Mexico or not.

Roman Anin (Russia)

I think there are two big challenges:

We – investigative reporters – are used to producing long stories, which take a lot of time. But COVID-19 demands us to react fast. We need to investigate with the speed of news reporters. And that’s hard.

Where do we get reliable data about the number of deaths? We all believe our governments but in such times it looks like there are not many other reliable sources.

Anderson Diedri (Côte d’Ivoire)

One of the biggest challenges is accessing official information. Officials are happy to use the media when they want to manipulate information for their own ends. But when we are investigating, it’s impossible to access even the most basic information because we are seen as squeaky wheels or spoilsports.

Aidila Razak (Malaysia)

Getting timely information and data. We built this page to track the pandemic because the data was released in dribs and drabs and we couldn’t see the true picture. But maintaining it now is such a pain because the data release is inconsistent…

…We are also under pressure to be extra careful to the brink of self-censorship sometimes because in this period, nationalism is at a high so any form of critical reporting on the government is construed as an attack.

How do you feel about the future of journalism in your country?

Aidila Razak (Malaysia)

It feels like we are sliding very quickly to the repressive era, after a short respite under the Pakatan Harapan Government. Things were not perfect under Pakatan Harapan, but at least we had access and were not in constant fear of police action or being shut down.

Simon Mkina (Tanzania)

The future of journalism in Tanzania is expected to be weaker than any recorded time in our history. This is because media houses have become so intimidated due to self-censorship. Many media organizations have chosen to become a loud trumpet of the regime, praising each and everything done by the state…

Francisca Skoknic (Chile)

We are in a moment that is particularly difficult because of the collapse of advertising revenue due to COVID-19. The credibility of the media has fallen, while social media networks gain ground as information channels. It is a challenging time in which independent digital media have the opportunity to position themselves as reliable sources of information.

Guilherme Amado (Brazil)

I am pessimistic about the future of press freedom in my country, at least during the government of Jair Bolsonaro. The current president doesn’t respect journalists. Actually, he harasses many of us in different ways. In interviews, he insults those who make tough questions…

Andras Petho (Hungary)

In Hungary, journalists have had a rough decade under prime minister Viktor Orbán’s increasingly authoritarian rule. He cracked down on independent outlets while at the same time he has built a powerful propaganda machine that supports him unconditionally. I’m afraid that the COVID-19 crisis will make things even worse. The already shaky financial legs of the remaining independent media can be crushed by the economic downturn…

Mary Triny Zea (Panama)

The future of journalism in Panama is challenging. The economic crisis that is affecting traditional media will be deepened as a result of the pandemic. The layoffs of journalists have increased.

Marcos García Rey (Spain)

There are two ways to respond to this question: the quality of journalism and the restrictions of doing free journalism:

In Spain, newsrooms are increasingly becoming hostile to investigative or in-depth journalism… For these reasons, in Spain, the quality of journalism may decrease even more in the near future due to the economic crisis. The media bet more on breaking news, even though editors know they are offering a watery soup to the citizens. But, you know, watery soup is inexpensive, fast and does not cause stomach pains.

The COVID-19 pandemic is bringing about a serious economic and social crisis in many countries, including Spain. The central government, in my opinion, is deliberately strengthening state power. The problem is that there are members of the government who have a peculiar idea of what journalism and press freedom are. [Unquote]

The same issues journalists may be facing in Pakistan also. Problem is the same; Power Brings Aversion to Truth.

Aversion to Truth is not restricted to government and politics. It is rampant in the corporate world. Managers of all cadres and all shades find it very hard to listen to Truth, much less accept it. Some people say that the amount of lies that are exchanged in the corporate boardrooms are so enormous, it is a wonder why the ceilings do not collapse due to their sheer weight. It may be a little excessive comment, but the fact remains that as a person grows in corporate hierarchy, his appetite for listening to truth keeps diminishing.

In 1977, I read a novel by Nigerian author Vincent Chukwuemeka Ike, titled ‘Toads for Supper’. The opening page had this statement on it.

Children who eat toads for supper lose appetite for meat

It must be a Nigerian proverb, the true meaning of which I do not know. But I would like to say that Lies are Toads and Truth is Meat. Those who eat toads for supper lose appetite for meat.

May we get the courage to listen to and speak truth.

Concluded.

Truth in the Times of Crises – Blog Post #326 by Asrar Qureshi Dear Colleagues!  This is Pharma Veterans Blog Post #326. Pharma Veterans welcomes sharing of knowledge and wisdom by Veterans for the benefit of Community at large…

[biofunmy]

U.S. Holds Off an Ascendant Spain, for Now, at Women’s World Cup

REIMS, France — Jill Ellis sat on the sideline and nibbled on her finger.

It was a sweltering Monday night in Reims, France, and her players on the United States women’s soccer team were deadlocked with Spain, one goal apiece, in their round-of-16 showdown at the Women’s World Cup. The clock had ticked into the 75th minute, and the captain, Megan Rapinoe, was preparing to take a penalty kick.

A lot hinged on the moment.

Spain is seen as the most rapidly ascendant national team in women’s soccer, embodying in many ways the global flow of power and, potentially, the future of the sport, as more of Europe’s traditional male soccer powers turn their attention to the women’s side of the game.

The United States is the traditional power of women’s soccer, a three-time winner of the World Cup, now watching the rest of the world scramble to catch up.

On the field Monday at the Stade Auguste-Delaune, Rapinoe took five short steps to the ball and drilled it into the lower left corner, scoring her second goal of the night from the penalty spot. Ellis leapt off the bench and embraced her assistant coaches as the crowd roared.

For 90 minutes on Monday, the Americans got a glimpse of the future, and, for another night, they succeeded in keeping it at bay.

“Spain is a very good team,” Ellis said after her squad’s 2-1 victory. “If you guys look back in all the games they played this year, like I have, they’ve dominated most of their opponents — in fact, all their opponents. This was a tricky game, probably the hardest game in the round of 16.”

It was a tricky match indeed — and coarser, scrappier and testier than perhaps all three of the Americans’ group-stage games combined. Players from both sides tangled themselves into tackles, limbs flailing, shoving and groping for space.

The Spaniards elected to neutralize the threat of American striker Alex Morgan by slamming into her back whenever she received the ball. Morgan called their play at times “reckless.”

The Americans went ahead in just the seventh minute, when Tobin Heath was tripped in the box and Rapinoe converted the penalty kick, slotting it in the left corner, the spot she would pick again in the second half.

Spain tied the match two minutes later when American goalkeeper Alyssa Naeher made an ill-advised to pass to defender Becky Sauerbrunn that left her no time to cleanly distribute the ball. Spain’s Lucía García swooped in to dispossess Sauerbrunn, and Jennifer Hermoso gathered the loose ball and curled it into the top right corner of the goal.

“I should have probably just put my foot through it anywhere and tried to clear it,” said Sauerbrunn, who called the play a “debacle.”

But all those things — the moments of enmity, the aggression, the gamesmanship and the histrionics, even the mistakes — made this the United States’ most conventionally entertaining match of the tournament. The action pin-balled from one side of the field to the other, and tension, for once, was palpable on the American bench.

With the win, the Americans progressed to a blockbuster quarterfinal matchup with France on Friday in Paris — though the manner in which they did it was not entirely convincing. Jorge Vilda, the coach of Spain, sounded almost triumphant in defeat.

“If they’ve had to win from penalties, it’s because we’ve really shown our worth, and we’ve given them a run for the money,” he said, “and we have to be really positive about our overall performance and what happened in the match.”

Vilda said his players should be proud. “We’re going to keep growing and progressing,” he said, “and I think they should walk away with their heads held really high.”

Their future is undoubtedly bright. Spain won the under-17 World Cup last year, finished as runner-up at the under-20 World Cup and captured the last two UEFA under-19 titles.

Spain, along with nations like the Netherlands and Italy, has begun to build a women’s program to eventually match the longtime quality of its men’s team. These countries have the infrastructure, the culture and, now, the will to create a pipeline of talent that could change the face of the Women’s World Cup in tournaments to come — a fact that the United States knows it will soon have to confront.

For now, there is mutual respect. Spain’s Marta Torrejón said before the game that the United States was still, obviously, the standard-bearer in the game.

“Football in America is an example for all of us in every sense of the word, in the sense of the media coverage they get, in terms of the financial support they have,” Torrejón said, pointing out that the American players are stars at home. “To get to that stage, we know we have a long journey ahead of us. But we’re happy to take on that challenge and try to emulate it.”

And one day they might.

But on Monday, the Americans kept control of this moment in time. The summer remained theirs.

90’ + 7

Rapinoe off at last.

Press sprints on. That’s more of a time-wasting move at this point, but they will kill the clock any way they can right now.

90’

Seven minutes of added time.

That appears to be the customary amount under our new V.A.R. overlords.

Spain is pushing. U.S. is hanging on.

Ertz is now slotted in as a fifth defender, a third center back. Lindsey Horan is on for Lavelle.

84’

Spain uses its third sub. Ellis prepares her first.

Carli Lloyd is at the touchline, waiting for a whistle so she can replace Morgan.

It’s really kind of stunning that, in this heat, Ellis has waited until there are about five minutes left to take off anyone. That it’s Morgan isn’t a surprise; she’s been battered all day.

Huuuuuuge cheers as Lloyd sprints on.

81’

Ouch. Naeher down after a brave challenge.

Naeher, who it should be noted has been much sharper since her early shakiness, charges out to punch away a ball headed for Torrecilla. They collide, and Naeher takes the worst of it.

76’

Same spot. Same result. U.S. leads, 2-1.

Rapinoe goes low and hard to the left again, and scores again. Huge sighs of relief on the U.S. bench, and in the huddle around Rapinoe.

Spain may come to rue those three or four wasted minutes as they chase the game now.

74’

Penalty confirmed! Rapinoe takes the ball from Morgan, who wanted it.

As we said, it would have been very hard for the referee to take that back, since she saw it cleanly.

71’

PENALTY!! Lavelle is brought down, and the U.S. can take the lead.

Well here we go: that looked innocuous in real time, but replays show Lavelle — converging on a loose ball near the penalty spot — got kicked in the leg by Torrecilla and went down.

Spain’s players are stalling, hoping for a V.A.R. review. Leon just rolled the ball off the spot after Morgan placed it there.

And the waiting works: Kulcsar makes the square and runs over to the sideline monitor. The referee was standing 10 yards away with an unobstructed view, so it’s would be a shock to see if she overturns herself.

62’

It’s time for Ellis to think about some subs. Right?

Morgan is getting mauled and Rapinoe has vanished from the game on the left. Christen Press would solve the second problem nicely, and Carli Lloyd might be the answer to the first.

Only Lindsey Horan and Emily Sonnett are warming up at the moment, but Mallory Pugh did earlier. Coach Ellis is currently seated on the bench, hands crossed.

59’

Spain is really up for the fight today.

Spain has been more physical with the U.S. than any team it has faced since, maybe, Canada last year. Morgan. Heath. Ertz. Morgan. Morgan. Morgan. O’Hara. The Americans keep getting knocked to the ground, and they’re really getting annoyed.

Even Ellis got up after the last one — Leon sweeping the legs of O’Hara (cleanly but roughly). The Americans need to keep their cool here, and the Spanish need to make sure they don’t cross the line. A couple of yellows, or a red, could change everything.

55’

Whoooosh! Heath rifles a shot over the bar.

Like so many Heath chances, she was just looking for an opening on the right with a couple of short dribbles, but then she pulled a quick trigger and rifled a shot about a foot over Paños’s crossbar.

51’

Heath down, and now Morgan is, too

Play is stopped briefly to attend to Heath, who was injured reaching in for a 50/50 ball.

She gets up, but now Morgan is down. She has been taking a beating today and she’s not happy about it. This time, it was a tangle of legs.

Minutes later, Maria Léon drops her flat again. Morgan appeals for a yellow, or at least a cop, but gets neither.

46’

No changes at halftime.

No changes, that is, except the sun has broken through the clouds, which will only make it hotter down there.

Morgan almost sprung Heath with a lead ball down the right, but Leon got there first and whacked it out of bounds.

HALFTIME

The U.S. leads, 1-1. (That’s a joke.)

The score is tied but the United States was in control. In recent games — against Chile and Sweden — the U.S. dominance did not always translate to the scoreboard, and this feels like a similar deal. But the early goal was a sign of intent, and the Spanish response will surely be a motivator.

We mentioned the weather earlier and it’s not any cooler, so keep an eye on that. Spain had to use a sub early, and Torrecilla needed treatment after landing awkwardly just before halftime. The U.S. looks fresher, and has a LOT more lurking on the bench if Spain tires.

The thing is, they still have to score. And strange things can happen in the knockout round. As the United States learned early, a single mistake can give away a goal at any moment.

And no one wants to go out like that.

45’ + 1

Spain content to run out the half here.

The problem for them is that the U.S. is not. Rapinoe drives in a free kick toward a team of galloping attackers, but it’s about a foot too far for Lavelle at the far post.

38’

Sorry, not sorry.

37’

YELLOW card for Rapinoe: she raked Corredera across the face.

That seemed accidental, but she basically slapped the Spain right back as she tried to change direction and cut inside. Oops. But still a yellow. Rapinoe fumes at the ref, rolling her eyes, but slaps hands with Corredera as if to say, “My bad.”

32’

Spain substitution: Losada off with an eye injury

That’ll hurt, because Losada is one of Spain’s more important midfield players, but her right eye is closing rapidly after some sort of contact. (Sorry, I missed it, but seeing it now it’s hard to see how she could have continued.) The teams take advantage of the lull for a much-needed hydration break.

27’

More nervy moments for Naeher, who looks shaky so far.

Naeher, taking a back pass from Dunn, nearly creates even MORE trouble. She hits Hermoso with her clearance and needs to scramble to get the loose ball to Dunn.

A minute later she charges out to head a clearance just before Hermoso arrives yet again, but the first half hour here is a good reminder that Naeher has had almost nothing to do in this tournament. Today, she’s been put under pressure a couple of times, and — to be frank — she hasn’t looked great.

23’

Spain would very much like to slow this down.

The problem is that the United States isn’t letting them. Every time they win the ball it’s like a car peeling out of a high school parking lot. Lavelle just took a giveaway on a throw-in and raced up the middle. But with Heath on her right and Morgan chasing to catch up on the left, Lavelle goes left, too heavy, and the chance rolls harmlessly out of bounds.

Heath, ignored, put both hands to her forehead. “I’m running over here Rose …”

16’

It’s end to end now.

Lavelle with a gorgeous pass that splits open the Spain defense and leads Rapinoe perfectly on the left wing. Rapinoe one-times it to Paños near post, but she gets down in time to parry it away. GREAT chance, but the teams are really flying now. The U.S. game is to stretch opponents and then carve them up, and it nearly worked to perfection there.

The Americans will need to move quickly, because whenever they slow up, Spain drops all 10 players behind the ball, clogging any gaps.

9’

SPAIN TIES IT!!! A mistake by Naeher!

Well that was fast. Naeher with a lazy clearance that catches Sauerbrunn short with Lucia Garcia closing her down. Garcia flicks it over to an open Jenni Hermoso, and she punishes Naeher from the top of the area. Wow, what a mistake.

That’s the first goal the United States has allowed at the World Cup after scoring 19, and Naeher will be kicking herself. She only has herself to blame there.

7’

GOAL! Rapinoe buries the penalty lower left.

That was a no-doubt: hard and low to the left-side netting. No chance for Paños.

It’s also the fourth game in a row the Americans have grabbed an early lead: 12th minute against Thailand, 11th against Chile, 3rd against Sweden.

5’

PENALTY to the U.S.! Heath goes down in the area!

Heath cuts in from the right and Maria Léon just swipes her ankles. Clear penalty. Rapinoe wants it.

3’

Alex Morgan has been run down twice already.

Spain has clubbed her twice from behind already. But anything is better than letting her turn and start a counterattack, I guess. Morgan points this out to Kulcsar, who is probably it wasn’t her that knocked her down to be honest.

1’

That’s an odd start: the referee breaks up the first attack.

The referee, Katalin Kulcsar of Hungary, breaks up Spain’s first attack by getting in the way. She calls back play and does a drop ball.

Spain immediately takes the ball down the left side off the restart and sends in a cross. Becky Sauerbrunn clearly it weakly to the top of the area, and her reward is a hard Spain shot back in that hits her directly in the face. Ouch.

Today’s lineups: One big change for the United States

One big surprise in the United States lineup today: Lindsey Horan sits, replaced in midfield by the returning Julie Ertz (and also by Sam Mewis in a sense, since she stays). Horan has been excellent in France, scoring goals in each of her two starts and providing some two-way grit. But Sam Mewis has been as good, or better, and Ertz only missed the Sweden game because of a minor injury. Since Ellis wants Rose Lavelle’s speed and creativity going forward in attack, that has always meant a three-player puzzle for the two midfield spots alongside her between Ertz, Horan and Mewis. Today, Horan loses out. It would not be a surprise to see her later, hungry and eager to have a go at a tiring Spain defense.

United States lineup: Alyssa Naeher, Crystal Dunn, Becky Sauerbrunn, Abby Dahlkemper, Kelley O’Hara; Julie Ertz, Sam Mewis, Rose Lavelle; Megan Rapinoe (c), Alex Morgan, Tobin Heath

Spain lineup: Sandra Paños; Marta Corredera, Irene Paredes (c), Maria León, Leila Ouahabi; Vicky Losada, Aleixa Putellas, Patri Guijarro, Virginia Torrecilla; Jenni Hermoso, Lucia García

A word about the weather.

It’s scorching in Reims today, where the sun is high, the breeze is absent and the temperature is expected to be about 90 degrees Fahrenheit for kickoff, which is 6 p.m. local time. My colleagues Andrew Keh and Jeré Longman confirm my expert analysis that it is capital H hot.

That could be a factor. The United States is the oldest team in the tournament, but it also is one of the fittest. The Americans also are among the deepest squads in the field, so Jill Ellis will have plenty of talent to call upon if she needs it. Christen Press and Mallory Pugh against a tiring defense is a matchup she surely likes. As midfielder Rose Lavelle said Sunday, “The strength of this team is we have a lot of strengths.”

Still, Spain has had three extra days of rest since its previous game, and its players are no strangers to playing in the heat.

“We can’t control what our opponent has” for rest, Ellis said. “Everything is about us.”

A bit of history on the U.S.-Spain rivalry.

To be frank, there really isn’t one. The teams have played only once, in January in Alicante a few days after the Americans lost a friendly against France. The United States won that day, on a goal by Christen Press. Here are the highlights:

While the United States has made at least the semifinals in every World Cup, Spain, which made its World Cup debut four years ago, is in the knockout rounds for the first time. That made its pretournament friendlies — wins over the Netherlands and Brazil, defeats to England and the United States — critically important.

“Playing against the best team in the world for the first time made us understand what playing against such fast players, with great technique in a well-learned system would mean,” Spain Coach Jorge Vilda said after Spain’s final game of the group stage. ���This is something we studied. This is a game where any single detail can change things so we’re going to look at what we’ve done and try and correct our mistakes.”

On Sunday, he welcomed the challenge.

“When the girls will look at the players in front of them, they’re not going to see stars, they’re going to see a team like any other,” Vilda said. “They are a good team. But we also are a team that has been known to be up to the challenge.”

What’s next for the winner today?

The winner of today’s U.S.-Spain match in Reims advances to a quarterfinal against France on Friday at Parc des Princes in Paris. But France looked shaky in beating Brazil in extra time on Sunday to reach the game, and beating them is increasingly looking like an achievable goal.

When France won in Paris on opening night, raining goals on South Korea and bathing in the cheers of a full house, it looked to be the odds-on favorite to win the World Cup. But that match now feels like the high point of Les Bleues’ journey, which since has seen a tight V.A.R.-aided win against Norway, a narrow V.A.R.-aided win over Nigeria, and an uncomfortably close extra-time victory against Brazil.

Yes, France has won every match. But something seems off.

“In the first half especially, our group was very nervous,” Corinne Diacre, France’s coach, said after beating Brazil. “I asked them at halftime to play more freely and enjoy themselves. They were putting so much pressure on themselves that they forgot the fundamentals, and we were facing a very good team.”

The opponents will only get better from here, but Diacre, who is under immense pressure to deliver France’s first major trophy, still thinks her players are up to the task.

“I cannot say that I totally recognized my team tonight individually, but we did what we had to do defensively and collectively,” she said. “It was not exceptional but, despite all that, we went out and found what we needed to get the victory.”

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