#Fleur di lis

[oddnodanim]

‘Fleur di lis’

$200

11’x14’

[susiecards]

Jack of hearts

[larvaecandy]

[nextgenfoals]

fleur de lis x sunburst? I've made my own but I wanna see what direction yall take it

Pamplemousse! He’s a high society boy, he works as a food critic + sommelier :) — Mod charm

[mylittlestims]

Fleur de Lis stimboard, if you haven’t already?

- 🪁

Fleur-De-Lis | Fleur-Dis-Lee Stimboard for 🪁 Anon!

(X) (X) (X)

(X) (X) (X)

(X) (X) (X)

[regionalsnake]

fleur

[cyberdragoninfinity]

the problem with explaining the infrastructure of the town in college AU and also the social landscape and also mild-to-moderate events and happenings is that it's immediately going to become apparent that we really just jammed whatever and whoever we wanted in there and it got instantly out of hand and now it's just a core tenet of the universe. i never even talked about Fleur de Lis on here.

he's bearing witness to the most insane conservative infighting and billionare's out of touch posts he's ever seen in his life

also it was created by Lysandre. From Pokemon. :]

[namedafterflowerstournament]

Botanic Tournament : MLP Flowers Bracket !

Round 1 Poll 3

[manebioniclegali]

Cringetober Day 9: Rarepair

No egotober today because I didn't know what to do for "antlers," so I'm going back to my roots with a little MLP! I'm not too sure how I feel about this ship anymore, but for a story I had planned on writing, the end couple was going to be Minuette/Colgate and Fancy Pants. I kinda cheated on this drawing cuz I wasn't going to draw him originally but changed my mind after scanning lol (so a floating head is all ur gonna get)

[roehenstart]

St Louis, Bishop of Toulouse. He had been a Franciscan and died in 1297. Charles de Valois, who founded the Charterhouse of Bourg-Fontaine near Villers-Cotterêts. From a fresco painting on the main door of the church of this Charterhouse.

[where-is-my-sanity-daaaave]

Did I spent over an hour determining what each of these coats of arms were being used to represent? Yes.

Did the Sforza coat of arms take up 70% of that time... yes.

[avianconcept]

Agency, value systems, and growth: the fate of the Perfect Court tattoos.

Been thinking about the Perfect Court tattoos today, and I’ve finally decided what I personally hope happens to Jean’s. I know there's a lot of discussion about a cover up like Kevin’s, suggestions like a flower, a sun, a fleur-de-lis; and I see that, but I raise you: he gets it completely removed. 

I think it has something to do with what the tattoos mean to each character. More specifically, how each character got them, and what that means to them. Most of this comes from a quote I found on my last re-read of TKM: 

The first time someone asked about Riko’s and Kevin’s tattoos, Riko hadn’t beat around the bush. He was the best striker in the game, he said, and he wanted everyone to know it. The story changed a little when Jean made his first public appearance with a “3” on his face. Riko was supposedly handpicking the future US National Team. He called it the ‘perfect Court’, and even though it was unofficial and unbelievably arrogant, his talent and upbringing gave some credibility to the idea. ‘

According to Neil in the first book, Riko and Kevin had been sharpie-ing on their numbers since they were children. This quote adds some more crucial context to that. It establishes that Riko and Kevin’s 1 and 2 came before the perfect court, and that the perfect court was what Riko decided their 1 and 2 (and newly minted 3) meant. This bit is what changed it for me, I think. 

Riko and Kevin are both referred to as the sons of exy. Both are heirs to the game, Riko through his uncle and Kevin through his mother. They do it to signal their place in the world of exy– heirs, future best in the game, destined for greatness. And then Jean comes along, and Riko changes the narrative. He comes up with the perfect court, and tells the world. The perfect court are his chosen players (read: his property). It furthers his control and possession of Kevin, who is allowed to be excellent, just not better than Riko. Kevin can be good, he just has to be good Riko’s way, subscribe to RIko’s model of success. 

Riko dies with his tattoo on his face. He dies clinging onto the idea of the perfect court, that he is the best, and that the only way to be the best is through pain and abuse. There is no real change for Riko in the series, so it fits that the way he’s marked himself (read: the way he defines himself) doesn’t change either. 

Kevin gets his covered up with the infamous chess piece. For Kevin, the challenge is reclaiming the sport that is also his birthright. He is physically free of Riko and Tetsuji, but mentally, he isn’t. Even with states between them and a new team, he is still understandably afraid of standing up to Riko. It goes against the status quo that has been beaten into him, and it takes him a while to be able to fully leave them and their limits behind. What holds Kevin back is that his greatness has always been defined. It has been defined by Riko, upheld by Tetsuji. He can be second best, a Raven, a prince to Riko’s King. Kevin changes his tattoo right before the final game– in order to beat Riko, he has to first reject Riko’s hierarchy, the limiting belief that was forced onto him that Riko was best, Riko was king. To me, its extremely fitting that Kevin’s evolution involved him putting his own mark on his talent. Instead of challenging Riko for ‘King’, or for that 1, he invents his own symbol. For Kevin, it's a reclamation of a game that was always partially his– just on his terms now. 

Neil’s tattoo gets burnt off by his father’s henchmen. This also fits well in my mind, because in my opinion, Neil’s number one challenge wasn’t actually Riko. Riko was Neil’s adversary, but Neil’s true terror was his father. The tattoos and their removal/evolution appear to be symbolic of the character’s growth, so it makes sense that Neil’s wasn’t on his face for long, and was taken off by (basically) his father. Each of the perfect court members had something keeping them trapped, things that wouldn’t let them grow into who they were supposed to be. Riko’s was the wound of his fathers rejection, and the toxicity created and maintained by Tetsuji. Kevin’s was Riko, and by extension Tetsuji. Neil’s is his father. Unlike Kevin, Neil’s not trying to be the best exy player in the sport. The sport makes him feel less like no one and nothing, and his continued playing is an expression of his will to live and his desire for personhood and a future. Neil wants better than what he has at the beginning of TFC, and the thing keeping him from that isn’t Riko. Sure, Riko is connected to the Moriyamas, and Ichirou owns his contract now, and Neil fights with Riko a lot. But to me, the thing that caused him real terror and stripped him of his personhood and autonomy was Nathan. Riko branded him with the 4, and Nathan’s people took it off, as if to say, “No, Riko isn’t who you have to reckon with, it’s me.” Neil’s internal fight was with being the butcher’s son, not with being number four. 

Jean’s situation is best described by a line in the EC– Jean never asked for this. 

In his own words, he loved exy, and was excited for what he thought was an opportunity to improve, but it doesn’t seem like he was ever vying for greatness. Then his father sold him, he was given the 3, and he was made perfect court. 

Much like Neil, didn’t have a say in his involvement. Unlike Neil, Jean adopts the mentality and hierarchy of the perfect court as his truth. Riko’s estimation of his value becomes his own. 

For Jean, the 3 has a lot to do with pain and self worth. In TSC, the only time Jean speaks positively about himself is when he calls himself perfect court, or when he talks about himself as a backliner. He has been conditioned that the only place he has worth is on the court. Nothing is important about him, just about what he is, the position he occupies. Where his personhood and bodily autonomy is denied over and over, his talent cannot be denied on the court. He is allowed to matter on the court, and nowhere else. In a sense, that 3 becomes the only thing about him that could be his. 

The other thing about the 3 is that he didn’t ask for it, but he has bled for it. So much of his relationship with the Ravens is defined by his rank.  Even though the Ravens do not like Jean as a person, they want to be his partner, to have that 4. The reason someone protects Jean from repeated sexual assault is that 3, and how it could lead to a 4. This is why Zane strikes a deal with him, why Grayson goes all the way to the Gold Court to hurt him. It is what the sexual assault from the backliners is blamed on. The 3 was given to Jean as a mark of something he didn't ask to be a part of, and then he was forced to fight tooth and nail to keep it.  It became the defining part of his identity because he wasn’t allowed to have anything else. He wasn’t even allowed to have his name. 

In my opinion, I think that the ultimate expression of Jean’s growth would be to take the tattoo off. He doesn’t have to subscribe to that value system. Covering it would feel like half assing it. He can change it, but he has to keep a tattoo of some sort, because Riko put one there. 

Note that I don’t think of the cover up the same way for Kevin. For Kevin, exy was likely always going to be important to him, with Kayleigh as his mother. He is inheriting it, same way Riko is, and this inheritance is symbolized by that 1 and 2. Kevin wanted to be the best, and so the ultimate expression of his healing is him becoming the best his way. Jean has his tattoo because he is seen as an object, a talent investment belonging to the Moriyamas. What is a limit for Kevin is a brand for Jean. 

For Jean, I think true freedom wouldn’t be freedom to be the best, it would be not having to be the best. It would be not having exy be the most important thing in his life. To not need to defend something he didn’t want. I hope he becomes so sure of his worth in the world, and so sure of his own autonomy that he doesn’t need the 3 to tell him he’s worth something. I hope he realizes that he is his own before he is anyone else's, and doesn’t need to carry around a value that someone else gave him.  

In TSC, the legacy, abuse, and dehumanization of the Nest is killing Ravens as soon as the Nest is taken away. Without the strict environment and the imposed value systems the Nest and team gave them, the Ravens crumple. They seem to feel they can't go back (I suspect that whether ‘back’ means back to their old lives or back to the Nest is different for every Raven), and that death is their better option. Ravens don’t seem to be meant to survive outside the Nest. It is designed to be all consuming. Jean doesn’t know who he is if he isn’t a Raven, if he isn’t perfect court, if he isn’t ‘3’ anymore. To live again, he has to leave the perfect court and its poison behind. He has to learn himself again, to rebuild and repair and create out of nothing. 

Neil says it about Grayson, that he could have chosen to walk away from Riko’s poisoned legacy, but it applies to all Ravens. To survive, to live a life worth living, they have to chose to fight their way out of that kind of thinking. Taking the tattoo off feels like him choosing to leave the Nest behind. Jean taking it off represents him shedding that entire ideology. No three, no expectation, just him and whoever he wants to be. 

In short, the toxicity that the perfect court represented killed Riko with its symbol still on his face. 

The Moriyama’s never really owned Neil, and they weren’t who he had to overcome. The tattoo was never going to be around long. 

Kevin was held back from his birthright. His potential was conditional, and there was a leash on him. He needed to reclaim the game that would always be his, mark himself in his own image. 

Jean needs to see himself as a person beyond his place on the court. He needs to walk away from the perfect court ideology and reclaim himself, with no one’s mark on him. 

[rebelliousstories]

Seasons Greetings

25 Days of Ficmas

Relationship: Remy LeBeau/Gambit x Reader

Fandom: X-Men

Request: No

Warnings: Fluff

Word Count: 1,078

Main Masterlist: Here

X-Men Masterlist: Here

Summary: Being so far away from home at the holidays, it was not something that most people could do. But leave it to a Cajun in love with another Cajun to bring home to him.

Consider Donating: Here

“Remy, ya ‘round ‘ere somewhere?” Poking her head into another room in the mansion, the woman was on the hunt. Looking around for her lover, she was trying to locate him so that he could come have some dinner.

“Remy, where ya at?” She called again, dipping into a random study. Finally, the familiar head of hair sitting against the windowsill. Sighing in relief, she was not sure whether or not she had gotten his attention, but came over to sit next to him.

Wrapping her arms around Gambit, she pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Whatcha doin’ up here, mon amour?”

“Just thinkin’, chere. Dats all.” Remy grumbled, keeping his eyes outside on the snowy ground below. He pressed a kiss to her warmed hand in return.

“Gon’ need more den dat, Remy. Ya been upset for da past few days. Tell me what’s wrong,” she tried to prompt him onto speaking more.

“Well, I just… guess da Gambit is feelin’ bit homesick, or- or like, nostalgic tonight ‘s all.” Muttering into the sweater the covered her arms, he tried to almost disappeared into the soft wool.

“Oh, Remy,” she cooed, nuzzling into the side of his head. “Whatcha thinkin’ ‘bout dat’s got you feelin’ so down?”

He took a minute to answer, looking very hesitant to say what it was. “‘Member dem bonfires up and da road on Christmas Eve? I miss those da most.”

“Maybe we should show these Yankees what a proper Cajun Christmas looks like, yeah?” She shook the other Cajun slightly, looking deep into his eyes. There was a twinkle there that had not been there before as he got excited at the prospect.

“It’s snowin’, but dat jus’ means dat de ground no set ablaze.” Her smiled widened as Remy was getting into the spirit again.

Rushing to throw on the proper outside attire, she barely managed to get her coat on when she was being pulled out the door by her boyfriend. Giggling, they set out together to gather enough dry wood and sticks to build their little fires. It was a little difficult with the snow, but they made it work.

Once they gathered enough to make one, now the real fun began. The more wood they gathered became different shapes and creations. Remy managed to find just enough to turn into a log cabin looking thing, while she attempted to make one that looked like an alligator. All the while, they kept laughing, and smiling. Reminiscing about their childhood Christmas’s.

“What are you two doing?” A sudden voice came through as they were building a fleur-de-lis. Ororo stood there, white hair nearly blending in with the snowy background.

“Cajun Christmas, Storm.” The woman beamed, adding small twigs where she could.

“And what do you do with these wooden structures?” Noticing just how many there were around the front yard of the school, Storm was utterly confused as to what these two crazy Cajuns were going to do.

“We light ‘em up.” Remy stated.

“That checks.” Storm shrugged. “Want an extra hand?”

And just like that, now three people were working on building. Ororo was intrigued as the two southerners explained to her why they did what they did. “In Cajun country, these bonfires light the way for Christmas mass. Dey serve gumbo, and make sure people reach church before Pére Nöel reaches der houses. We must put up a hundred o’ these before Christmas Eve.”

“Yeah. And Pére Nöel to us Cajuns don’t come in a sled wit’ da reindeer. He come wit’ a pirouge pulled by gators. Dis why Cajuns da best.” She added to her boyfriend’s explanation.

The stories from their childhood around these bonfires demonstrated clearly just how much this tradition meant to them. She also noticed that Gambit was in a much better mood than he had been recently. Perhaps this is what he needed; a little taste of home.

What the three did not know was that they were slowly accumulating an audience. Students watched from the windows, or they made their way to sit on the front porch of the school. The other adults were also finding ways to watch what the three were doing. Only when they began lighting them up, did they realize what had happened. Oohs and aahs sounded off, making them look over to the front of the school.

However, one person that did not understand what was going on was Charles. As he rode through the school, he became more and more confused as he could not find a single student nor teacher. That is, until he felt the culmination of all of their thoughts out front. Wheeling closer, he panicked a bit as he saw the flames but calmed down when he actually made it outside. With a smile, the professor found a spot to sit and watch the display of beautiful flames, and enjoy the warmth they provided.

Lighting the last structure, Remy grabbed his girlfriend’s hand and pulled her up to where the students and teachers sat. He sent a smile to Xavier, who winked a him in return. Storm went over to stand with Rogue and Wolverine who watched with rapt attention.

“This makin’ ya feel bettah, Remy?” She asked, leaning her head back onto his chest while she sat in front.

“Yes, it is, chere. Merci beaucoup.” Gambit pressed a kiss to her neck, and watched as the flames danced higher and higher. The chill of Christmas was gone, and he knew it was not about the temperature outside.

The fires went out a few hours later, but they continued watching until the wooden structures had been reduced to cinders. Only then, did everyone begin making their way in.

“Gambit,” Storm called, “thank you for letting me help you both. That was a lot of fun. Perhaps we can do it tomorrow for actual Christmas and you two can make some gumbo?” She left to go back into the warmth of the school before her after that.

However, the couple was stopped by Charles before they made their way in. “That was wonderful, you two. Next time, let me know first. I almost panicked when I saw the smoke rising.”

The couple looked at each other with matching smirks. Stepping forward, she rested her hand on the professor’s chair to lead them all inside. “Tell me, Charles. You ever had proper gumbo?”

Oh yeah. Remy was definitely in love with this woman.

[phantomandknight]

What are you? Like are you spirits or humans or what?

Malevolent spirits are spirits that fall into insanity after years of wandering the mortal realm they used to belong to. Confused and enraged, they destroy and devour all souls in their path, searching for a way to quell the resentment they hold for their predicaments.

It is the job of the guardian to grant these souls the eternal peace that they deserve.

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

PLEASE READ!!!

before i say anything else, there's a little announcement/notice i have: i try to update this blog as much as i can (daily if possible) but since life and other shenanigans can take a lot of time as well, i think i'll be switching my schedule from here on out. from now on this blog will update twice per week (at least), on wednesdays and on saturdays. i'll try to update more if i can, but life gets a little busy so i can't promise much else :,D i do more updates and WIP stuff on the discord server, so if ur interested in seeing those or just talking with me n a few other friends, feel free to hop on in ^^

now that that's out of the way, there's a few things i wanna say here (or u can just scroll to see the alt versions of the drawing as per usual lol)

first of all, just to clarify: spirits are much like ghosts in this story. they are the souls of living beings that have died, but still wander on earth. that existence separate from the living is the "afterlife" in this world. i'll expand more on this in the future.

i'm trying to experiment with voyager's design again, and i think it turned out quite well in this one! i'll still try improve more, since there's a few things i'm still not quite happy with, but im happy with this one!

version without text:

also, version without the malevolent at the front because i want to show off the fleur de lis sword XD

(i have an explanation for the weapon thing that voyager's holding here but im lazy to type it out... i'll figure it out and i'll talk about an updated version of it in a future post probably ^^)

[toyybox]

Spiderwebs #48: Rust

Masterlist

content: bludgeoning, gore, murder

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

It was so cold. All over, Jackie felt numb. His head was ringing. It was a high-pitched whine, like the keening of a machine. He was aware, vaguely, of a voice, of rushing water, but it was all so far away. All the world was one step removed. It was a strange dream, but any dream was welcome. Any escape from reality, from concrete walls and floors.

Water splashed over his face. He spluttered and gasped. His eyes snapped open.

White ceramic and the scent of citrus, the light bright enough to make him squint—he recognized this place. It was the inside of Heather’s bathroom. That meant…

I’m out. Out of the basement. He could have wept at that thought. Oh God. Oh my God… 

“Finally. You’re awake. Stop gaping like a fish and look at me.”

And he would recognize that curt, cold tone anywhere. Heather! Although terror ran incessant claws up his insides, he was happy to see her. Unreasonably happy, to the point his chest ached. He could have died at that sight. Perhaps he would. She didn’t seem too pleased.

He looked up at Heather, to where she was standing.

“Sit up,” she said.

With another shiver, he sat up. Water dripped down his sleeves—water? He was in the bathtub. What a strange sort of baptism. He was waist-deep in freezing water. The shower curtain hung down at his left, creased up on the metal rod, the sheets plastic and pale gray. 

 “What—�� He shifted, which made the water splash. “Why are we here?”

“You'll see.” She then patted his damp, dripping hair. “Sit tight. Don’t move. Understood?”

He nodded. 

"Good." She walked away, out the bathroom door. It shut behind her. Silence followed.

Jackie took this moment to study his surroundings. The tap was still running. He shut it off, though it took a great deal of effort. By now, the tub was just over half-full. 

Cold water. To wake me up, I guess. Jackie had fainted, hadn’t he? That was the last thing he remembered: his vision going white, and the pale certainty that he would pay for his exhaustion. 

Above him, he saw the shower head. In front of him, to the right, he saw the sink and cabinet-mirror. And so much light. Once, he believed nothing could replace sunshine in his heart, but now he was grateful for any method of sight. It was so dark in the basement. The lights had quickly burnt out. For the first time in weeks, even months, he could see his hands. His palms, his arms. The curls falling over his eyes. The damp gray-white of his shirt. Colors and shapes. 

The door opened with a whine. He lifted his head. 

Before he saw the rusty length of pipe, he heard the sound of grating metal. It dragged against the smooth floor. Scraping against it. He shivered again. 

Heather stood above him, poised with the pipe. “Get ready.”

He could not take his eyes off the rusting metal. His voice was painfully small. “Ready? For what?”

She just reared the pipe back. Up above her head. Aimed at him.

Even in his current state, Jackie knew that it was a lost cause. She had lost it. It, that undefinable variable that kept everyone glued together. His brief defiance had been the last straw—or this was simply an inevitable thing running its course, a spinning spool of thread well on its way to unraveling.

But none of those pretty words would save Jackie now. He stared, past the pipe, at the tiles behind it. There was a design, fleur-de-lis and ferns in a blue accent. He tried to focus on that instead. It would all be over soon. 

She took a step forward.

He held his breath.

“Jackie?”

He didn’t reply. Just focused on his breathing, on the blue design, anything but Heather.

“Look up,” she said. 

And there—just above his head, just barely above him—there was a sharp crack, as the pipe slammed down on the wall. A sound louder than any gun, that split the air in half. 

Jackie flinched. Now his stare was on the pipe. He couldn’t help it. Right above him, copper-red splotches on silver. There was a crack in the wall, a starburst across the ceramic. That could have been his skull. He was shaking badly.

“I should kill you,” Heather said, in between heavy breaths. “I should. I should give you a proper punishment. Something you'll remember."

The pipe lifted, then slammed down, fracturing another tile. The sound of crashing metal was closer than before. A shard of ceramic fell into the water. Jackie shut his eyes and let his nerves wind down, trying to get his heart to stop stuttering, keeping as still as he could. He felt such a wild, sharp fear that it was nearly enough to make him faint again.

"I should do it. Maybe I will. Maybe." There was a long pause. Her breathing slowed, slightly. "I suppose it doesn't matter. Right, Jackie? I know you still don't understand what I'm telling you. You never learn."

The pipe didn't land again. Carefully, he opened his eyes, and saw it motionless by Heather's side.

"I'm giving you another chance," she said. "We can move on and pretend none of this ever happened.”

He nodded quickly.

“Fine. That's enough. Now—”

They both looked towards the door. A cane tapped against the tiles.

Even Heather seemed to be caught off-guard.  “Callaghan?”

Yes, it was professor Callaghan—or doctor Callaghan, if you wanted to be perfectly accurate—in the doorway, still professionally dressed. There was an air of remarkable calmness about him. His expression was simply bewildered, nothing more. 

“Miss Rodriguez,” said the professor with pleasant serenity, as if she wasn’t holding a heavy metal pipe. “Are you alright? You haven’t answered my calls—or anyone’s calls, in fact—for several months. It was good that you left that window open. I was starting to think that something unfortunate had happened.”

“N—no, I'm fine, professor." Her expression was blank, however.

Callaghan frowned, this time. “Miss Rodriguez, I must insist you put that…” He glanced at the pipe and finally noticed it was there. “That piece of metal down. There are more dignified methods, I’m sure.”

“Methods? For what?”

He scrutinized Jackie, who stared back. “I assume you wish to dispose of him?”

“Who? Jackie?” Her voice was more than just startled. Urgency was seeping into it. “No, it’s not like that at all.”

“Miss Rodri—”

“Please. Just leave.”

“Heather, it’s alright. I’m here to help you. You’re in ill health. Sit down. And if this is really such a pressing matter, I would recommend using a firearm, if not the anesthetic we discussed. I don’t understand how this is safe or hygienic.”

She raised the pipe once more. “A gun? That’s it?” 

Callaghan nodded.

Jackie tensed. He pulled himself further away, sinking deeper into the water. 

Heather reared her weapon.

Then the pipe swung in the other direction, away from Jackie. The sound of metal against flesh split the air.

Professor Callaghan dropped to the ground. His body thudded against the tiles. It was a low, soft sound, heavy and damp on top of the solidly smooth floor. It was an unnatural sound. It didn’t feel right. Something snapped—he heard it, quietly, like a twig, like cartilage.

They waited. The seconds dragged on. The professor did not move. 

“You killed him,” Jackie whispered.

“Quiet.” She stepped back. “He’s not dead.”

No, he was definitely dead. The professor’s skull was cleaved in two. There was a great crater of split-cherry red in between. The one eye that wasn’t crushed to jelly looked sightlessly to the floor. His jaw hung limp and open. There was blood everywhere. On the ground, on the pipe, splattered on her face, smeared against the tub’s edge. Dripping down from Heather’s hands in thick clumps. 

Jackie whimpered, his stare fixed on the professor, and sank even deeper into the bathtub. 

It happened so quickly. Callaghan’s shoulder was flush to the tub, his mangled head just inches away. There was a wet mass that might have been his brain. Some of it had splattered against the tiles, pink and soft. 

Heather dropped the pipe. It banged on the floor, then rolled under a cabinet, leaving a spotted trail. Although the sound gave Jackie a start, the professor did not react to it. Perhaps Heather was hoping he would.

Still, she waited a few more minutes before turning away from his body, her eyes vacant all the while.

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Taglist:

@theelvishcowgirl @lthrboy @whumpy-wyrms

@yassifiedinformation @creppersfunpalooza

@vidawhump @dont-look-me-in-the-eye @inkwell-and-dagger

[jumpywhumpywriter]

Villains and Vampires part 2

Warnings: missing person, robbing of hospitals

Hero hadn't been able to contact Villain ever since they parted ways. She'd tried, repeatedly, but Villain was just gone. Off the map entirely. He'd disappeared, and Hero hadn't seen or heard from him since. It worried her deeply. Because what if Supervillain was doing all sort of cruel, awful things to Villain while he served his time? What if Villain was suffering and in excruciating pain, and Hero had no idea?

But Hero couldn't find him. She'd tracked down every lead, gone down dozens of rabbit holes and torn apart every corner of the city. She visited Villain's coffee shop every single day, hoping maybe he'd return, but the counters were collecting dust, and Villain, nor his cat Mocha, came back. They'd vanished into thin air.

Three months. That's how long Villain would be enslaved to Supervillain, subject to his every whim. Three months could be of torture, crime, or whatever else Supervillain would do to him.

It was the not knowing what happened that was driving Hero insane. Villain had said he didn't want her getting involved in this as he paid his debt in blood and labor, but she hadn't expected him to cut contact with her completely!

Hero groaned, resting her arms and forehead on the cold marble counter of the bar. Why was it so hard to let go?! Villain had made a sacrifice, and now he was merely paying the price for it. It was his choice. It had nothing to do with her.

...So why did she feel so guilty inside?

Because you could have done more to save him, a nasty voice whispered in the back of her mind. If you'd seen through Superhero's lies sooner, Villain would have never been injured bad enough to be forced into a devil's bargain with Supervillain just to be healed...

She shook her head, breath hitching as she shut down the dark thoughts one by one.

It was Superhero's fault, not mine, she told herself firmly. Superhero had invaded her mind, forced her to be his puppet. She was a pawn in his cruel, cruel game.

But I still could have tried harder to break free from his control--

Her thoughts were interrupted when her phone buzzed, and she pulled it out of her pocket with a weary sigh. Then her blood froze. It was a text from one of the other heroes at Agency. A break in at the hospital, of all places, but the message was filled with urgency. Apparently it was one of the stronger villains on scene -- people were being hurt and the police couldn't handle it on their own -- so Hero was being sent off to take care of it and hopefully prevent any casualties, assuming no one had died yet.

She'd re-joined the Agency after Superhero died to continue saving lives, now that she and all the other heroes were free from his corrupt influence. She'd quickly climbed the ranks to be one of the best heroes in the Agency, and everyone looked to her for guidance now.

I'm on my way, Hero texted back, and pocketed her phone, turning toward the door to leave.

The air smelled like stale coffee that hadn't been poured in ages, and it made her feel a wistful sense of nostalgia. Then the feeling was gone, as she focused her attention on the new mission: head to the hospital, fight the bad guy, go home and nap. Simple, right?

⏪️ Back Next ⏩️

Masterlist

@scoundrelwithboba @lumpofsand @isikedmyself878 @iamheretohurt @fleur-a-whump

@ay5ksal @otterfrost @sausages-things @togzy @whump-till-ya-jump

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@floral-comet-whump @nevermore-ramblings @mj-or-say10 @morning-star-whump