#Support she's not giving back & seemingly never considered he might ever need as well beyond a little sentence and cute nickname from her

[familyagrestefanblog]

Jep, this is basically it.

A+ additional tags 👏👏

ML Hot Take

Chat noir is hiding just as much from Ladybug as she is from him, and they are both doing it just so the other is kept safe and unburdened because they both have a flawed understanding of the other, which leaves them both at fault for the ladynoir fall out.

[writing-in-april]

Converging Parallels

Spencer Reid x Female Single Mom Reader (Spencer’s POV)

Summary: Spencer goes to a support group Penelope suggested after the death of Maeve. He quickly connects with a single mom who’s experiences have been similar to Spencer’s.

A/N: I’m prefacing this by saying I know shit about math and am horrible at it lol 😂 so my math analogies might be horribly off 😂 This is my fifth fic for my 30 fics in 30 days for April- this one was requested by @samuel-de-champagne-problems- this is the request- (go check out there fics too!!) I tweaked it a little bit so I hope you enjoy it 🥺 a lot of it is confined to Spencer grappling with his thoughts- but there is dialogue I promise lol 😂I had a good time writing it ☺️Thanks for all the love recently and if you want to drop me an ask for any reason you can do so here- I’m always looking for some new friends on here (I promise I don’t bite lol) Thanks again and hope y’all enjoy 🥰

Warnings: Angst with a hopeful ending, General dealings surrounding death and grief, Mentions of Maeve’s death, Reader’s a widow, Guilt about moving on, Reader’s child is a daughter

Main Masterlist Word Count: 1.6k

Parallel lines were never supposed to meet, they were set on a strict path following in a similar direction with no hope of ever converging. At least that’s what was the widely accepted definition by anyone with any authority in the field of mathematics.

My own math degree was being contested by a set of two lines set on a collision course with each other, though they were not supposed to. Logically I knew that the two lines were not beholden to any mathematical equation as I was referring to two human lives.

We were set on a similar course, only slight differences that seemingly were leading us to different destinations, or at least I tried to convince myself that. I tried every night to convince myself that she was only a friend, that it wasn’t what she wanted and I was desecrating the memory of the person I still claimed to be the only person I loved.

Logically I knew that by forcing where I wanted our relationship to go, what I thought the universe wanted to happen wasn’t what I truly wanted. The reason I had boxed us in so vehemently was only because I was scared and guilty, I knew it too. I wanted us to converge, but logic doesn’t always win out when dealing with guilt.

It had all started with Garcia mentioning that I should consider going to a grief support group after the death of Maeve. Every action I took was being weighed down by her death, whether I cared to admit it or not.

Garcia had good intentions when she suggested going to this meeting to me, of that I was sure. It isn’t that I saw no reason to go to the support group, I just knew that it would dreg up all the unwanted feelings that bombarded me enough already.

The flier in my hands felt heavy even though it was made of paper it weighed my hands down enough where I almost dropped it. I could have let it go then to have it fly away, being taken by the wind, that would let me forget about it. But, I knew it would have only made me forget for a short while, I’d inevitably get questions from Garcia and my own mind wouldn’t let me forget the reality of what had happened. And, logically I knew that it would most likely help. So instead of letting the wind take it away, I crumpled the paper slightly in my hands out of frustration, moving my feet forward one step at a time to enter the building.

That’s where I had first met her. When I first walked in I didn’t immediately lock eyes with her or anything, my eyes were too fixated on the ground for that to happen.

I only noticed her when she was invited to tell her story. Her strength instantly captivated me, almost making me feel like a failure at first. Her story of how she lost her husband was eerily similar in some aspects, especially the cause of his death. The feeling of failure on my part to be strong swirled in my gut as she recounted her struggles that were so starkly similar to mine. She even had a young daughter to take care of as well, she often spoke of her whenever she told her story, almost neglecting herself sometimes- which she admitted she knew she needed to work on.

However, when she came up to me to talk after the meeting was concluded my opinion switched to view her as inspiring. We began getting coffee after each meeting, sometimes talking for hours, sometimes sitting in silence. Whatever I needed she was there to give it to me, whenever she needed help I wanted to be there too.

To see our almost parallel lives begin to converge at first felt like someone had driven a car into traffic about to collide straight into my path. My mind would not stop arguing about whether or not I should pull away from her or not, like guilt was on shoulder and my potential happiness was on the other.

—-

Guilt was eating away at me from the inside out slowly, that part of my mind would not stop clawing away any good aspect of my relationship with Y/N. The relationship between us had shifted in recent weeks, tension invading what had once been a simply platonic connection formed through our shared experiences. When it became clear to me what our lingering stares and touches were leading to, guilt had reared its ugly head to burrow its way down deep and take root.

It had disrupted my sleep even more than usual, nightmares ranging from Maeve guilting me to the visuals of her death. The images of Maeve and any time I had shared with her invaded my brain at all hours of the night, haunting me. I scrunched my eyes up tight, maybe that would banish the images from my brain. That only made the guilt worse it seemed as I now felt double the guilt for wanting to banish the thoughts about a person I still claimed to love.

My hand hit the pillow in frustration, then grabbing it and throwing it to some unknown location across the room. Sitting up, no longer being able to tolerate laying down knowing that sleep would never come, made my exhausted joints beg me to lay back down. I leaned forward to put my head in my hands, also tangling my curls with my fingers. I tried to think about what Y/N had said to me at one of the first meetings I had attended, my normally impeccable memory struggled as the memory of Maeve’s bloodied face would not leave. Screaming internally was the only thing that seemed to work to push the words I was looking for forward,

“I try to think about something my therapist told me- Although it's difficult today to see beyond the sorrow, May looking back in memory help comfort you tomorrow.”

The quote wasn’t something groundbreaking or new, though the origins were unknown. But, the words still struck me deep everytime I forced my memory to call back on them.

The words she had spoken in the meeting when talking about her husband made me want to try too. She inspired me whenever she told snippets of her story to me or the rest of the group, her story had been similar to mine- with the added element of having a daughter to raise on her own.

Her strength was what had drawn me to her initially, like a moth to flame. Our relationship wasn’t even a friendship at first, just two people sharing advice (more her giving it to me) about how to deal with crippling grief.

What had blossomed since then from death and decay had thrown me for a loop. I hadn’t been expecting for this to happen, I never even thought romance would be an option for me again. I thought that I would have one great love and that our time in the sun had ended along with any option for romantic interests in the future.

Then she came along and spun my thinking upside down, not that I blamed her at all for it. She originally had just reached out to help me, not to pursue any romantic connection purposefully while I was vulnerable.

She continued to stay with me to help despite my urge to push her away even though that’s not what I wanted. I tried hard to convince myself that our lives were never meant to connect, that we were destined to remain apart.

It took many more sleepless nights for me to realize what I hadn’t seen for so long, even with Y/N reassuring me at every turn. Maeve would want me to be happy, I was sure of it. So I’d try to let myself, no longer letting myself get hindered by my own swirling thoughts of guilt that Maeve wouldn’t have wanted me to feel.

—-

Asking her out on a date had been surprisingly easy once I had let go a little of my guilt. We had chosen to go somewhere different than a coffee shop, since we already did that often. I took her out to more of an upscale restaurant than she was used to, which may be too fancy for some for a first date, but she deserved it. She worked so hard to take care of her daughter and even me to some extent.

At the end of the night we were both standing outside her door ready to go in to relieve the babysitter for the night. I had already given her a chaste kiss for the night, even though my nerves kept trying to talk me out of it. I was about to say goodbye when she grabbed my wrist to hold in her hands. She looked afraid at first, almost like she wondered if I wouldn’t like her touching me. Touch may bother me with most people, but she wasn’t most people, I’d happily share germs with her. When I did not pull away relief was evident in her eyes, then taking a big breath before speaking,

“Would you like to meet my daughter?” Her voice was shaky, understandably full of worry.

“Of course.” In the past hesitation would have littered my voice if she had asked me the same question. But, my thoughts had been slowly shifting to want our lines to converge fully and with no fear. Sure, Maeve would always capture a place in my heart, but I was ready for our lives to collide. Our parallel lives converged into one line, with a set path forward. It may get derailed from its intended path, but we would be stronger together than apart.

Ask me anything

—-

Tag lists (message me if you want to be added):

All works: @shotarosleftpinky @oreogutz @90spumkin @kyra-morningstar @s1utformgg @takeyourleap-of-faith (damn tumblr just let me tag them)

All MGG characters: @muffin-cup @willowrose99

Spencer Reid/CM: @calm-and-doctor @destiny-tsukino @safertokiss @slutforthegubes @onlyhereforthefanfics @jareauswifey

[eelistolvanen]

Bruises that you left behind - Travis Konecny

A/N: Soo, I recently came up with the idea for this fic. It’s nowhere near finished but I figured I’d post the first part. Let me know if you like it and want more :) 

Words: 3k

Warnings: Angst, heartbreak, no proofread  

Summary: Two years after getting your heart broken by the love of your life, you run into someone from your past life. And you have to face the fact that you can’t run away forever but have to face your past and everything that shattered you. (I know this is vague but I don’t want to spoiler this...)

Italics indicate flashbacks.

_______________________________

Hannah peaked her head trough the door. “Y/N! You’re still here? Shouldn’t you be at home by now?” She send a confused look. Y/N gave her a soft smile. “I’m just finishing up something, Han. One of my students is a little behind in class and I’m trying to figure out ways to help him. And you’re still here too. ” “You’re too kind for your own good”, Hannah replied with a quiet sigh “I would be long home if it wasn’t for this parent talk I had tonight. You should go home too, it’s late.” “I will, once I finish this” you reply with a glint in your eyes. Hannah knew better than to argue with you. Everyone knew how stubborn you could be. Hannah send you a final wave. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Good night Y/N!” “Good night Han!”

You stayed for longer than you probably should have. And you were definitely feeling it the next day. Thankfully you had a free afternoon. So you did what you usually did on a Thursday afternoon. You sat in your favourite little café and were preparing for the upcoming week. While the café still screamed Philly, it was far enough out of the city to be quiet. It felt so local and intimate, nothing like the big, busy city. That’s probably the reason you loved it so much. Most costumers were locals and by now you got to know a couple familiar faces. You had been living in this part of town for about a year now. And while you were reminded of your old life every now and then – flyers jerseys being worn by the locals, banners hanging around your part of town, a familiar face in the newspaper- that life seemed far far away now.

The ringing of the doorbell ripped you out of your thoughts and let you focus back on the computer in front of you. You hadn’t gotten very far today. Somehow you head was somewhere else, definitely not focused on the task at hand. You also hadn’t noticed the man approaching you’re table. Only realising his presence as he slipped into the seat across from you.

“Y’know I knew you couldn’t hide from me forever. I couldn’t believe my eyes the other day, I thought I was dreaming, when I saw you walk out this door.” He hadn’t changed that much in the last 2 years, eyes still as pretty as ever, still wearing that cheeky little smile of his. For a moment you froze, unable to get a word out or even move a muscle. But your wall wasn’t down for long.  “What are you doing here, Nolan? This isn’t your part of town.” You cringed at your ice cold reply, but was he really expecting you to welcome him with open arms?

“Well yeah, I admit it was a fluke that I saw you the other day. I’ve been around this part of town a lot recently.”

You really didn’t care about his stories, you weren’t best friends anymore, you couldn’t even consider him a friend really. A stranger with shared memories maybe. It hurt you to pack up your things and get up to leave but you couldn’t sit here and make small talk with Nolan. You might have left that life behind but that didn’t meant that it wasn’t still haunting you. You could see the disappointed look on Nolan’s face once he realised what you were doing. But he didn’t stop you. Of course, he didn’t. Sweet, loving Nolan, he never met you with anything other than kindness. But here you were,  walking out on him again.

“You know, I don’t remember us breaking up too, Y/N.” The sadness in his voice was unmistakable.

“Leave it, Nols!” you muttered just as your voice cracked. Tears sprang into your eyes as you left the café in a hurry.

_______________________

The bar was beyond crowded. It was a Friday night and if it were up to you, you’d  be curled up on the couch with a glass of red wine. But somehow Hannah and some of your other friends managed to drag you out of your house. Now you were squeezed into a booth, somewhat tipsy, and were listening to your friend Liz complain about some guy. To be honest you were actually enjoying yourself. A night out with your friends was exactly what you needed right now. Hannah looked up behind you, as you felt someone approaching your booth.

“Hey Kelsey, how is it going?” Hannah asked with a smile on her face. You vaguely remember the brunette approaching your table as one of Hannah’s neighbours. You’d seen her around but never really held a conversation with her. “Hey Hannah, hey girls! I’m just dropping this drink off.” She replied as she placed a tall glass in front of you. She gave you a gentle smile. “Nolan said it is your favourite.” It was a Long Island Ice Tea and it used to be your favourite. Not anymore. You accepted it anyway.

“He’s here?” you replied probably a bit to sharp as Kelsey slightly winced. She nodded her head towards the bar. You turned around and looked straight into Nolan’s eyes. As if burned you flinched and turned back around just as quickly. Kelsey gave one last wave before turning towards the bar.

The rest of the night was torture. You wanted nothing more than to get out of the bar and go home. Just as you were leaving the bar, seemingly escaping any other run in with the past, you felt his presence behind you. As soon as you were outside he spoke up.

“Give me a chance, Y/N. I know you’re angry and mad and hurt, but I don’t deserve this. Not this silent, cold shoulder treatment.” You knew he was right. He’d never done anything to you. He let you cry onto his shoulder when your heart broke. When he broke you. Nolan was nothing but supportive, the greatest best friend any one could ask for. And then you walked out of his life, without as much as a goodbye.

You turned around, tears in your eyes. God, it hurt to see him like this. So full of sorrow, so hurt. “I can’t Nolan. I’m so sorry.” With that your voice broke and you turned around and did the only thing you knew. You ran away. Again.

________________________

It was Sunday morning, almost lunchtime as you dragged yourself out of bed. You still hadn’t recovered from this week, let alone from everything that happened the Friday prior. Not feeling like making breakfast you decided you treat yourself to brunch at the café.

The doorbell rang as you entered and you were so hungry you took a beeline straight to the counter. As you ordered your food and paid, you started walking towards your usual table. Only to find it occupied.

“Y/N! Come sit down, we need to talk.” You took a deep breath to steady yourself. “Just let it be, Nolan. There’s nothing to talk about.” But before you were able to fully turn around and find another way out of this, he’d already grabbed your wrists and pulled you towards the table. You let yourself fall into the booth defeated.

“I don’t wanna talk about it, Nolan.” You could hear him sight audibly. “Fine, then we’ll talk about something else.” You looked up at him and realised it wasn’t worth fighting him. So you decided to take the lead, at least this gave you the chance to dictate the conversation.

“Soo, you and Kelsey, huh? Are you like together?” You internally cringed at you passive tone. Nolan’s face lit up. “Yeah, she’s great you know. I feel like she could be the one.” Your mood started to lighten up. “That’s good. I’m happy for you Nolan, I really am. I know how much you wanted to meet someone special. The one, huh?” He chuckled lightly. You really were happy for him, if someone deserved all the good things it was Nolan. “When I met her, I just kinda knew, you know?” You stayed silent. Oh, you knew. You knew what it felt like to meet the one. Nolan quickly identified the look of sadness on your face. “I mean, yeah… She means a lot to me.” You gave him a thankful smile. He knew you didn’t want to talk about him. He reached across the table and took your hand in his.

“I just… Y/N, you were my best friend, you still are. Don’t push me away. I know your hurting but I’m your friend.”  You knew this was coming. But you still wished you could run away from it. But you couldn’t. Not this time. Nolan didn’t deserve this. “You’re also his friend!” you tried to keep your emotions at bay but it just flowed over. “That’s not fair and you know that. I didn’t just lose one friend that day. I lost two. My two best friends.” His voice cracked and he turned his head to the side so you wouldn’t see his watery eyes. You felt a sudden lump in your throat. You never thought about how he felt. God, you were so selfish. “I’m so sorry Nolan. I was a shitty friend.” He gave you a sad smile. “No, I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve what happened. I get why you left. Why you ran away. Get away from it all, let the dust settle, start again. I just always thought that I’d hear from you. Maybe that you would come back even. But I got nothing. No call, no text, nothing. I had to call your sister to know you’re still alive but that was all I got.” You were crying silent tears now, slowly you stood up and moved over to hug him. “God, I’m so sorry Nols. I wanted to, I just couldn’t. I needed to restart my life. And you were such a big part of the life I used to have, I just didn’t think I could handle the pain.” He squeezed your shoulders. “Just promise me not to run from me again. Don’t shut me out, you weren’t the only one hurting.”

 That evening you were standing in front of your drawer. It seemed like it took you hours to muster up courage to open it. You hadn’t touched it since you moved in. And you hadn’t touched it’s content in over 2 years. Slowly you pulled it open. A wave of emotions crushed over you. All the memories kept flooding back. In this drawer was all the stuff you weren’t able to throw away. You just couldn’t bring yourself to it. All your memories of your life back then. Your hand moved over it’s content. Until it landed on the little velvet box. You took it out and opened it. Instantly tears started to fill your eyes as the memory came flooding back, knocking you over.

“Y/N, you’re the most important thing in my life, you’re my best decision, my greatest friend and adventure. You’re the love of my life.” Slowly Travis took a knee in front of you and pulled a little velvet box out of his pocket. “I love you so much, Y/N! Will you marry me?” with that he opened the little boy and revealed the most perfect engagement ring. You couldn’t contain your excitement, nearly knocking him over as you tried to kiss him. “Yes, yes, I will marry you!” Thankfully he caught you and lifted you up, kissing you. As he slipped the ring on your finger he softly muttered “I can’t wait to marry you, Mrs. Konecny!”

 _________________  

The following week was thankfully less stressful. On Thursday, when you had you’re afternoon off, Nolan just so happened to have an off day. He was currently sprawled out on your couch, taking in his surroundings. “I like your place, it’s nice. When did you move in?”

You froze. Your hand was hovering above the water bottle you were  trying to grab out of the fridge. You knew you had to tell him the truth. And you also knew he wasn’t going to like it.

“A bit over a year ago.” You grabbed the water bottle and turned towards Nolan, just as you heard him suck in a deep breath. When you looked at him you could see the tension that had risen up.

“A year ago? A year, Y/N?! You’ve been back in Philly for an entire year and you couldn’t even send a text that you’re back?”

God, you hated to disappoint him like that. You knew it was wrong to not reach out to him, he’d done nothing wrong. Still, you didn’t feel strong enough to let someone from your past life back into your new life. You felt like this was the only way to move on.

Before you could reply something, he continued.

“So when were you going to reach out Y/N? I mean eventually you would-“ He paused, studying your face. Of course he would be able to read you like an open book.

“You weren’t.” The utter disappointment in his voice nearly took your breath away.

“No.” Your voice was so quiet, you weren’t he even heard you. He didn’t need to, he already knew the answer. In one swift motion Nolan rose to his feet, taking a few steps towards the windowfront of your apartment. He dragged his hands through his long hair a couple of times before turning back to you.

“Why? I was your best friend Y/N. Why?”

“I already told you Nolan, I couldn’t.” You barely got those words out before Nolan spoke up again.

“But why? I get that you needed time away, that you needed to restart and I also wouldn’t have blamed you if you never returned to Philly. But I just never thought you would cut all ties with me. I always thought our friendship would survive this, that one day at least the two of us would be back to normal.”

You didn’t know how to start. How could you let him down easy with this. How could you tell your best friend that you planned on never seeing him again. Slowly you sat down on the couch and waited for Nolan to join you.

“You have to know I never meant for this to happen. I never wanted to leave you without saying something but I was in so much pain, so angry and hurt I wasn’t functioning properly. And at first I wanted to call you, reach out to you. But I just thought that I needed to have some time by myself for a while. And the longer it took the harder it got. I felt like I had to completely leave this life behind, so I could move on, so that it would hurt less.” Tears were rolling down your cheeks and your vision had started to get blurry. Everything that you had buried deep down was starting to resurface.

“I’m sorry Nolan. But I just felt like I had to leave this life behind me. Everything from this life, him, you, the team, my friends that I’d made here. You were such a big part of my life then, I couldn’t think about you without being reminded of him. So I realized I had to let it go. All of it. Even my best friend.”

You body was shaking with sobs now. Nolan pulled you into his chest, keeping you close. One hand soothingly stroking your hair.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry you had to be collateral damage, Nolan.” You mumbled into his chest, sobs still raking your body.        

You stayed like this for a while. Nolan stayed silent, letting you cry into his chest. It took ages till you felt yourself calm. You had let everything out. Of course you had cried before but not like this. The last time you’d been crying like that was a bit over 2 years ago while Nolan held you close and whispered countless “It’s going to be okay” into your hair. I hadn’t helped though. His words empty promises, that the both of you knew weren’t true. In that moment, 2 years ago, your heart truly shattered. And no matter how hard Nolan tried, there was nothing he could do to fix it. To late, the damage had already been done, just a few hours prior.

 “Gosh, you look so beautiful Y/N!” Your sister Lauren tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “I still can’t believe this is happening, sis. You’re getting married!” You had never seen you this happy. And you’d never been this happy either. You had dreamed of such a wedding since you were little. Suddenly all your Pinterest Wedding boards had seemed to come alive. You were smiling ear to ear.

There was another knock on the door, like there had been so many others this morning, but you didn’t really realise the new presence until Nolan was approaching you. He had a weird look in his eyes and as he came closer you realised that his eyes were slightly watery. Before you could say anything he had wrapped you in a hug. You felt like he was going to squeeze you to death. As he pulled back you could see the sad smile on his face. Something was wrong.

“You look so pretty, Y/N. My beautiful best friend.” You could see that he was trying to masque his feelings but you knew him all too well. Panic set in.

“What’s wrong?” You searched his eyes for answers but he only had eyes for the ground. “Nolan, what’s wrong? Did something happen to Travis?” The blood in your veins seemed to freeze. Suddenly the room started spinning. Still no answer from Nolan. “Nolan! Please, what’s wrong with him?” Finally Nolan seemed to be ripped out of his trance. When he lifted his gaze up to look into your eyes you could see the tears running down his cheeks. “He’s fine, Y/N. He’s …” “He’s what?” you pushed. You knew from the look in his eyes that the answer was going to shatter you.

He slowly shook his head. “He’s not coming, Y/N.”

Part 2

[flowesona]

catnip - yandere! hybrid yoongi x reader

“Just stay here for me, okay Yoongi?” The hybrid nodded, even if he was still shivering slightly. He’d freaked out seeing where they were parked, crying about her adopting someone else.

His emotional reaction had tugged at (Y/N)’s heartstrings to no end. She was starting to second guess her decision, but it was the right thing to do. 

“Be back soon.” Yoongi nodded, still sniffling slightly as he curled up in the car seat, letting her climb out and close the door gently behind her.

The shelter still smelt strongly of disinfectant. He’d complained about the smell one night to her, humming about how glad he was he would never have to spend another night there. The thought of him finding out how he was wrong was heartbreaking, yet (Y/N) pushed on, right up to the reception desk where the same kind faced volunteer was typing away.

“Hi?” She spoke up timidly. The young woman glanced up, beaming.

“Ah, Miss (L/N)! Just in time! I was going to call you to ask how you two were getting along. Is Yoongi settling in alright?” 

“Well, that’s the thing. Yoongi doesn't seem to be very… comfortable.” (Y/N) posited, fidgeting slightly. “He got in a fight with one of the neighbour’s hybrids about a week ago. Left him quite injured. And I don’t want to risk such an incident recurring.”

That was the best way to describe the incident. She’d left Yoongi with her neighbour’s fellow cat hybrid whilst she had a cup of coffee and a catch up with him, only to hear a loud ruckus a few minutes later and discover the two in a serious scuffle, both ending up with serious scratches on their arms. When she’d taken Yoongi home, apologising to her neighbour profusely all the while, she interrogated him on why he did it, only to have her reprimands shrugged off as Yoongi chose instead to weep about how he felt so lonely whenever she wasn’t in the room.

That’s not to say that Yoongi was a demonic hybrid. Compared to the horror stories she’d heard from her friends about hybrids attacking their owners or destroying their homes, Yoongi was practically a saint. He provided pleasant company, always happy to curl up with her as she talked about her day or laying his head on her lap so that she would scratch behind his ears in a way that made him practically purr in delight. But the bad moments stood out more than the positive ones, and (Y/N) wasn’t sure she could cope with the irregularity of his moods.

All in all, he was nearly the perfect companion. But she didn’t want to give up her friendship with her neighbour, and the fear that she couldn’t provide enough emotional support was pushing her to help him find a new owner.

“Really? He never showed that kind of behaviour with his previous family. Are you sure it wasn’t just a simple disagreement that escalated on both sides?” The receptionist frowned, her hand resting on the computer mouse.

“There was another occasion. He attacked a human yesterday. My brother.”

Like the last time, she had no idea what happened. Her brother had just dropped by to greet her as he was in town, but when she’d gone to get him a glass of water, she heard them talking. All of a sudden she heard a yelp, as if someone was in pain, and when she returned her brother was halfway out the door. 

“Get that mutt of yours put down. He’s no good.” Was all he said before slamming the door in her face. She’d tried to pry what happened out of Yoongi, but once again he cried to her about being unloved. Rather than feeling pity for his feelings, she felt irritated beyond all else that he was refusing to take the blame for wounding her brother. 

Ultimately, to (Y/N) blood was thicker than water, which led her to the adoption center to see about relocating Yoongi.

“I see. We’ll have him assessed to see if he’s a threat to any other humans, and I’m very sorry that happened to your family. Did you bring him here with you?” The receptionist finally started to tap away at her computer, leaving (Y/N) with a bittersweet feeling.

“Yes. He’s in the car.” 

“Okay. If you want to say goodbye and bring him in here? And if you ever miss him you can always call us and we’ll tell you how he’s doing.” The young woman gave (Y/N) a kind smile. 

Each step felt like she was wading through glue. She was scared about what would happen, about how Yoongi would feel. No doubt, he wouldn’t react well to the news considering how just being in the area of his old accommodation was enough to trigger a meltdown.

“Yoongi? How are you feeling?” She slid into the driver's seat. He lifted his head briefly to meet her eyes.

“Who were you talking to?” He asked, cocking his head to one side. A seemingly innocent question sent shivers down her spine, though she wasn’t sure why. Yoongi was good, he just didn’t get along with the people around her right?

“There’s someone who wants to check up on you. You need to come inside the building with me, okay?” The little white lie hurt to say, as she held out her hand for him to take. Yoongi looked apprehensive, but when she gave him a nod of encouragement he reached out to take it.

She would miss the way his warm hand felt curled around hers. Especially when, late into the evenings when he thought she was asleep, he’d snuggle his cheek into her hand for comfort, falling asleep quickly in her hold.

Yoongi was becoming more tense as they entered, wincing at the strong smell and pressing his face into her shoulder, as he’d done a few times when there was strong thunder and lightning.

She made eye contact with the receptionist, to let her know she should get a keeper to help take him away.

“Yoongi, you’re a very good boy aren’t you?” She said softly, feeling him nod as he stayed clung to her back.

“The people here are going to take good care of you, aren’t they? I want you to stay strong for me.”

He froze.

“What do you mean? (Y/N), you’ll stay with me whilst they help me right?” Yoongi’s breathing was getting heavier, his eyes widening in terror.

(Y/N) didn’t reply, wanting nothing more than to keep lying but not having the guts to do so.

“I don’t want to stay here. Please, can’t we go home? I’m a good boy, I swear!” It was just as bad as she expected. Luckily, two of the keepers had arrived just in time.

The second Yoongi was separated from (Y/N) by another human, he became fully hysterical.

“Let go of me! No! Don’t you dare take me away from her!” He cried out, thrashing against the hold of the keepers.

“He’ll be absolutely fine, Miss. No need to worry.” One of the keepers panted, trying their best to keep the now feral Yoongi, who was hissing and scratching at them.

(Y/N) turned her back on the chaos, trying not to feel guilty as she heard the cries grow fainter and fainter. 

◦◦,`°.✽✦✽.◦.✽✦✽.°`,◦◦

By the position of the moon in the night sky, Yoongi could tell it had hit midnight. He’d spent the afternoon and most of the evening pacing his room, with the same old white walls and tiny window. He’d tried to break the glass, but his hands were no match for the triple glazed glass.

But the heartache he felt from losing (Y/N) was worse than any pain some bruised knuckles could cause. He’d been scared that he was pushing it. The first few times that he played the victim after lashing out, she seemed to forgive him. But it was her brother that had been the straw that broke the camel’s back - all Yoongi had done was try to suggest that her brother shouldn’t return to their apartment as he clearly wasn’t needed, and (Y/N)’s sibling had been completely unreasonable in rejecting the idea. But when he’d tried gaining her sympathy after the matter, she evidently didn’t believe him, thus he was dumped.

Even if he’d initially been angry at (Y/N) for leaving him, that emotion didn’t stick around for long. The sick “love” he’d developed for her triumphed anything she could ever do. He had to be by her side, to protect her from any man that might try to corrupt her - that was his new purpose in life, and there was no way he could let the pound keep him from that.

With newfound will, he slammed his body into the door of his room. The lock rattled, but didn’t budge. He slammed into it again, and then a final time to see the bolt shattering. 

Yoongi didn’t even wait to catch his breath, hurrying through the halls with nimble feet and light breath. Even in his tantrum earlier he’d been taking in the layout of the building, so he could find his way back. 

Fortunately, this paid off as he was able to get to the reception, meaning he was so close he could practically feel the warmth of (Y/N)’s bed again. Unfortunately, he was not alone. There was a security guard at the reception desk, yawning and sipping a piping cup of coffee. When he saw the escaping hybrid he reached for something on his belt only for Yoongi to pounce first, knocking him to the ground. The frustration inside Yoongi built up, this man being the sole obstacle in his journey to find (Y/N), and before he knew quite what he was doing his sharp fingernails had tore the guard’s throat out, leaving him to choke on his own blood. 

Seeing the pathetic human reaching for a phone, presumably to call the other security guard for help, Yoongi snatched it far out of reach and crushed the guard’s hand underneath his foot with a satisfying crunch. As a final gesture Yoongi spat on him, smirked, and snatched up the keys.

Once he was outside, locking the door behind him, Yoongi was elated. He just had to find a way back to his home, and even if his head was too messed up to think of the directions, his heart could guide the way. Navigating the dark city streets, ducking into corners when he saw people knowing that he could be busted at any second, all whilst racking his brains for the directions to the apartment. If only he’d left the comfort of home more often, he wouldn’t be in such a tough situation.

Finally, he started to recognise the area he was in. Even better, he was starting to pick up her scent, until finally he found himself outside of their apartment block.

He knew where he was now, and he couldn’t help but to dash up the stairs, not caring about the noise, until he found her apartment. There, after trying the doorknob only to find it locked, he rapped on the door continuously, until finally it opened for him.

He launched himself into (Y/N)’s arms upon seeing her, leading to her stumbling back in shock and ending up on the floor. Yoongi just laughed in delight.

“I’ve missed you so much, (Y/N). Never let them take me like that again, okay?”

[carvemyownpath]

@peacecraving asked:

he appeared to give pause, a slight frown deepening the furrow of his brow. “ i---don’t recall having said anything to that effect. ”

“ of course not, your highness. ”

a faint smile quirked over her lips---kind, and lenient. 

her voice was smooth, and seemingly relaxed. but, there was no amusement or condescension in her words. 

even under happier circumstances, it was seldom her inclination to badger anduin as she had once badgered his father. 

he rarely needed it. or deserved it. 

besides, having known him since he was a child---and being one of many people who’d known him since he was a child---she never wanted to make him feel ridiculed, or patronized. 

protecting him was not her only duty. she was also here to support him, and to serve him, and ultimately, to follow him down whatever path he chose. 

she would always look out for him, and guide him where she could---but she would not take him any less seriously because he was young. 

she’d known people thousands of years old who sorely lacked his wisdom. 

and there were enough people who questioned his ability to lead. himself chief among them. no doubt he would always be his own worst critic. 

varian had been the same way. 

“ i never said that you did. ”

her tone remained calm, and not especially implicative. 

she was aware that this was a tender subject---and a personal one, at that. 

they’d crossed paths in one of the corridors that branched off from the throne room, and she leaned back against the wall now---seemingly nonchalant, bracing the flat of her palm lightly against her hip. 

when she spoke again, she lifted a slender eyebrow, a hint of wryness twitching over her smile, but---it was gone by the time she finished. 

“ i’d love to flatter myself and call it intuition, but---it just so happens that I remember a thing or two from garrosh hellscream’s trial. ”

her gaze shifted over him. 

some more recent observation may have played a part as well, but there was no need to mention that. 

his life came with enough scrutiny, and putting him on the defensive wasn’t the idea she had in mind.

the opposite, actually---it just happened to concern him and another person, rather than him and herself. 

if she could broach the topic, though---well, that might be a start. 

to this day, she didn’t know exactly what had transpired between him and wrathion prior to their rather disastrous parting all those years ago---it hadn’t been her business, and she’d never pressed the issue. 

what she did know was that it had been no small thing to anduin then, and that---in some way, it was no small thing to him now. 

she also knew that he was hurting---and she didn’t want to see him push away something that he might have needed. 

she’d seen him overwhelmed, and filled with uncertainty---she’d seen him suffer many hardships---far more than he ever should have been made to. but, she’d never seen him quite like this before.

tense, restless, overanxious---she was relatively sure that she’d heard him raise his voice more in the past few weeks than throughout the entire time she’d known him.

it worried her. 

wrathion might have been good for him---if he’d allow him to get that far. 

briefly, she paused, and then her expression---while no less empathetic, grew in seriousness, and she looked up at him---eyeing him more directly.

“ ---don’t be too hard on him, anduin. i believe he’s suffered for his crimes. ”

as for where that might lead them----well, she couldn’t make that decision for him, and she didn’t want to. 

only he could decide what it all meant to him. 

after all, this was a---sensitive, matter. he’d already set aside enough of his doubts to accept wrathion’s counsel on the impending conflict. 

what remained to be resolved was likely far more personal. 

it wasn’t as though she didn’t understand his misgivings. hell---she’d considered some of them herself. she harbored some of them herself. 

but, she did want him to think---beyond where he’d been wounded, and certainly beyond anything that he believed he was supposed to feel. 

and she didn’t want him to dwell too greatly on the past. 

holding on to it and all of its inherent prejudices had a way of shackling the future---and wasting the present. 

she didn’t know wrathion all that well. but, they had spoken a handful of times now. and she did not advocate on someone’s behalf lightly. 

especially not when anduin was involved. 

things would get harder before they got easier. it was better to have someone at your side, if you could. 

as she’d recently advised shaw---on a different, but perhaps not-so-very-different matter---happiness was fleeting. 

[jasontoddiefor]

Title: death by any other name [1/6] Summary: While on a mission during his years as a Padawan, Obi-Wan escapes the tight hold of death transformed into something not quite human. In the years following, he isn’t always so lucky. Or: Five Times Obi-Wan Kenobi should have stayed dead and one time Anakin Skywalker nearly did. An: Happy birthday @bigdickobiwan! Here, take a cheesy Vampires but in space AU except I never use the term vampire.

Read on AO3

Obi-Wan’s entire apprenticeship was cursed by troubles and disasters. He stumbled from one war into another, every conflict tearing more at his soul, sending him into the healing halls far more often than his friends. He knew they eyed his situation warily, as did many Masters given his rocky start as Qui-Gon Jinn’s Padawan, but Obi-Wan didn’t feel like they had any right to interfere. They didn’t care enough to look after him when he was thirteen, angry, and hurting with nobody willing to take him on. Nothing had changed since then, except that despite his many failures, he seemed to have become worth something in their eyes. He wasn’t enough, not yet, but apparently he had more potential now that they hadn’t been able to spy before.

It only took a few near-death experiences.

Most Padawans didn’t engage in as many combat missions as Obi-Wan, but their Masters also didn’t have a penchant to favor aggressive negotiations. Or maybe they decided to listen to common sense as well as the Force and not just rely on the latter. Obi-Wan didn’t know, he was merely guessing and now it soon would be too late for him to ever learn.

He had lost too much blood, he could feel it. His life was slowly ebbing away. The pain had already disappeared completely and so had all sense in his fingertips. At least his death would be painless. He wasn’t drowning or suffocating or being tortured to death. His side had merely taken a terrible hit and he was bleeding out faster than his Master could come to save him.

He just hoped he wouldn't be causing Qui-Gon too much grief with his death. The man deserved at least one apprentice who didn’t screw up and he could see to their knighting. Obi-Wan was distinctly aware that he should be afraid of passing away like this, but all he could feel was regret.

All his missed opportunities seemed to play out in front of his inner eye, weeping. There were so many people he had wanted to talk to still, apologize and laugh with them one last time, but it wasn’t the will of the Force.

At least he had managed to get the princess out of the camp she had been held in and found them shelter. Qui-Gon would be able to find them and return her to her family, restoring the peace of the planet. The dark woods of this world weren’t a terrible grave either. Obi-Wan had been supposed to go to the AgriCorps, perhaps it was just right that he fell asleep amongst trees so old, they had seen the rise and fall of the Republic many hundred times.

“I’m sorry, Obi-Wan,” the princess cried.

“-alright,” Obi-Wan managed to reply, half his sentence swallowed by his breath.

He was so, so tired.

But the princess was going to be fine. Obi-Wan would die with honor, doing his duty as a Jedi. The poor girl would get to go home and hopefully leave all the memories of this kidnapping behind her. She didn’t look to be a day over eight, she might learn to forget this day yet. Her family hadn’t been particularly forthcoming on why she had been kidnapped, had only stated that she possessed a valuable gift and no negotiations would be happening until she was home again.

“I can- I can fix this,” she stuttered and wiped her tears off her cheeks. “I can make this right.”

She didn’t have to do anything. Obi-Wan had accepted his fate and he would become one with the Force and watch as the storms over Mon Calamar, the winds on Cato Neiomoida, and the deserts of Tatooine.

“You didn’t deserve this,” she said. “And they will all just stop fighting if I give it up. Stupid traditions. Just watch, Obi-Wan. I bestow upon you my gift of life.”

Obi-Wan couldn’t make out what she was doing, but next thing he felt was a sharp pain in his neck. It felt as if somebody had jagged two knives into it. The pain didn’t dull, it burned and slowly spread. It felt as if somebody had set him on fire. Then, just when he thought it couldn’t get worse, the princess pushed her hand into his mouth. Out of reflex, Obi-Wan bit down on it. He tasted something sweet that reminded him distinctly of the teas he drunk back in the temple.

For a moment there was silence.

Then he started to scream. The last thing he heard before unconsciousness claimed him was the princess’s unwavering voice. “You’re not dying on me, Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

The darkness lingered for long. It felt as if centuries passed all while Obi-Wan was just vaguely aware of his surroundings. When he did wake up, he felt even more exhausted than he had before he had passed out. Above him stood Qui-Gon Jinn, looking more torn than Obi-Wan had ever seen him. Obi-Wan tried to reach out to him with his mind, but their bond felt like it had been torn to shreds, was only now starting to connect again.

“Master?” he tried to say, but all that escaped him sounded more like “Mashe’?”

“Rest,” Qui-Gon said and Obi-Wan closed his eyes once more.

It continued like that for a while.

Obi-Wan woke up, feverish, confused or in pain, and his Master was sitting at his bedside, watching over him. When Obi-Wan finally woke up for good, the very same view greeted him once more. Qui-Gon was sitting in a chair, engrossed in a datapad. They were not on their mission anymore, but back in the temple. Obi-Wan could feel it in the Force, he was home, a place he had believed to be lost to him.

And once more he was back in the healing halls, though he didn’t recall them being so bright.

“Master?” Obi-Wan said, squinting through his eyes. “Can you turn off the light?”

Qui-Gon packed away his datapad carefully by throwing it on the table next to him.

“Obi-Wan!” He exclaimed. The worry in his voice honestly took Obi-Wan aback. He hadn’t expected his Master to care so much. “How do you feel?”

“Tired,” Obi-Wan replied honestly. “But if you tell me to go back to sleep one more time-“ Obi-Wan paused, fading memories echoing in his mind, “-or attempt to put me under with a Force-suggestion, I will protest.”

Qui-Gon smiled fondly at Obi-Wan, making him feel much more like a youngling than an adult. Obi-Wan wasn’t old by anyone’s standards except that of the children in the temple – and even that varied. There were many Jedi whose lifespans were much longer than Obi-Wan’s would be.

“I will not try so, Padawan.”

“Thank you,” Obi-Wan said. “Lights?”

A dark expression flashed over Qui-Gon’s face, the like of which Obi-Wan had never seen before so that he even considered whether it wasn’t just a trick of the light. Qui-Gon stood up and disappeared out of his field of vision, soon after the lights dimmed to a more bearable level.

“What happened?” Obi-Wan asked when Qui-Gon sat down again. “Did we fulfill the mission?”

Qui-Gon hesitated. That was the first sign something was wrong.

He was a Master of the Living Force, always moving like the currents of a river, never still, never hasting beyond the passage of time. His strange behavior was starting to worry Obi-Wan.

“I found you and the princess and brought you back both back. She has been safely returned into the arms of her family and the negotiations picked up again, even if it was all under less favorable circumstances.”

That explained absolutely nothing. Jedi prided themselves on their eloquence, as much as they were allowed to be prideful. While they all jested about Master Yoda’s utter crypticness, they couldn’t deny that saying a lot and not much at all at the same time a necessary skill. Qui-Gon talked in riddles often enough, but never when it came to matters of such importance. Obi-Wan was not a foreign diplomat who needed to be appeased with Jedi wisdom, he was a Padawan who wanted to know whether his charge was alright.

“Was she harmed?”

Qui-Gon shook his head. “No, not as such. But your return did finally enlighten us on her family’s superior standing. The other Ancient Houses have been fighting about her gift and whom it should be used on, which was also the reason she had been kidnapped in the first place. They were displeased she used it on you.”

“I don’t recall,” Obi-Wan admitted. “I was very dazed and so sure I was going to die.”

“You did.”

Qui-Gon’s words weighed heavily in the room, seemingly dragging gravity down on Obi-Wan’s body, pressing the air out of his lungs.

“What?”

Obi-Wan tried to push against the force chaining him to his bed to sit up. He couldn’t hold such a conversation while lying down. Seeing his attempt, Qui-Gon quickly set to support Obi-Wan’s back, helping him up.

“But I’m not dead,” Obi-Wan said. He could feel his heartbeat, his thoughts was whirling and the Force kept humming at the back of his mind, a kind lullaby he didn’t know how to characterize.

“Not anymore, no, but trust me when I say that I felt our bond snap. It was a painful experience, Padawan. Worse than anything words could describe.”

Qui-Gon used the moment to gently tug and Obi-Wan’s messy braid. Nobody seemed to have cared for it while he was unconscious. Obi-Wan had always seen to ensuring that he looked presentable. His displeasure with its state must have shown as Qui-Gon smiled at him in amusement and something deeper Obi-Wan couldn’t decipher. It appeared to him to be relief.

“The princess,” Qui-Gon continued, “has the extraordinary ability to create one person who is like herself and she used it to save you. Her gift has been passed down in the Royal House for generations and they were quite eager to claim you as one of their own in the aftermath, but she stood up to them, saying that she didn’t give you a choice.”

All that was nice and everything, but it didn’t explain anything to Obi-Wan.

“Master, I still don’t understand. What did she do?”

“She gave you life,” Qui-Gon finally answered, the exhaustion of the past days catching up to him as well. “Eternal youth and protection against almost everything. It is not reversible. I’m sorry I could not prevent this fate.”

Eternal youth.

The words rang in Obi-Wan’s mind as if it were from a language he had never heard, couldn’t speak or write.

“But what does it mean?”

Obi-Wan hated being ignorant, being left out. This information was crucial and he just wanted to understand.

“I don’t know yet, Padawan,” Qui-Gon said. “But we will find out together. The Royal Family hasn’t been too forthcoming with their information before we returned to the temple, but I believe we can figure it out on our own. I already know you’re more sensitive to light.”

“I’m not sensitive,” Obi-Wan muttered. “It’s just bright in here.”

Qui-Gon leveled him with a dry look. “I have turned off the light entirely, Padawan, and you can still see as clear as day.”

Okay, maybe Qui-Gon had been right with his first assumption.

“I’ll have to learn how to adjust to these changes then,” Obi-Wan concluded.

The thought irked him. He had thought that he was finally making enough progress to start becoming more independent. He knew of his friends that their Masters had already begun considering them for Knighthood. Obi-Wan wasn’t jealous of them, he had been the first to tease Quinlan when the Kiffar Padawan had admitted what his Master had confessed, but his doubts had risen once more. He didn’t want to be left behind. Adjusting to whatever gift the princess had bestowed upon him would be another setback.

No, he couldn’t think like that. He had to take it as a challenge. Jedi didn’t focus on what blocked their way, they thought of solutions.

“When can I get out of the healing halls?”

“As soon as we’ve figured out what blood to feed to you.”

Obi-Wan stared at his Master with a deadpan expression, expecting him to be joking, but the man looked serious.

“Blood?”

“Blood?” Qui-Gon repeated. “It’s apparently one of your dietary requirements now.”

The world started to spin again and Obi-Wan dropped back into his bed. Maybe he should sleep some more before getting confronted with facts that made him nauseous.

[atxlxs]

Beyond The Veil: Chapter 10

The Bakugo family dynamic was one of the most unusual Eras has ever seen.

Mrs.Bakugo was an aggressive woman with a confident set to her shoulders and a mouth that puts sailors to shame. Mr.Bakugo, Masaru, was calm and serene. He only stepped in when Mitsuki, Mrs.Bakugo, either didn’t get her point across or was getting riled up. The two complimented each other well and Eras would have been amused if they weren’t currently grating on the last of her nerves.

The word “conditioned” came to mind when she remembered Muska’s parting words from the nurse’s office.

She really hopes these people didn’t help create whatever mental state the ‘Bakugo’ responsible had. She was also starting to realize how confusing referring to people by last names was. You’d think she’d be used to it after all these years. God, she wished she wasn’t here.

During this thought process, the glare she pinned All Might with from earlier never let up. The man was shivering.

“Ah, Welcome! I see You’ve already met Midoriya-san?” Nedzu asked.

The three newest members of the meeting room all nodded as they sat down. The Bakugo’s spared more than a few glances at the newly inflated All Might and Eras herself. She could understand on some base level that seeing someone glare at the number 1 hero was probably rare.

“We’ve been best fucking friends since highschool. Also, I already know it’ll be fuckin confusing so just call Me Mistuki and Masa here Masaru.” She said head held high yet Eras noted the slight defensiveness in her posture.

That was expected, they were here for a training accident after all. One caused by her son but Eras had a feeling she didn't know that yet.

“You can call me Inko as well,” Inko shifted with nerves as she wrung her hands together in an effort to still them, ��Is my son alright?”

Nedzu nodded and went to speak, however Eras spoke up first, finally tearing her gaze away from All Might. The man let out a barely audible sigh of relief as she did so.

“You son is doing fine Inko-san. He was quizzing my ward when I went to the infirmary earlier. Sorry to cut you off, Nedzu, however I believe a first hand account would be better than one given by a principal, even if she doesn't know me personally.” Eras saw the tension ease a bit in Inko’s shoulders in response.

“Ah thank you, You're right about that. Your ward? Ah sorry I never caught your name either.” Inko asked, a nervous but nonetheless bright smile on her face.

“My name is Viridis Eras, You can call me Eras considering we’ll be speaking of my ward during this meeting, and I say ward because though she is not my child she is under my care. I was good friends with her parents and so after they passed she came under my guardianship.” Holding up a hand to preemptively silence the condolences, she continued. “It happened years ago so no need for the sorrys.”

The newest occupants of the room all nodded as they redirected their attention to Nedzu, confusion evident on their faces. Nedzu, seemingly able to sense the need for an explanation, cleared his throat and replaced the polite smile on his face with a serious look.

“Thank you for that, Eras-san, though I believe I need to specify why I have called you all here today." Well that confirmed her suspicions from earlier, " As Eras-san already knows, considering her circumstances she was given a summary before getting here, there was a training accident during class 1-A’s heroics class. The injured participants were Viridis Muska and Midoriya Izuku. Though both are completely healed now, except for some aggravated skin where burns were healed.”

Inko looked to be on the verge of crying and the Bakugo’s looked to be edging on realization to why they were called. The word ‘burns’ probably clued them in. They kept shooting glances between Inko and herself.

“The cause of these burns was a gauntlet used as support equipment for Bakugo Katsuki. He was warned beforehand that at close range and indoors, his equipment could be lethal and was ordered by the present instructor, All Might, to stop. He didn’t listen.”

Nedzu paused and let reality seep in. Inko was now actually crying, though not as much as Midoriya was in the infirmary, and the Bakugo pair were now pale. Eras sighed and it dragged the attention back to her. Confusion starting to invade previously horrified faces. Eras allowed her gaze to remain neutral as she turned it onto the Bakugo pair.

“Before I speak my mind on the matter, I would like to ask whether or not this behavior present in your son was encouraged,” once again raising a hand to silence the onslaught she continued, “not that I expect you to encourage violence in him, but did you ever notice previously that his schooling may have intentionally avoided discouraging his tendencies?”

Mitsuki opened and closed her mouth, obviously wanting to retaliate but she sat back and shut her mouth with a scrunched expression. Probably searching for any moments her son’s schooling did in fact do such a thing, after all the person who asked had a child under her care that was just fucking maimed so, small mercies. Surprisingly, it was Masaru who spoke up for the first time since he entered the meeting.

“I believe they did encourage his more… aggressive... ways. It was subtle at first glance but as he grew older I noticed that he stopped speaking about his schooling and instead focused only on himself. As if there was nothing else but his aptitude.” He said with a grimace.

Mitsuki looked appalled for a good second before something may have clicked. Wide eyes of disbelief followed shortly by a sigh of resignation. Eras watched it all, evaluating, analyzing. Once she determined that the parents were, disappointingly, unaware of their son’s habits, she spoke up.

“Muska had warned me before coming here that she believes Bakugo was conditioned into what he is now. Seeing your confirmation, sadly, only proves her right. I have a feeling that his previous schooling was sub par when it came to actively punishing or at least telling him no. This means that he doesn’t even realize that what he did was wrong.” Eras sighed, once again, as she thought about how much of a mess this all was.

“I agree,” Nedzu stated, he had his computer out and seemed to find something on it that prompted his involvement, “I pulled up his middle school records and some concerning things have been made apparent. His record is squeaky clean, even described as a pleasure to have in class and works well with others.”

A snort came from Aizawa who was still leaning against the wall, drawing attention to himself. He sighed as he realized that attention was now on him. Ah, what a mood.

“First day of school he called a student an ‘extra’. I sincerely doubt he was a pleasure in class. Also, considering during the exercise today he immediately left his partner to hunt down the glory for himself, I don’t believe he works well with others either.”

Dry sarcasm is the bane of Eras’s continued intimidation tactic. Seriously, if this man keeps up she may just actually snort. That would ruin the image she was trying to convey damnit.

The group of people sat in silence for a minute. Nedzu sat silently watching the group though, by his tail movement, Eras could tell he had settled on something already. Eras turned back towards All Might with an unimpressed face. Time to wrap this meeting up.

“I recommend giving Bakugo a second chance. Not suspension, but something else. Muska recommended therapy and I recommend anger management. Both may be the best option. As for All Might, I’ll let Aizawa-san rip into you himself regarding your, frankly, stupid idea to set teenagers with little to no training loose in a battle exercise.” Eras glanced at said gruff teacher who gave her a subtle nod and an impish grin. Satisfied that he would take care of it (and he will enjoy the hell out of it), she continued, “Now I will excuse myself to the infirmary once more. Hopefully, I don’t need to come back for a reason like this one again.” The ‘you won’t like what happens’ went unsaid but by the looks on their faces, it was understood.

Standing up, Eras walked over to the door and cracked it open, turning her head to Aizawa, she smiled a fanged smile.

“Keep me updated. I’ll trust your judgement for his punishment.”

With that, she left.

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

He was confused.

Scared.

Lost.

Constricted.

It's been years now hasn’t it? When was the last time he could control his own body? Could he even remember his name?

oboKurogiri

No that’s not it…

He was OboroKurogiri.

Why can't he remember???

An insistent pulling kept tugging at his mind. Trying to do… something, but he couldn’t for the life of him figure out what. Vaguely he knew that the pull came from something or someone else. Something unnatural was crying out in desperation and hurt. To find...what? What did he need to find?

Sighing, Kurogiri turned to Tomura. The young adult had been extraordinarily calm as he stared at the T.V. The game he was playing early was currently paused. As he continued to clean the bar’s glass, Kurogiri allowed himself to keep an eye on the man. The last time he was so still, his bar’s stools disintegrated.

“Kurogiri.”

Snapping to attention (he begs for his body to stay still, to run, to get away he doesn’t want to be here-) Kurogiri turns to the T.V that sat ominously in the bar.

“Yes, sir?” Kurogiri asked.

“Tomorrow morning, take Tomura to UA, the coordinates will be given in the morning. I think it's time we paid them a visit and gathered some material.”

Nodding his acceptance, Kurokumo can’t help but despair. He doesn’t know why. Can’t figure out who or what was at UA that he didn’t want to see. Or was the word he didn’t want to use harm? He really just couldn’t tell. He couldn’t tell and it tore him apart inside.

The metal on his neck burned, he wanted to rip it off. To be free.

Instead, he polished the glasses in the bar once more.

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

Tags:

@baguettehead

[hen-of-letters]

To me, the Supernatural finale felt like a slap in the face. And then a suckerpunch to the stomach and a knee in the crotch. Afterwards some more punches, a bit more kicking, and a spit in the eye. So, here's my rambling account of just why I think it was so hurtful, and why I don't think I'll ever stop being sad and angry about how the show ended.

Stories matter. Everything that happens in Supernatural is the result of a decision. Each of these decisions carries a weight and a significance that resonates well beyond the screen.

Castiel's love confession in 15x18 is a beautiful, powerful thing. The love between Cas and Dean has been shown in the text for twelve seasons, but it had never been named in the text until that moment. Castiel's words brought their love out into the open.

However, his immediate and permanent removal from the rest of the narrative (aside from the briefest of mentions) is also powerful. He is erased from the text. After speaking, he is silenced.

Dean is silenced, too. He's never allowed to respond. With him never voicing his feelings for Castiel, their relationship is slammed right back where it came from: into the narrative closet.

Dean's love for Castiel is left as it always was: shown but not spoken. Open to interpretation. This is presented as a positive thing: there's a blank space left in the text where you can imagine them reuniting in heaven.

However, telling the audience that a love story between two men can't be openly declared and that their reunion can't be shown on screen is massively harmful. It perpetuates the idea that queer stories can only be told in the margins, in between the lines, in the silences of the text.

Claire is never shown on screen again after we hear that she loved Kaia. Kaia is rescued from the Bad Place, but their reunion is kept off-screen. Queer love is present, and at least in this case openly defined, but kept in the sidelines, unseen.

It's a phrase with a complex history, but it's telling that 'the love that dare not speak its name' came to be used as a euphemism for homosexual love. Queer love had to be kept silent out of safety. Even now, for many of us, being openly queer can endanger our lives.

Supernatural had a massive opportunity to say: queerness is not to be marginalised or silenced. Here is a love story that is central and spoken and celebrated. I think it's probably the enormous gap between the finale that we had, and the finale that we could have been given (which was the finale that the entire season had seemingly been building towards), that makes Supernatural's ending so heartbreakingly hurtful.

There's a reason, I think, why it feels so viscerally jarring for Cas' confession to never receive a reply or even acknowledgement. Disregarding every other episode of Supernatural up until that scene in 15x18, and with absolutely no knowledge of the characters, what we have is one person saying to another: "I love you". From this point on, every fibre of our being is aching for the answering "I love you, too". That's just how human beings are wired. That's just how narratives function. We hear a question and we need the closure of the answer.

When someone proposes publicly, even though these people are strangers to us, we are all waiting anxiously to hear the "yes". Imagine that you're watching a TV chat show, and then the host announces that someone in the audience has a very special question. Cut to the audience, where someone kneels and says to their partner: "will you marry me?" The camera moves to the partner's face ... and then cuts back to the action on stage. The proposal is never mentioned by the host ever again. You never find out if they said yes. Don't you feel cheated? Don't you feel, maybe, at least annoyed?

Now imagine you have two friends that you've known for years. You've grown up alongside them and you love them dearly. You think they're perfect for each other and you're sure they're in love with each other. One day, you see on Facebook that one of them has finally proposed to the other! You're overjoyed! But this is the last you ever hear from either of them. You never know the answer. You might feel just a little bit frustrated with the ghosting little fuckers. Yes, you can imagine that they're ridiculously in love and they've moved to Maui, but you never know. They might be dead in a ditch. They might be utterly miserable. You just never, ever know.

I swear, I'm normally all about the ambiguity, the open ending, the delicious possibilities of uncertainty. But here the question was too clear, the answer too obvious, the significance too weighty. The entire issue of Supernatural's problematic queer representation came down to this: could we see Dean say "I love you, too"? Could we see them live as well as speak their truth? Sadly, the answer was "no".

There could have been something powerful in the death of the author in Supernatural, in the exhortation to write your own ending, in the acknowledgement that meaning is created in active, creative collaboration between the text and the reader. But this wasn't handing over power. This was passing the buck. Representation is a responsibility.

In the end, Supernatural utterly dismissed the possibility of giving either the characters or the audience the power to write the story. We could have been gifted an open ending: Chuck defeated, Dean, Cas, Sam, Eileen and Jack alive and reunited, and the audience given free will to imagine their future. Instead, it gave us the most closed-down ending possible: all three main characters dead, other characters forgotten, and with nothing more to tell.

Going back to considering characters as friends made me think again about why the finale hurt so much. Yes, the erasure of Eileen from the narrative angered me because the decision was misogynistic and ablist. But also, I absolutely adored Eileen, and wanted her to be happy. She, like every single character in the show deserved better.

However, we don't only see characters as our friends.

We see pieces of ourselves in the characters we love. When we get to see those pieces acknowledged, and treasured, and loved, we feel validation. When we see those pieces disregarded, or silenced, or torn to shreds, we feel hurt.

Consider what someone might see of themselves in Dean Winchester: a queer individual, a war veteran, a survivor of physical, mental or sexual abuse, someone who has felt worthless or suicidal, a caregiver who has sacrificed their own needs for the sake of another.

What killing Dean says to these people is: there is no place for you in the world. The only 'peace' for you is death.

The same message can be read in Castiel's death. It's Castiel in whom I saw a piece of myself. I'm nearly 40, and when I started watching Supernatural in 2005, I didn't yet realise that I was maybe non-binary and definitely bisexual. The world looked at my body and assumed I was a woman. The world assumed I was straight. I was being told a story about myself. It wasn't until later that I realised that there were other stories, that there were other words that I could use about myself. Castiel's story was one that I could identify with (if I'm honest, mostly because of our shared social awkwardness), so his death said to me: if you speak your truth, you'll be shut down and forgotten. Happiness is not something you can have.

The deaths of Castiel and Dean find their bleakest mirror in that of the Kaia from the Bad Place. Not-Kaia wants to return to her own universe, even though she knows it is dying. She feels she doesn't belong in this world: "This place is cold. I don't understand it. I don't know how to move through it. So I just find empty spaces and I hide. This world doesn't want me, and I'm done with it." And, honestly, haven't most of us felt exactly like that at one time or another, for whatever reason? If we've felt different or excluded, if we've experienced physical or mental ill health, if we've felt like an outsider? Although Sam and Dean do try to get her to come back with them, she accepts death - just like Castiel and Dean. Visually, the moment closely resembles Castiel's demise: she's enveloped by blackness, her serene face the last thing to be covered.

Alternate Kaia is the embodiment of otherness. Her hopeless, voluntary annihilation is incredibly troubling. I wonder though if perhaps this moment is the text criticising itself: Alternate Kaia chooses death because the world is hostile towards her. If we marginalise others, if we tell people that who they are means that they have no place in the world, if we tell people that they can only exist in silence and in the shadows, then these people will feel despair. Depression and suicide are a real concequence of exclusion and marginalisation.

In contrast, we're shown Kaia being accepted by Jody. Castiel has already acknowledged that Jody is Claire's found family, and we know that Claire loves Kaia. Here is a hopeful mirror: Kaia, who has been set up previously as an analogue to Castiel, finds acceptance, and love, and a found family.

Dean and Castiel could have been given Claire and Kaia's ending, but instead they die like Alternate Kaia. The world doesn't want them.

I think that the erasure of difference is why the finale feels so flat to me. So empty, so hollow, so silent. The brothers' diverse found family is killed off or forgotten (like Kevin Tran, presumably left to wander the earth forever as a ghost); women are erased; people of colour are erased; queerness is erased. Sam and Dean are reduced to being cardboard cutout versions of themselves, devoid of complexity, with nothing to say.

For 15 years, Supernatural has said: choose free will.  You can make your own destiny.  You can write your own story.  Love can defy the will of God himself.  You can be loved and supported by a family that you choose, even if you are rejected by your blood.  In the final episode, every single one of these ideas was systematically trashed. It hurt.

What gives me hope, though, is how the fandom responded to this hurt: with creativity and kindness. Immediately, fundraisers such as The Castiel Project and Dean Winchester is Love were set up & have raised a massive amount of money. I don't think I'll ever stop being awed by this.

[warwaged-moved]

Although canon timeline gets confusing, likely because they didn’t think it through decided to retcon things later, I don’t disregard Beyond the Dark Portal but I have a different take on how things go, especially when it comes to A.lleria’s relationship with Tu.ralyon. So, taking it into account, here’s my take on how things happened (spoilers: it doesn’t include A.lleria calling Tu.ralyon my love half a second after they’ve talked to each other and made peace, sorry not sorry @Beyond the Dark Portal):

A.lleria and Tura.lyon met when fighting in the Second War. Before that, she did not have contact with many humans, and if she didn’t necessarily look down on them, A.lleria didn’t really see them as equals either (their senses are not as sharp as the elves’, their lives are way too short, and they are still quite arrogant in spite of that, in her eyes). It isn’t until the war that she has a chance to get to know them better, and fighting beside the humans definitely changes her views on them.

Tura.lyon, specifically, does not mean much to her in the beginning. He’s obviously smitten with her, and she finds it way too amusing to waste the opportunities to tease him — but in the beginning this is all her actions are: amusement. She never seriously leads him on, and he’s quite aware she’s entertained by his reaction to her. But as time passes they genuinely become closer. A.lleria learns to respect him after fighting with him and following his leadership, and then her actions around him are not as much jokes as they were before.

She’s interested, but she isn’t in love. It is infatuation at most, she thinks, and it’ll pass soon enough (it isn’t as if she considers a serious relationship with him either: he’s a human still, his entire life until adulthood is only a fraction of her own and she’s bound to outlive him). In truth her feelings go a little deeper than she’s willing to believe they go, but it isn’t some deep, endless love. She’s falling for him, but on her part it is slow, and she makes it slower still with all the resistance against it she creates.

When they learn the Horde will target Quel.Thalas, A.lleria is immediately on edge (she grows restless, impulsively wants to run to her home ahead of the army, questions every single decision he makes just because). She’s worried about her home, her people, and the people she loves that are there and don’t know what’s coming for them. Arriving there afterwards and fighting to drive them back and still having to watch their forests burn wounded her very deeply, even more because of her previous concern. And then she learns most of her family died, including her little brother, and it breaks her in a way A.lleria hadn’t yet been broken.

She doesn’t love Tura.lyon when she goes to him. The logic is flimsy, and only really logical to her because of the state of absolute emotional wreck she’s in. She doesn’t want to be vulnerable in front of people she knows and loves and who look up to her, though, and she came to like and trust him well enough that she seeks him instead. It isn’t a well thought out thing – she’s barely thinking at all – but it feels like a good enough idea at the time: this way her sisters won’t see her breaking, because she has to be strong for them, and she won’t burden friends who have lost people themselves, and she won’t be vulnerable in front of those who look up to her as a leader.

It (obviously) wasn’t a good idea. It is something she’ll regret immediately afterwards. A.lleria would feel guilty she had used him to try to forget her hurt, because he obviously cares for her and she does not feel the same, at least not as intensely. There is no future for them, she thinks, and what she did would give him hopes of something that couldn’t be. Beyond that, she’s still hurting; she’ll continue to hurt for a long time, unable to process her grief, unable to let go and heal. As soon as it is over and he is asleep, she leaves. Afterwards, A.lleria is cold towards him purposefully, so he will know it was just one night, so he won’t think it is more than it is. Tura.lyon doesn’t take well to it, but A.lleria thinks it’s best that way. Let him live his short human life with someone who can love him better than she can. Besides, it isn’t as if he understands; he doesn’t like the path she’s taking and she cannot meet his criticism with anything other than anger.

A.lleria isn’t concerned with love, by then and after that. All she wants is revenge. For everything, for all the family she lost, but especially for her brother. Even after the war is over, she doesn’t stop hunting the orcs, and she revels in their pain. She wants each and every orc dead, but a thousand kills do not lessen her thirst for revenge, neither do they fill the emptiness within her. They do not make her feel less guilty for being alive while Lirath is dead. She won’t let go of anger and hatred for years still. And in the meanwhile between the night she regrets and the future in which vengeance is not her utmost priority, A.lleria finds herself pregnant.

It is kind of (very) despairing at first. Most of her family died, and she’s in a very dark place mentally and emotionally. She feels the need to keep it together for those around her, but she’s falling apart. She came to regret the one night in which her child was conceived, and it isn’t like she can exactly count on someone she pushed away to care for a child now. Besides, it is said the High Elves didn’t look favorably towards half-elven children, which is one more reason to be concerned for her unborn child. A.lleria doesn’t seek support of anyone else; she hesitates in even telling people close to her about it.

But she’s decided to have her child and to keep the baby with her regardless. Eventually she’d have to speak; but before it would be noticeable, she’d let at least Sylv.anas and Ve.reesa know (maybe some of her closest friends, but even that is uncertain; she might also have panicked and told Hal.duron at some point before even telling her sisters...). So A.rator is born in Quel.Thalas, and no matter what she feels towards his father, she loves her son from the beginning. And I think much of her love for A.rator, and how deep and important to A.lleria it is, comes from the place she was in at the time of his birth. To her, he was a flicker of love and hope in a world that was seemingly all devoid of it; and the fact he may suffer some prejudice amidst her people only made her more determined to give him love that would make up for it.

Contacting Tura.lyon to even let him know never crosses her mind as a serious option. She would have thought of it at times, especially when his letters arrived, as he explicitly mentions having written to her and never gotten any answer, but she would be angry at herself for even considering it. If someone said she should (I believe someone might have), A.lleria would cut them short. She doesn’t need him, he cannot help; A.rator is her son, and they’ll be fine just the two of them.

Except they won’t, because even though she’s wholeheartedly dedicated and entirely loving towards him, she’s also consumed with vengeance and hatred for what happened to Lir.ath. A.rator would give her happiness she wouldn’t have felt ever since the war, but immediately afterwards even the faintest glimmer of happiness, she’d feel immense guilt (how can she be alive, happy, laughing, after having failed her home, after failing to prevent Lir.ath’s death? her brother would never get to laugh again, he would never father his own children; why should she have all of this, when he would not?).

It would become a cycle, and it definitely pushed her away further: happiness makes her feel guilty, guilt makes her dive headfirst in battle and revenge. She makes herself believe that A.rator would be better without her, but cannot find it in herself to tell Tura.lyon about their son and leave A.rator with him. It is part of why she’s so eager to go beyond the dark portal, too: she wants vengeance, and to protect the things she loves, and to die fighting, to die in a way that can at least leave her sisters proud, to die and leave her son to be raised by those who could do it better than she ever could.

Is it immensely hard to just pretend nothing ever happened once she’s forced to interact with Tura.lyon again, especially considering she is well aware their one night resulted in the most precious baby boy in Azeroth and beyond? Yes, but their antagonism towards each other helps; anger does not leave much room for her to feel guilty for not letting him know of anything. Of course, once they are together again, and once she acknowledges her feelings for him go well beyond just infatuation, she knows the conversation has to happen — and it is only then that she tells him of A.rator. It is quite a mess that they made, so reconciliation isn’t by any means easy, and A.lleria is never one to just give herself completely and without wariness. To her, opening up to him again is a slow process; and if physical contact comes earlier and easier than verbal declarations, even that would be slow. She doesn’t shy away from him, maybe even seeks him at times, but more often than not, A.lleria would more likely wait for him to seek contact than initiate it herself —- and it would definitely take a long while for her to reciprocate I love yous.

[leo-interactive-fiction]

Can you tell us some little facts or give a lil description about the new side characters?

Sure! Let’s see, I’ll start with dorm Card. This dorm is comprised of a varying cast of characters with names that relate them to a deck of cards! Why? I just thought it was cool and fun haha.

Uno: See below.

Juno Winter: A no-nonsense female student with an authoritative air. In her short bill military cap she hides olive colored hair, marking her a member of Frenza. The peacekeeper of her team, she is particularly adept at incapacitating with an extendable baton, the likes of which she sometimes uses to pacify fights between members of her own team. . When she takes off her cap and lets down her hair, her personality shifts and becomes much more erratic and refers to herself as Juno Summer. Her combat style turns altogether more feral in this state, disregarding her weapon to using her hands and nails to press an advantage. She is considered the fourth most powerful member of the team.

“It is not my intention to bring her out. It is best to keep casualties to a minimum.” “Can you not dodge?! Pathetic! Pathetic! So pathetic! Kahaha!”

Rex: A tacitern swordsman, he has never shared his first name; only ever offering the formal title of Rex. Ambitious, Rex has a warrior’s soul with a flame that will never extinguish. Pushing his bodily limits, he will train until his body fractures or incapacitates itself. Unyielding, once he has set himself on a task, he will hyperfocus until it’s accomplished. Utilizing a straight sword, he is considered the most able sword user in the academy, and seeks to challenge and best anyone who uses a similar weapon.

“Injured? Inconsequential. Come from any angle, you will not best me: this I claim, upon my formal title of Rex.”

Acer: The most competent fighter in team Card, and some may say within the academy, Acer was raised by the strict teachings of his parents; members of Vestia’s finest First Division. When the declaration of war was announced, his family returned back to Vestia to prepare. With a spiteful relationship between him and his family, the decision to stay in Triaina only furthered the schism. Despite his history, he has a relatively casual personality, and takes most things lightly except for combat, which he expresses eagerness in. He excels in hand-to-hand combat, and uses every part of his body as a weapon with savage intensity.

“Let’s have a go, shall we? No holding back! I’d like a challenge!”

Joker Card: A lean male with turquoise hair, marking him a Hospian. A member of Hospur’s distinctive Shinobi Clan, Joker trains in infiltration and reconnaissance. A calm and gentle soul, they reason through everything carefully and thoughtfully. Seemingly two steps ahead at any given point, Joker knows what is required of him as a leader and efficiently manages the responsibility. Hospur’s Shinobi Clan holds no political stake and a close relationship with Triaina’s Faction of Beggars, providing Joker the opportunity to further his training at Triaina Academy. Joker adamantly deflects personal questions regarding his actual training, history, and connections, earning him an enigmatic air. His closed-off nature and place of origin keeps him from earning the full trust of his team, but he is able to make do with the independently competent members that make up Card.

“My name is Joker Card, descendant of the Shinobi Clan. I am impressed by the abilities of team Xeno. I look forward to seeing how that translates to their leader.”

Dorm Gold: This dorm has a more ideological bond tying the members. Each student in Gold is in some way aristocratic or regarded with high esteem.

Gaul von Sentinel (Literally ‘of Sentinel’): Gaul is a noble whose family oversees Sentinel, a very modestly sized fishing hamlet on the eastern edge of Triaina. The Sentinel family has overlooked the town since its inception, and Gaul regards the title highly. He has fiery red hair, and takes pride in his fencing abilities. Believing noble families should place the protection and well-being of those they oversee above all else, Gaul holds a deep-seated hatred for the aristocracy of Frenza, who live affluently off the backs of an indentured servant population and tarnish the good name of other nobles. They are considered the least powerful in team Gold.

“I will clean the taint of your materialism with blood. En garde!”

Lewis Gear: Hails from Orden as the heir of Gear Corp., one of the major corporations that run Orden’s infamous Desert Race. Lewis hold particular disdain on the lawless Dens that spot the desert, considering them a blight upon the sands and useful only as a form of entertainment. While not the most physically imposing, Lewis is a particularly conniving dealmaker who’s able to easily gleam the basic interests of anyone he meets. It is never known whether the friendships he makes are genuine or stepping stones in his ultimate goal of developing a worldwide conglomerate. Lewis is considered the fourth most powerful member in the team.

“I have an interesting proposition that might be just up your alley. What do you say? You can’t go wrong, making friends with me.”

Princilia Crown: A self-proclaimed noble with Gothic Victorian fashion, Princilia comes from a poor family and has amassed vast wealth through deceptive diplomacy and illicit deals. Particularly untrusting and uncaring of humans, her only friend is a makeshift doll she can always be found with named Amen. Beyond her seemingly innocent appearance, she justifies inhumane and ignoble actions through the guise that it is Amen’s ideas. Using particularly crafty diversion tactics, she is an underhanded fighter with little moral investment. Her disposition leads to many finding her unnerving, however Vale has developed an admiration for her crafty determination, and wishes to earn her trust.

“How bothersome. Amen, what should I do...? Oh, I see... Let us be rid of them, then. Hmhmhm...”

Treyla Wunderkind: A child prodigy in every sense, Treyla grew up showered in the praise and adoration of everyone around her, earning her a substantial ego and necessity to claim perfection in everything she does. Able to take in information with considerable speed and ease, perhaps more remarkable is her ability to accurately emulate the complicated mechanical actions of anyone she observes. Despite her talents, she spurred her much less talented younger brother into the leadership position in the hopes of supporting him out of the large shadow she casts. Treyla holds a deeply intimated affection for her brother, the likes of which is rarely and awkwardly reciprocated.     

“I know Vale will grow into the position with time. He just needs the support of his dear sister!”

Vale Wunderkind: A timid boy with little in the way of self-confidence due to being unable to meet the unrealistic expectations set upon him throughout the course of his life. While he enjoys the company of his endearing sister, the knowledge that he will always be overshadowed when she is near causes him to distance their relationship, much to Treyla’s disappointment. Considered a weakling, and not a particularly high scorer on exams, Vale’s redeeming quality is the ability to bring together unlikely members and have them function with little internal conflict. This may be due to pity for his shortcomings or an innate magnetism he has. As a central mold between the mostly asociable and inconsiderate members of team Gold, Vale is the unlikely best candidate for the leadership position.

“I know I’m not the best but...when I see how bright you shine, it inspires me. Please be patient with me: I’ll try my hardest...”

Thank ya for the ask! Let me know what you think of this new cast of characters! :)

[johnny-and-dora]

how sweet the taste of certainty

Finally, she doesn’t have to wonder if their love is doomed to be some quiet, fragile thing. It’s not some fickle flickering candle at all, but rather something as bright and as certain and as inevitable as the sunrise. Something beautiful and familiar that, in earnest, is only just beginning.

or, amy tells her parents the shining, golden reason why she can't marry teddy. (a missing scene of my royalty au)

read on ao3 / read the original  -

The morning after she asks Jake to marry her, Amy stops a couple steps short of the heavy dining room doors, heart in her mouth, feet suddenly and brutally rooted to the ground. The eloquent and respectful speech she spent all night planning has seemingly evaporated, leaving her less of a person and more a pile of nervous mush.

“Are you ready?” Rosa meets her gaze, her armour glinting in the summer morning sunshine.

“No.” Amy admits, smiling nervously, calculating the nearest escape route and how long she could survive in the forest based on her existing hunting and foraging skills. “Do you think this is a bad idea?”

Rosa considers it for a beat. “No. I think it’s crazy, and it might blow up in your face, but I think it’s a good thing. For everyone.”

She can’t help but feel reassured by her best friend’s trademark bluntness, smoothing down her dress and fixing her hair again almost compulsively. It’s just breakfast. A breakfast that may as well be taking place in the middle of a minefield, but still just breakfast. She can handle breakfast.

Amy takes a deep breath, nods at Rosa, and pushes the doors open.

She’s greeted by the tail-end of an idyllic Santiago family meal; her parents sit at the head of the table, looking stoic and serious as usual. Three of her brothers are also dotted around, Julian in the middle of shoving an entire croissant in his mouth as he waves at her. David is mercifully absent. Silver linings. She definitely doesn’t need the golden child around today.

“Amelia – good, we were starting to worry…” Her mom trails off, a weight behind her words that instantly sends an unpleasant lick of irritation down her spine. She clenches her fists, resisting the urge to tell her just how much she really needs to be worried about. Just how close she was to smuggling herself and Jake over the border last night and never looking back.

Amy knows this won’t work unless she’s calm, firm and collected – she needs this to go perfectly, the stakes for this particular conversation so far past the roof they’re practically up in the stratosphere (Jake’s words, not hers). So, instead of letting out all the latent anger kicking around in her chest, she takes a deep breath and smiles politely, the one usually reserved for dukes that condescendingly call her “sweetheart” and then drop their jaws when she can recite state law from memory.

“You guys said you wanted to see me?”

“Prince Theodore has been asking after you. He’s waiting at the West Wing gate.”

“Good. I need to talk to him.” Amy says, forcefully enough that her mother sharply raises an eyebrow, sucking all the air out of the room in the process. “I need to talk to you, too.”

Her mom and dad share a quick, loaded glance. Everyone falls quiet, Tony and Simon no longer squabbling over who gets the last bread roll, Julian letting a blob of jam fall on his shirt without noticing. All eyes are on her as Victor gestures for her to continue – ideally, she’d do this with as little of an audience as possible, but she confesses to Jake later that she couldn’t help but revel slightly in the drama of it all.

She’s Amy Santiago – she’s fluent in five languages, director of the royal art collection, ambassador for human rights and one of the best trade negotiators in the seven kingdoms. She is capable of anything. She can do this. She’d barely last a week in the forest anyway.

“I’m not going to marry him.”

“Amelia…” Her mother sighs disapprovingly – it drills into Amy’s soul, but she stands her ground, making peace with her portrait being one step further away from the mantel. Her father eyes her warily as if he was expecting this.

“No, I know. I know you think it’s what’s best for me. I know a marriage like that worked for you two, and I know that it would benefit the kingdom and that’s great. But I can’t marry someone I don’t love, and you can’t force me to.”

“Accepting his proposal may seem like a risk, but a one worth taking.” Her father says. “He’s good for you, Amy – his reputation, his influence, it could really help you build something. You two are perfectly matched.”

Amy chews her bottom lip, a nervous tic she just can’t shake, gathering her courage. “Maybe in a different situation, Teddy and I would have worked. I see what you see in him. But it’s more than just on principle. I physically can’t marry him.”

“Why not?”

“Because - “Amy says, voice shaking a little, but eyes alight, “-I’m engaged to someone else.”

And, well, there it is. Her whole life changed by a single sentence.

It has the intended effect, increased tenfold thanks to a truly magnificent spit take from Julian as he chokes on his orange juice. Her parents stare at her in stunned disbelief – a wide-eyed Tony pats Julian on the back as his coughing dissolves into laughter. Best of all though, Amy can see Rosa smiling wide and proud in the corner of her eye, and it’s all she needs to feel newly emboldened, heart thumping in a way that makes her feel powerful instead of helpless.

“My God, Amy. I thought I had it with the whole one-night-stand with the Prince of Arabia thing, but you officially just won most dramatic family announcement. Well played.” Julian laughs, uproarious and bright. She’s glad he’s here.

“I…don’t understand. You are…already engaged?” Her mother asks weakly.

“As of last night, yes.” Amy tries to remain as neutral and matter-of-fact as possible, but she can’t help softening at the fresh memory of Jake saying yes over and over again, punctuating each affirmation with a kiss as she laughed, buoyant and alive with unadulterated joy. It’s all still very surreal, especially considering she hasn’t slept since; but if it is all a dream, it’s one she never intends to wake up from.

“I don’t see a ring,” Julian says, a bright grin plastered on his face that Amy ever so slightly mirrors, unable to completely tamp down her happiness any longer. “Isn’t there supposed to be a ring?”

“There is, but he has it. I proposed to him.”

“Oh, of course you did.” Julian shakes his head in a perfect marriage of awe and amusement.

“How…what…who…” Tony stammers – having graciously passed the point of no return, Amy decides to throw all her caution and concern to the wind and dive headfirst into the unknown.

“His name is Jake Peralta and he is the absolute love of my life. I have never been surer about anything than I am about that fact.” She consciously pours every ounce of conviction she has into her words, and it tastes like honey on her tongue, fresh air in her lungs. “He’s a baker and he helps out in the kitchen with Charles and he is the kindest, most loyal, most wonderful person I have ever met.”

There are so many ways to describe him – completely unexpected, completely full of warmth and laughter and more love than she thought any human being was capable of containing. Loving Jake is endlessly surprising, but it’s also the easiest thing she’s ever done.

“I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d never approve of me being with someone who didn’t have ‘reputation’, but the truth is that Jake is good for me in a way that Teddy could never be. He is unconditionally supportive and thoughtful, and he sees me for me, not just as a status symbol or some idealised fairy-tale. I love him and I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with him.”

She says her piece, affection flowing from her almost of its own accord. As she does, she’s flooded with memories – throwing grapes at each other at the picnic they shared in the wildflower meadows beyond the gates. Jake smuggling cupcakes to her to cheer her up on bad days. Him clumsily risking his life climbing through her bedroom window just to help her rehearse her big address at a formal dinner, planting a kiss on her forehead every time she got through a cue card.

Their walks around the castle grounds, laughing at stupid inside jokes. Playing cards in the kitchens with Charles, Terry and Rosa. Teaching him how to paint and sketching him in increasingly ridiculous poses. Having dinner with his mom. Stealing away moments behind the stables and on staircases. Most vividly, their countless private rendezvous in the forest, free of all façades and responsibilities and reputations to uphold.

Amy refuses to hide any of it anymore – he is, openly and unashamedly, the man she loves.

No-one speaks, for a little while; she lets her honesty sink in. Her mother is wearing a look of abject horror – her dad’s expression is stony and unreadable, and it startles her when he is the first one to break the silence, directly addressing Rosa standing guard by the door.

“Diaz. Is all of this true?” Rosa glances at Amy, who gives her an encouraging nod. She knows her father has always valued Rosa’s directness as much as Amy does.

“Yes, sir.” She pauses. “And for the record, I’ve known both of these people a long time, and this is the happiest I’ve seen either of them. It’s kind of sickening, actually.”

Her parents exchange glances, a silent conversation Amy isn’t privy too – she’s too busy feeling her heart swell with further affection, this time for her best friend. She and Jake owe so much to Rosa helping them out, relaying messages back and forth and covering for them. When this is all over, Amy’s definitely embroidering a thank you pillow for her to punch.

“I see. Will you please bring this Jake Peralta here for me?” His tone is even and calm, almost unnervingly so. Rosa nods, quickly disappearing. She knows exactly where Jake will be; in the kitchens, probably stress eating day-old pastry and getting a last-minute pep talk from Charles (which is guaranteed to be largely unhelpful and delivered through hysterical tears).

She’d warned him that they’d probably want to meet him; he’d expressed anxiety about it last night, but Amy had quickly reassured him that no-one else’s opinion mattered to her about this. They’re getting married, whether her parents approve or not.

Obviously, she wants them to like him. She’s dedicated a lot of time to making sure he knows he is loved and accepted, and she’s willing to work even harder to wax lyrical about how wonderful he is for the rest of their lives if she has to. For now, though, she just has to focus on not getting them both exiled.

Her dad calmly asks her brothers to leave the table – Julian mutters in protest as he exits, only stopping to brightly clap Amy on the shoulder and earnestly congratulate her with an enthusiastic high five.

“He sounds great, mimi. I can’t wait to meet him.” For once, her older brother is completely sincere, save perhaps for the suggestive wink he gives her, and it’s a touching gesture that eases some of the relentless anxiety building in her gut. Amy dreads to think how insufferable the pair will be when they do finally meet. She can’t wait either.

Part of her is absolutely fucking terrified to be left alone with her parents with her open defiance and violation of their wishes hanging so ominously in the air – Amy Santiago has never been a rule breaker. She’s always worn the stupid fancy dresses even when she’s dying for something more practical and let Gina give her more and more complicated and ridiculous hairstyles and politely mingled with the endless line of boring high-status bachelors as her parents watched on hopefully. She’s always played the role of the only princess to perfection.

But then she thinks of little six-year-old Amy demanding that she be taught the same combat training as her brothers and twelve-year-old Amy petitioning to allow female members into the Royal Guard and, well. They really should have seen this coming from a mile away.

Thankfully, it doesn’t take long before Rosa strides back in, a clearly nervous Jake hurrying forward in her wake. For a moment, her original plan of whisking him away to start a simple life together swims into her head, a powerful urge to protect him surging over her.

But then their eyes meet, and he waves, a small nervous smile on his face. And then she notices, as it catches the sunlight streaming in through the window and glitters as if enchanted, the engagement ring hung proudly around his neck. And she just knows, as sure as the sun will rise, that they can handle anything.

“I understand that you are engaged to my Amy.”

“Yes, sir.” Jake rocks on his heels slightly, nervously fidgeting the way he always does when he’s anxious. “I’m very lucky to know her and I love her very much.” It’s not the most eloquent speech ever performed in this great hall, but it’s by far her favourite.

“How do I know you are good enough for my only daughter?”

“Oh, there’s no way I’m good enough for Amy. She’s the most incredible person I’ve ever met and the best thing that’s happened to me.” He steps closer to her, silently taking and squeezing her hand as he speaks. “But she still chose me, and I promise you that I will spend every moment of the rest of my life trying to be someone worthy of being loved by her.”

She wants to scream from the top of her lungs that he is completely and utterly good enough, and she wants to hurt anyone who has ever made him feel otherwise. Instead, she squeezes back, and mouths I love you while her parents exchange another hushed conversation.

“Well then - it appears there’s nothing we can do to stop you. Nor do I think we should try.” It could be a trick of the light, but she swears that she sees a glimmer of pride in her father’s eye. Her mom clears her throat, clearly still struggling to comprehend the situation.

“Mija, what we want most for you is for you to be happy. Does he make you happy?” She asks – Amy glances at the man beside her and finds her best friend, her fiancé, her favourite person. Easiest solve in the world.

“More than anything.”

“Then that settles that. You two have our blessing.” Her father says, as simply as if he was commenting on the weather. Amy blinks once, then again, her grip on Jake’s hand getting tighter.

“We…we do?”

“Yes, you do. We clearly have much to discuss, but I must first inform Prince Theodore that other arrangements need to be made.”

“I…wow. Thank you. Thank you, so much, I…” Her brain appears to be malfunctioning, so she does the only thing that feels right; she hugs her parents, whispering another strangled thank you, and then hastily pulls a stunned Jake out of the room, now squeezing his hand so tightly it’s probably cutting off all the circulation. If it does hurt, he doesn’t say anything – then again, in the moment neither of them seems able to speak.

She drags him into the nearest room; Holt’s classroom which, blessedly, is currently empty. Heart pounding, she finally meets Jakes gaze. He looks like he’s just found the end of a rainbow.

“Did they just…”

“Yeah. Yes. I think they did.”

“So, we’re…”

“Getting married. Yep. That is a thing that is officially happening.”

There’s a single moment before they’re both collapsing into shocked, near-hysterical laughter, an amalgamation of relief, disbelief, exhaustion and above all else, joy. Amy practically throws herself around him, performing some kind of strangled hybrid of laughing and crying as she buries herself into his shirt.

They stay like that for a while, completely wrapped up in each other. It could be seconds or minutes or maybe even hours – she doesn’t care. Time has ruled their life together for so long; now, it’s an insignificant enemy, no longer precious, unpredictable or finite. It’s bliss.

“Hey, listen. Rosa told me, uh, what you said. To your parents. About me being the love of your life and all that.” Jake says, suddenly adorably shy.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. She said it with a disgusted look on her face, but I think she’s secretly rooting for us.”

Amy hums in contentment, making a note to call her a secret sap and then hug her the next time she sees her. Jake clears his throat nervously, calling her attention back to him, all soft and warm honey gaze.

“You’re mine too, by the way.” He says sheepishly. “Just in case…I mean I hope you that know by now, but-“ She smothers his nervous ramblings with a firm kiss, finally. Finally, the abstract brush-strokes and subtle hues of the future they could have together come into sharp focus, vivid and prismatic.

Finally, she doesn’t have to wonder if their love is doomed to be some quiet, fragile thing. It’s not some fickle flickering candle at all, but rather something as bright and as certain and as inevitable as the sunrise. Something beautiful and familiar that, in earnest, is only just beginning.

“I love you.”

“I love you too, future wife.” He grins, kissing her again. She’s sure, now, as her lips meld to his that he is the person she was always meant to come home to, to find a home in.

Amy feels a wave of exhaustion overwhelm her; now that the adrenaline is wearing off, the unfortunate side-effects of not sleeping for almost twenty-four hours rapidly take hold. She barely suppresses a yawn, scrunching up her nose as Jake looks at her fondly.

“You wanna go back to bed? I happen to know an excellent nap partner.”

“Oh, great, me too. I’ll see if Hitchcock’s available.” She says, laughing when Jake pouts in offence, draping her arms around him, leaning up so that their noses are almost touching.

“It’s our first day together as an engaged couple. I want to do something special.”

“Ames, we have the rest of our lives to do something special.” He says, gazing down at her with so much undiluted affection that her resolve completely melts away. The rest of their lives. She really likes the sound of that.

“Okay, napping sounds pretty good right now too.”

“Good, because we have about five minutes until I collapse from twelve hours straight of nervous hysteria. Would you mind carrying me to your bedroom?”

She rolls her eyes and shoves him, but also offers him her hand. They soon collapse into Amy’s four-poster bed, quickly pulling the covers over their heads, wriggling around and fighting for space while they giggle like little kids. Amy sleepily leans into him when they’re all settled in, and she’s never felt safer than she does now, being lulled to sleep by the steady rise and fall of his chest.

“We’re getting married.” She whispers reverently, eyelids heavy – she feels his lips gently ghost against the top of her head in response, perhaps subconsciously as if he were made to do it. They drift off, and the last of her anxiety ebbs and flows away as if merely a bad memory.

It’s the best sleep either of them has had for months.

[nelllraiser]

desperate hearts | blanche & nell

PREVIOUSLY: Plot Drop Page

LOCATION: A clearing in the woods.

TIME: 11:48 PM

PARTIES: Blanche Harlow and Nell Vural

TRIGGERS: Sibling Death

"As I told you longe ago, do not calle up That which you can not put downe; either from dead Saltes or out of ye Spheres beyond."

— Simon Orne, The Case of Charles Dexter Ward by H. P. Lovecraft

Time passed strangely now. Though it had been two whole days since Bea had died, since Nell had watched, barely conscious, as her sister was ruthlessly beheaded— she couldn’t decide if it felt like years or simply minutes since it had happened. Everything in the world was still far away, muffled as if there were a veil over all she saw, heard, or did. It didn’t matter. Nell was focused on the task at hand, grateful that she had a next step to focus on rather than just being aimless in her grief. The circle was already set, and as Nell placed the last candle nervous butterflies took flight in her stomach. What would Bea say? Would she be sad? Mad? Happy to see Nell? How good of an idea was this actually? “Are you ready?” she asked, looking to Blanche as she reached for her best friend’s hand, both for the spell and comfort. “You sure you’re okay with this, right? You don’t even have to look if you don’t want to. You can close your eyes.”

“It’s alright, Nell.” Blanche assured her. Summonings were known to be dangerous. Blanche had anxiety in the pit of her stomach, knowing full well that Morgan and Rebecca would both lose their minds if they knew what she was doing. But they weren’t trying to summon a 100+ year old ghost that was hell bent on fulfilling a curse, they were trying to summon Bea. Freshly dead (her mind supplied the cruel freshly headless) Bea, who likely wouldn’t harbor any malicious intent other than to the hunter that killed her. If anything, it was probably fear. Blanche hung around the Vural house after making sure that Bea’s spirit wasn’t lingering where she died. But Bea wasn’t in the house either. Yanking Bea’s soul out of the ether definitely made her nervous, but if she was ready to move on before, then she should be ready now. Blanche took a deep breath, squeezing Nell’s hand slightly. “I’m okay with this. Don’t worry.” As okay with it as she could be. Besides, she wanted to see Bea too. Even if it was without her head. Her stomach churned. “I’ll close my eyes if I have too. But I’m here for you. And for Bea. We got this.”

There was no way Nell would have done this if she thought it might be putting Blanche in danger, but she was certain Bea’s ghost could never harm the girl holding hands with her, and she was confident in her summonings. Besides, this wasn’t Constance, and there was no possessed exorcist present. Either way, she didn’t know if she was emotionally ready to face Bea. Then again, would she ever be? Giving Blanche’s hand a squeeze, Nell took a deep breath before letting it pass out of her, shoulders doing their best to relax for the coming magic. “Thank you, Blanche. I- I really don’t know what I’d do without you.” With that she began her chant, feeling her magic flow through her and into the center of the circle where it pooled, searching the ether for any trace of Bea to pull her through. The words she spoke were as sure as always, though less demanding than when she’d been with Morgan, Jaime, and Rebecca. This was more of an invitation, a pleading rather than a command.

Blanche didn’t know what she would do without Nell either, but it wasn’t time to think like that. It was time to provide as much support as she could. Blanche closed her eyes for a brief moment as Nell began to chant, to invite Bea to be here with them. The air was abuzz with something that Blanche could only assume was magic, and she waited for that familiar feeling that sent the hairs on the back of her neck standing. Her senses weren’t trained, not for her Granny’s lack of trying, of course. But her prevalent fear of spirits growing up lumped the feelings together - she once described it to Kaden after a run in with the dybbuk that it felt like she had been doused in gasoline and set on fire. She hoped Bea would feel different. Not warm, ghosts weren’t warm, but… comforting? Somewhere around there. Except, as Nell continued to chant, she felt nothing at all. Blanche opened her eyes, frowning, unwilling to interrupt Nell as she scanned the area, gripping her friend’s hand tightly. Shouldn’t something have happened? They were alone.

Nell could always tell when something was about to come through with her summonings, like the beginnings of a wave before it crested on the shore. But now...there was none of that. Why wasn’t it working? “Something’s wrong,” she began, refusing to believe the obvious. “I- missed a syllable or something. That’s all.” She didn’t know the last time she’d missed a word or a beat in a summoning, but that’s what had to be going on, right? Right? Bea would come. Bea always came when Nell needed help, when she needed her older sister. “I’m doing it again,” she said suddenly, iron determination in her words as she refused to accept the failed summoning. “She’ll come. I know she will.” Again she started the spell, the force of her magic stronger this time, her words even more measured and careful than they had been before.

Maybe it was too soon after her death. Or maybe Bea didn’t want to be disturbed. Blanche considered both possibilities for a moment. Those seemed like more plausible explanations than Nell missing a syllable or doing something wrong with the spell. She’ll come. I know she will. Nell’s determination seemed like it was leading her for disappointment, as the magic in the air grew stronger. Blanche bit the inside of her cheek hard, willing Bea to come through. Nell needed her, Nell needed her to come through. Blanche had no magic, not like that, but she willed with every inch of herself. Come on, Bea. Please? But even as Nell became more forceful, Blanche’s senses were still dull. Still nothing. “Nell…” Blanche said, softly.

Nell came to the end of her spell once again, and still...there was nothing. Where was she? “She has to be here. She has to.” If Bea didn’t show up, that meant she was well and truly gone, that Nell was never going to see her sister again, whole or not. She’d never hear her voice, smell her perfume, feel the warmth of her hug. Blanche didn’t think Bea would show up, Nell could hear it in her friend’s voice, but Nell, never ready to accept defeat, seemingly still didn’t know when to stop. “One more time.” Her words held a tinge of desperation to them, and her unwillingness to accept her current reality. “Just one more time. It’ll work, I know it will. If that bitch Constance- if so many other ghosts- she has to come.” Again her lips parted as if she were readying the spell once more, intent on doing it over and over until she collapsed to the ground, spent.

“Nell. Nell!” Blanche tried to soothe her friend, but it wasn’t working. Nell and her shared the same determination - trying to do something over and over again until they physically couldn’t anymore. But Blanche couldn’t let Nell do that to herself, no matter how much she wanted to see Bea. No matter how much either of them wanted to see her. “Nell!” Blanche said, her tone sharper than she meant it. “Stop. Stop it!” Her toned softened and Blanche shook her head. “Look at me. Don’t. Just look at me, okay?” Blanche tired her best to ground her friend. “It - look. There’s a lot of things that could be happening right now. It might be too soon to contact her or she might have moved on already.” Blanche said. She bit her lip, knowing that might be the case hurt her, and she knew that it would hurt Nell. Yanking souls out of the ether was possible, especially for those who left something unfinished, but Blanche wasn’t entirely sure that Bea had become a ghost in the first place. The method of death was certainly violent enough, but she didn’t want Nell chasing something that was only going to hurt her more. “We need to stop and wait. And I know that sucks, okay? I know. But if you keep doing this you’re only going to hurt yourself.” Bea wouldn’t want that. “Please?”

The rising emotion in her had been the most of...anything she’d felt in these couple of days, and for a moment, Nell hadn’t minded the chaoticness of it. At least it was something, even if it felt like it was burning her from the inside out. Finally, she looked at Blanche, something like anger flashing there for a moment, though it was less that and more sheer desolated conviction. Either way, it wasn’t meant for Blanche, and the feeling and expression quickly vanished as Blanche continued to call her name. She’d been so focused, so hellbent on making this work— it took a second for her to come back to the present, to pull herself out of the rut in the ground she’d been planning to work herself into. Fuck, she was going too far, wasn’t she? Though, she wasn’t sure that line existed for her anymore. But with Blanche here...she couldn’t do that in front of Blanche, couldn’t cause even more pain that heaped onto everything that had happened. “Fuck,” she cursed aloud, a hand wiping absently at he face. “I’m sorry- I’m sorry, Blanche.”

“No, don’t apologize. It’s okay, it’s - it’s okay,” Blanche said quickly. She squeeze her hand hard for a moment. “It’s - I know. I know.” Blanche could never imagine her brother dying, how she would react, no matter what pain they put each other through. She wasn’t about to judge Nell for being in pain. She reached out, hesitating only a moment, before pulling Nell to her. Blanche was awkward and bad at giving hugs, but she hoped as she wrapped her arms around Nell and squeezed she would understand that she was trying to be comforting. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry Nell. We can try again in a few days, if you want, okay? And I’ll keep looking. I promise.”

It’s okay, Blanche had said. But it wasn’t. It was the furthest thing from okay. What if this was it? What if she never saw her sister again, and she had no one to blame but herself, and her recklessness? Nell accepted the hug wordlessly, her arms wrapping around Blanche as the rest of her body went slack for the moment, trying to focus only on her friend and the comfort she was offering. It worked to an extent, not necessarily healing the wound of Bea’s death, but at least bringing Nell back down to the resting state of numbness she’d been functioning with rather than ready to risk her well-being to see her sister one more time. “Yeah, yeah, sure.” Nell would keep trying for as long as it took, unable to imagine a time she would simply give up the fight for her sister. Bea wouldn’t stop trying for her, and Nell would do the same in return. Still, there was a soft shake of her head as Blanche continued to offer her services. “Just don’t- just take care of yourself, too.” She knew she’d said it in the kitchen at the house, but she didn’t want to risk Blanche forgetting, to run herself ragged like Nell was most likely to do for Bea, as well.

“Taking care of myself? What’s that, can I eat it?” The joke fell flat, strained in her tired and stressed voice, but it at least added a sense of normalness to them. Blanche pulled back, anxiously searching Nell’s features. What could she do to help? Blanche had re-targeted her numbness into something that she thought was more productive - helping Nell and targeting her anger at the motherfucker who had done this. Anything else didn’t matter. How she felt didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. Bea was dead, and they were the ones that were left behind to deal with the fallout. She took a deep breath. “I know, Nell. I’ll be alright.” And then, after a moment, Blanche added, “I want to see her too.” Perhaps adding something that she wanted would make Nell feel a little better about asking her for help.

There was no way a chuckle was going to be wrenched from Nell at a moment like this, but she did offer Blanche the upturn of the corner of her mouth, perhaps not in good spirits, but at least appreciative of Blanche’s efforts. “Yeah, just add hot water.” Her joke also nose-dived into the ground, her tone nowhere near selling it. But she had to try. For Blanche, she would do that. “It’ll be alright,” Nell echoed, though she only half believed it. It was hard to believe much of anything at the moment. Blanche’s desire didn’t exactly surprise Nell, but it did take a grain of her guilt off her shoulders, glad to know that at least Blanche was doing this for herself, as well. “Then we’ll see her. We’ll find her, and I’ll do whatever I have to do.” Even if she wasn’t sure whether the words were for her or Blanche, she’d keep saying them until they were true, until Bea was standing in front of them once again. Bea wouldn’t have rested until Nell was found had their roles been reversed, so Nell would do the same for her.

[theaurorfileshq]

R I L E Y   M E T Z E R  /  A U R O R   C A D E T

AGE: Forty

BADGE NUMBER: U81J33

BLOODSTATUS: Halfblood (No-Maj Born Father, Wix Mother)

GENDER/PRONOUNS: Trans Man, He/Him

IDENTIFYING FEATURES: That Sweet Sweet Louisiana Accent, Plaid Shirts, Dog Hair on Nearly Every Belonging.

STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES:

(+): Seer (Post-Cognitive, Almost Useless), Vehicle Proficiency, Animal Skills.

(-):  Extremely Weak Magical Ability, Avoids Conflict.

BACKGROUND:

(tw: mentioned alcoholism, murder, vague transphobia )

(i.) – childhood.

Their mother left early on, and when Riley was young their father hated him for the resemblance. He looked too much like her, even when he carved out a new body for himself, to better fit his shape. He’s the eldest child yet somehow the second son, always lesser somehow in his father’s eyes. There is a sense of otherness that haunts him through the years, one he can’t dwell too much on as he lays in his cramped bed, brother not more than a foot away on the other tiny twin mattress, in their tiny box room. Riley always blames the cramped circumstances of his upbringing for planting his anxiety in him, for making him afraid of big crowds and wide open homes.

He does his best to learn to live life on his own terms, to take care of himself and his brother and leave their father unbothered. Riley learns to cook dinner, and help with homework, and smile strained smiles at the grocery store clerk. Their father teaches him things young, leads by example. He tells Riley that if he insists on being a man, at least he’d better not be some kind of priss. He drinks too much and passes out early, and Riley learns to ignore the stench of beer on the couch, and learns to hide the way he looks at other boys.

His brother is special. They learn that young too. At eleven he’s secreted away to a world that Riley doesn’t get to be a part of. Magic school. He takes after their mother in a way that Riley seemingly doesn’t. Sometimes, he feels like he’s missing out on something. He feels like he missed a moment of revelation, like something should have changed when he was younger, but he wasn’t paying close enough attention. Sometimes, he wonders if he could ever be special, hopes and dreams to be something more than he is.

He gets a job as a teenager and contributes to the family, and lets his father teach him how engines work, how to drive. He has an anxious heart, and he’s a fucking weirdo, he knows it. People don’t like him, and he doesn’t want them to. Riley gets bullied at school, and bullied at home, and he swallows it all down and forgets it.

He regrets his wishing that he could be more, when it starts at sixteen. The… visions? He doesn’t know what to call them, but he learns to tell when they’re coming. They build like a vicious and sharp migraine behind his eyes, leave him dizzy and half blind, and after they hit he breaks out in sweats and usually empties out his stomach. His father doesn’t even notice, and the school nurse tells him he’s fine, nothing out of the ordinary. But he sees bloody phantoms, strange things he can’t explain. He sees Nancy Walker cheating on a math test that happened two weeks ago. He sees the Ryan boys playing ding dong ditch last halloween. Useless things. When he tells his brother, the reaction isn’t good. You’re making shit up, you just want to be special like me. He doesn’t know how to explain them in any other way, so he keeps his damn mouth shut, just like daddy taught him.

Their father disappears when he’s eighteen. It isn’t a surprise, and he’s done it before. A weekend long bender here, an extended trip away. Riley doesn’t think anything could have gone wrong, until a full week passes and he doesn’t turn back up. It leaves Riley feeling hopeless and helpless. He considers the police, what his father would say if he told them and everything was actually fine. He considers missing person’s reports, and people eyeing him with scrutiny, and he freezes up a little. Anxious heart beating fast, body aching with nerves. Sometimes, he can’t make words come out of his mouth, can’t form sound. When he’s nervous, he goes quiet. A defense mechanism, a last line of support. He picks up the phone to call the police, and can’t get the words out, so he just hangs up.

Riley figures that everything will be fine. Dad will come  home soon, and they’ll go back to the way things were. School ends and he skips graduation, glad to escape high school, glad to work more hours at the gritty and dirty mechanics down the street from their tiny cramped house. His brother comes home from school for the summer, and he imagines that everything will be fine, and then he has a vision. A hold up on the road out of town, where the land becomes wild again, swampy land and his father’s car, his father’s blood. They do go to the police, finally, but it’s his brother that does all the talking.

(ii.) – an education.

He strikes out on his own, after their father dies. Tries to, at least. His haunting little problem only gets worse, and his anxiety stops his heart more often than not. He’s a broken shadow of a thing, a strange man that makes people uncomfortable. He loses his job at the mechanic shop, and then at the grocery store, and then again at the other one across town. He stops and wonders why he’s doing this, why he’s staying in this town where no one likes him and no one needs him.

It’s a flight of fancy that has him selling his father’s house and moving out, moving away. He packs up everything they owned and sells everything he doesn’t want, everything his brother could do without. He finds pictures he’s never seen before, his mother with shining eyes, and she does look like him. There’s another man in the picture with her, and he looks like her too. A twin. He scours through the rest of the tucked away boxes, finds a letter from her tucked away inside one, and wonders if the address on it is still good.

He isn’t sure what he expects from her, when he finds her. He isn’t sure if he should be angry that she left, or glad that she never had the time to learn to hate him. Mainly, he just wants answers from her. He just wants something. He finds the apartment from the letter, on the west coast, and decides not to write ahead, not to warn her of his imminent arrival. A letter is a lot easier to ignore than a son on your doorstep.

She isn’t there, when he knocks. But the other man is. The uncle Riley never knew he had. His name is Alastair and he looks at Riley with sad eyes, and he has a kind smile, and he explains that she died a long time ago. Years and years ago. Before Riley ever knew where to look. Riley turns to leave, but Al invites him inside and lets him stay the night, lets him stay for a week. When Al asks if he can do magic, at all, Riley shakes his head. There’s nothing magical about him. He’s a squib, that’s what Al says, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t part of the magical world. But even that much isn’t right.

He’s at Al’s when the visions shift. Ever since his father, they’ve taken on a bloodier edge. No more math tests. No more ding-dong-ditch. Riley is the eternal victim now. He’s attacked, murdered, more than once. And apparently that means he might not be a squib after all. There’s magic in him. Just a bit. Just enough, and he’s very special indeed. Al gets in contact with an old professor, who gets in contact with an expert in the field of seeing the future, who gets in contact with an expert in the field of seeing the past. Riley reports the crimes in his head to the police, to the aurors, and forgets how to sleep at night without dreaming of death.

Riley learns magic from his uncle. It’s too late for school. He’ll always have missed something formative, something necessary. But he wouldn’t have thrived there, wouldn’t have blossomed. He learns all the theory, but he can’t manage most of the actual magic. A few spells here and there, but the rest is beyond him. He can boil a kettle, open a door, turn on a light. He can’t make a shield, he can’t throw his body across time and space, he can’t turn a teapot into a turtle. So, he doesn’t expect to go far in life. He gets a job in a diner and for some reason, Al lets him stay in the spare room of his apartment, his mother’s old room. There are pictures glued to the wall that he can’t get off, attached with magic that he’ll never be strong enough to counter. He could ask Al, probably, but he doesn’t have the heart to.

(iii.) – career progression.

Things go as they always do. He lives. It isn’t quite happy, his existence, but for a brief few years it’s the best it’s ever been. He has an uncle that loves him. Someone to count on. But Riley Metzer isn’t a person who is allowed to have comfort, and everyone he loves turns to ash eventually. Al dies, just like everybody else. Well, maybe not. It’s an accident, brutal in its simplicity, one of those strange things that could happen to anyone and everyone. He leaves Riley some money, and he’s gone, grief left in his wake.

Riley buys himself a trailer he parks out in the woods, and buys himself a dog. Tiny little thing named Titan, sweet and comforting, unlike any human he could fill his life with. He gets a job in the nearest city, at an all night diner, and tries to cope as best he can with existence.

There’s  this problem he has when he can’t ignore the things he’s seen. He’s become an eternal victim, and there are horrors unfolding before his very eyes. But he’s also the kind of man who hates to be seen, to be noticed, to be scrutinized. He knows now that his visions are real, but they’re still difficult to deal with, especially when it comes to no-maj police. It’s hard to walk into a station and give information about a murder no one is aware of, to give details that have never been supplied to the public. If he doesn’t want to be mistaken for some kind of weirdo serial killer, he has to do better than that. So he becomes the master of the anonymous tip. Phone calls from old, practically defunct payphones. Notes written on random scrap paper.

It’s easier with the Aurors, who understand at least in the vaguest sense that Riley gets his information through traumatic recollections of things that never happened to him. They understand he knows the details because he lived them, because when he sees a murder he lives in the victims shoes for a day. He’s been strangled, stabbed, and left for dead. Once, he was buried alive. He knows he can go to them and for the most part, they’ll get it – but he’s still strange, still  unusual, as far as seers go, and he still hates it when they talk to him for hours at a time. So he tries to cheat that system too, uses Al’s old owl to send notes to headquarters and hopes that they never track him down for further comment.

Of course, someone does track him down, eventually.

They appear in the diner in the middle of his shift, order coffee with too much sugar and a slice of pie. Sol LeRoux has kind eyes and what must be the brightest smile in the world. He must be a few years older than Riley, but he looks younger. Something sweet and bright and innocent inside him that sets him apart, where the opposite is true for Riley, old beyond his years. He flashes a badge that says he works for Central Squad, and Riley thinks his heart is going to beat right out of his chest. Sol is there for him, because of something that he saw, because he’s the man with the insider knowledge, and there’s a serial killer on the loose. Riley helps in every way he can, but there’s clearly more than that going on.

Sol looks at him like he’s something sad, but something with potential, and his heart doesn’t stop beating too fast. They stop a serial killer, and Sol tells him that he’s wasting his life, tells him that he could do so much more if he put his mind to it. Apparently, Riley’s tips have helped them close a dozen cases on the big squads. When he points out that he did all that anonymously, that he’d be useless as an auror, that he can barely do magic anyway, Sol smiles at him. He smiles and he shakes his head, and he looks at Riley with kind eyes. The words stay with him for a long time: well, i’ve seen your future, Riley Metzer, and I think you’d do pretty damn great.

Sol gets him into the academy somehow, and he passes as best he can. By the skin of his teeth, or by the grace of god, he does become an auror. Riley calls his brother to share the news, and the conversation is tense, the way it always is. Part of them will always know that Riley isn’t meant for this world, that no matter what anyone else says, he’s a pretender through and through. Still, Riley wants to hoard it selfishly, wants to be part of it for as long as he can, before they realise their mistake and take away his badge again. They assign him to the squad in Louisiana, and then to Washington, and then to Tennessee. He never expects for more than that, to be passed around to where he’s needed most, to be loaned out whenever he has a vision that might help.

He doesn’t expect MACUSA or Pacific Squad to come calling. But eight months ago they did, and then he began a life of bigger and better things. He moved his trailer and his dogs to the west coast for good, moved into a big office with way too many people, and had to fight just to make himself say a word. He’s still waiting for them to realise that he doesn’t belong, he’s still hoping that they never do.

[marshmallow-phd]

Lies Untold

Part of The Untamed - EXO Wolf Universe

Genre: Supernatural, Wolf Au

Pairing: Luhan x Reader

Summary: For generations, your family has been the protectors of mankind. You were considered one of the best and due to that reputation, you were sent on what could be the most important mission for the organization. Going under cover in a college to sniff out a particularly large and threatening wolf pack seemed easy enough. But when you meet one of the members, everything you’ve known since birth will be overturned and your loyalty to your family and heritage will be tested.

Part: 1 I 2 I 3 I 4 I 5 I 6 I 7 I 8 I 9 I 10 I 11 I 12 I 13 I 14 I Final

**

The blast from the bomb wasn’t enough to knock you unconscious, but you didn’t walk away completely unscathed. Your hands and arms had little nicks and cuts decorating the skin that stung with each movement you forced upon them. The worst wound you seemed to have was on your forehead. Blood was sliding down your face and dripping into your eye. With a swipe of your sleeve, you cleared out your vision only for the blood to come rushing back.

Pushing yourself up to your knees, you glanced around to assess the damage. Alli was awake beside you, seemingly fine. The warehouse was completely leveled, only a few supporting beams here and there left standing. Lights were starting to flicker on in the distance from some of the residential areas. It was hard to tell, but you were sure you saw most of the crowds gathering around the Main Hall to watch it as the flames consumed the building. No one else was walking around the area near the warehouse. Good. That was good. Of course they would care more about that place. Hopefully that would give everyone enough time to get away.

Panic shot through you just then.

“Luhan!”

You jumped up to your feet and ran towards the place you last the wolves. The blast somehow caused them all to shift back into their human forms, perhaps from shock or just their bodies’ natural instinct to protect itself. All four of them seemed to be unconscious, but breathing.

Crouching down, you reached out to try and wake him. Then you stopped.

If you woke him up, you’d run with him. You’d go back to where the rest of the pack was, fulling integrating your life with Luhan’s. And it sounded like a blissful existence.

There was only one problem: you weren’t ready to be with him yet. Not like that. You couldn’t be with Luhan until you knew it was safe. Until you knew that you didn’t have to constantly look over your shoulder, wondering if the organization was just around the corner to destroy your happiness.

“(y/n)!” Alli came running up behind you, making you tear your gaze away from Luhan’s sleeping figure.

“Alli, keep your voice down!” you whispered harshly. You didn’t want the wolves to wake up while you were still here.

“What are you going to do?” she asked as quietly.

“I don’t know yet,” you admitted. “But let’s go. We’ll go back to the house while everyone else is worried about the fires.”

Alli nodded. “What the wolves?”

You risked looking over your shoulder, memorizing Luhan’s face. It would be a long time before you saw it again. He started to stir and you knew he’d be awake and ready to run soon. “They’ll be fine,” you said when you tore your gaze away. In a hurry now more than ever, you nudged Alli again, a little more forceful this time. “Let’s go.”

The two of you ran away from the destruction in the direction of your house. Neither of your parents were there, making this even easier. You hurried up to your room and started packing anything important that you could carry into the large duffle bag you kept stored under your bed.

“You’re leaving again?” Alli sniffed in the doorway.

Exhaling, you forced yourself to keep going. “I can’t stay. Not after this. You know that, Alli. That doesn’t mean I don’t love you. But I can’t change what’s happened.”

A sudden force hit you from behind. Two little arms encircled your waist, holding you in place.

“I’m going to miss you,” your baby sister whispered into your shirt. “This is worse than last time.”

“I know.” You were barely able to keep your own tears back. Twisting around, you hugged your sister tightly. “It won’t be forever. I don’t know when or how, but I’ll see you again. I promise. Have I ever broken one before?”

She shook her head as her face was still pressed into your chest.

“Okay, then.” You rubbed her back in an attempt to soothe her.

You weren’t just saying goodbye to your sister this time. You were saying goodbye to your entire life. Everything you’d ever known was now going to be in your rearview – close enough to see it, but never able to touch it. And yet, this was the only aspect that was breaking your heart. Because even though leaving Alli behind hurt worse than Johnny’s torture, you knew that ultimately you were heading for the life you were truly meant to live. You were never a hunter of the wolves – you were a protector. You trained inside enemy walls to learn how they thought, you just didn’t know it until now. And you would make sure that hunters never hurt your newfound family ever again.

**

The letter came two weeks after that night in the compound. Luhan had tried to get his life back to normal while always staying on edge, hoping that you might appear in the corner of his eye and put an end to this miserable way of living. But you never showed up. Never in physical form, anyway. You did appear in his imagination every once in a while and then in the form of a single letter.

Luhan,

I know what I’m doing isn’t fair to you, but I can’t come to you yet. Please know that I’m fine. I survived the explosion. I wasn’t hurt in any way beyond a few scrapes and bruises. I know you must be worried and I know that you’re looking for me. Don’t. Please, don’t look for me. Right now, I’m making sure that no other hunters will come after you and your pack ever again. I need make sure you’re safe before I come back. I couldn’t take it if something were to happen to you. Any of you.

And Luhan, I

No. I won’t say it here. It needs to be said out loud, where you can hear me and maybe I can hear it you say it. I’ll see you again. I don’t know when, but I will. Until then, please take care of yourself and live your life.

-(y/n).

 Live his life? How was he supposed to do that without you? Did you think that he could just pretend that you weren’t out there, risking yourself for him while he just sat here, waiting like an obedient puppy?

“She’s making it really hard to hate her,” Kris grumbled after he finished reading the letter.

“Are you really going to keep acting like she didn’t save your life?” Tao teased. The lucky wolf was headed out for a date with his mate, who finally knew the whole story and seemed to be taking it rather well. He had it way too easy, if anyone asked Luhan. It wasn’t fair.

“I could have handled it myself,” Kris insisted. Even Mei, who was currently happily being held by her father, laughed at his ridiculous statement. He looked at his daughter with a frown. “Traitor.”

That interaction made Luhan smile for a second, before the happy expression disappeared once again. He picked up your letter once more and scoffed. How could you asked him to not search for you?

That’s exactly what he did for two months. Every minute that he wasn’t at work or sleeping, he was searching for you, running around the forest, sniffing out any possible lead that could take him to you. There were times that he’d run all night long, reaching the surrounding towns before heading back and collapsing on his bed from exhaustion. Junmyeon started to worry and would occasionally send someone out with him, even after Luhan’s protests. When Junmyeon could catch him, that is. Most of the time, Luhan slip out while everyone else was gone or distracted so he didn’t get stuck with a babysitter. He didn’t want anyone slowing him down or telling him to turn back when he wasn’t ready.

This was something he needed to do on his own. This entire journey involving you had been something that needed to be pursued by him and him alone. He needed to take responsibility for you as his mate. That didn’t mean control you. He simply needed to make sure that you weren’t lying to him and that you really were fine. And then somehow find the balance between giving you the space that you needed and keeping you close so he knew you were safe. It was going to be a hard journey to achieve that, but first, he had to find you, then he could worry about the next step.

This particular afternoon was hot. No clouds were present to help block out the sun’s rays that were beating down from above through the branches of the trees. Even as the night was getting closer and the light was just beginning to dim, the temperature did not let up. But Luhan kept pushing through. He was going farther than he had ever gone before.

This morning, he’d left before anyone else was up, an idea hitting him as soon as his eyes had cracked open after the little sleep he’d gotten. You said you were protecting them from the hunters, making sure that they didn’t come after the pack. So that would mean you were probably staying close to the compound, wouldn’t it? He knew it would be a long run - taking most of the day just to reach the outlining forest of the hunter’s home – but he had to give it a shot. He had to see if his hunch was ri-

He skidded to a stop, his four paws digging into the dirt and fallen leaves that created the floor of the forest. His breath came in quick pants, but he wasn’t sure if that was from the long run or from the sight now standing a mere twenty feet in front of him.

The sound of his approach from behind must have spooked you. In a flash, you’d drawn your bow and had an arrow aimed at him. But as you took in your target and realized that it was him and not an enemy, you slowly lowered your weapon. Pushing himself back up to his feet, he walked towards you at an agonizing pace, inch by inch. He didn’t want you to run away. He knew you’d be angry at him for not listening and coming out here where he had a chance of being killed, but he didn’t care. His heart was happy – whole once again.

Rather than taking off, you, too, began to walk in his direction. When only a few more feet were left, you crouched down, outstretching your arm with your hand open and inviting. Luhan was quick to take advantage, pressing the side of his face into your palm.

A satisfied sigh escaped his muzzle. He closed his eyes, relieved that he’d finally found you and that you really did seem fine. No lasting injuries that he could see, save for the wrinkled scar on your wrist where your tattoo used to be. He whined at the sight of it, but you gave no explanation.

“I told you not to come after me,” you whispered in a scolding tone. But Luhan ignored you, not feeling bad in the slightest. He was with you again and he wouldn’t be letting you take off without him. This was how it was supposed to be and this was how it was always going to be. You and him, until the end of time.

[thebibliomancer]

Essential Avengers: Avengers #214: Three Angels Fallen!

December, 1981

Mission: Capture the GHOST RIDER!

Ha ha good luck with that

Tony he’s steaming you inside your own armor like a lobster you fool

Also I may be easy to impress but I do like the flame effects over the Avengers logo.

Also: hot dang Spider-Man AND some amazing friends? Those lucky NBC viewers!

So last time on Avengers time: Hank Pym Yellowjacket came back onto the Avengers and he was a jerk! He attempted to be the hero guy by shooting Elf-Queen in the back when Captain America had charisma’d her into not attacking.

Then the Avengers put him under court martial!

Given three days to prepare his defense, he instead built a killer robot to murder his friends and was shocked when the robot tried to murder his friends! He sadly walked away from the team before they could tell him to leave!

This time: that stuff all made the news.

How awkward for Hank Pym. And how awkward for the Avengers. And just how very, very awkward.

Wow, if you zoom into the news article, it’s actually a better recap than my last time thing.

Anyway. Aside from stuff that we know happened, the takeaway is that after Hank Pym left in a daze, he’s gone missing for two days. And the whole world knows what Hank did, at least in regards to the Elf-Queen and Sal incidents.

And Captain America is dealing with his turmoil by engaging in basement gymnasium work out.

Its fun how the Avengers’ workout room just migrates around the mansion.

So Cap is punching a robot training dummy to shards with his bare gloved fists and its not actually making him feel better.

Tigra is revealed to be just casually chilling up in the rafters because she likes being high.

Speaking of, I’m pretty sure she just neatly slotted into Beast’s role on the team. She’s furry and she’s sort of the clown of the team.

Tigra tells Cap to lighten up but when he keeps punching a robot she figures he wants to be alone and swings out the door.

She not-literally runs into Jarvis and they have a brief disagreement on etiquette.

Tigra: “Jarvis! Hiya!”

Jarvis: “Good day, madame!”

Tigra: “C’mon, Jarv! Call me Tigra willya? I’m not a ‘madame’! Just a cat!”

Jarvis: “In any case, madame...”

With that not dealt with, Tigra questions why Cap is so messed up over this Yellowjacket thing. Because as far as Tigra can tell, Yellowjacket is a creep who got what he deserved!

She’s really only seen Yellowjacket Hank Pym at his exact worst. And who knows how much attention she paid to the minutiae of the Avengers roster before joining. And per Jim Shooter’s argument anyway, Hank was never the standout Avenger so imagine joining the Avengers and learning that the guy that was Also There would do stuff like yell at his wife until she cried, hit his wife, accuse Captain America of slandering him and build a robot in case his court martial went against him.

She has zero positive social interactions with this guy!

Tigra: “Good riddance, I say! I mean, you only had to see the way he treated the Wasp to know he was a first class rat.”

Jarvis: “You are mistaken, madame! I have known Dr. Pym for years! He is a fine man... a good man! I have never seen him flinch from any danger or duty no matter how fearsome or grim! Truly, he is a hero!”

“Men are fallible -- even heroes -- and Dr. Pym, like any man must bear the consequences of his actions! Judge him not too harshly, madame -- until you have proven yourself as he has!”

Tigra: “He’s proven he’s a rat to me! Anyway, I hope Cap gets over this!”

Jarvis: “As do I, madame!”

Meanwhile, at the Windows of the World Bar, a bar that was in the twin towers back in the heady year of 1981.

A waiter named Mario startles in amazement as he sees Thor fly by the window of Windows of the World. Wow, maybe he’s coming here. Mario thinks how cool it would be if Thor was coming to the bar and he could wait on a real live Avenger. As he serves a Dr. Pepper to Tony Stark.

Tony can’t help but reflect on the irony because this guy is going to be waiting on two Avengers because Thor, as Completely Normal Expert Surgeon Dr. Donald Blake, is coming to meet with him.

The reason why Tony asked to meet specifically with Dr. Donald Blake is because he wants his medical opinion on the strange case of Hank Pym.

Blake immediately points out that he’s not a psychiatrist but then gladly gives his opinion anyway.

Donald Blake: “Well, I’m not a psychiatrist, Tony, but obviously he’s had a breakdown! Most likely it was caused by stress! Since he recently rejoined the Avengers, I suspected he was demanding too much of himself -- but then I think he always has! I often considered trying to talk to him about it, but... you know, even before we confided in each other about our civilian identities we were close friends as Thor and Iron Man... but neither of us were close to Hank!”

I guess that’s true. Interesting to think though that these guys were the founding Avengers but while Iron Man and Thor became close friends in and out of costume, Hank Pym whose identity has been open for a while didn’t really have close friends on the Avengers.

Yeah, sure, they’d go to bat for him. But there’s this distance. But Jan became good friends with everyone. Naturally gregarious, her. So its not just a case where she and Hank were off in their own social unit and separate from the Avengers or the commuting distance.

But like I said, they’ll go to bat for Hank. Blake thinks that his breakdown can be treated but that the treatment will be expensive.

Tony “Money is no problem!” Stark says money won’t be a problem. He’ll pay for Hank’s treatment.

Blake points out that Hank might be too proud to accept charity so Tony decides he’ll give him the money “and a job at Stark International! I’ll work his tail off ‘til it’s paid back, if that’s the way he wants it!”

That’s our Tony!

I wonder what the end plan there is. After his treatment is Tony thinking Hank will just come back to the Avengers? I wonder if he’s talked to Wasp about this hypothetical plan.

Because that’d be a thorny situation.

Speaking of, over at the house of Wasp:

“She is Janet Van Dyne Pym -- an Avenger,  in her guise as the Wasp. She is heiress to a large fortune. This house is hers. As is anything else that she desires, if money can buy it. Most women would envy her -- and yet in recent times she has been unhappy. The contentment she feels now has grown only during the last two days -- since the disappearance of her husband.”

And she is at work sketching fashion designs. She is a fashion designer.

Jenkins the probably butler comes in to tell Janet a thing.

Jenkins: “Mrs. Pym -- ?”

Jan: “Jenkins, I asked you not to call me that! Ms. Van Dyne, if you please, or ‘hey you,’ but --”

Jenkins: “Yes, madame, but, um you have a visitor -- Mr. Pym! Do you wish to see him, madame?”

Jan: “Not really... but I suppose it’s necessary. All right, Jenkins, my shades are discreetly in place! Lead me to him!”

Jenkins: “Does your eye still hurt a great deal, madame?”

Jan: “Yes... and it’s still swollen shut -- but you know, Jenkins. I’m seeing more clearly than ever, now!”

So Jan goes to see Hank.

Apparently he’s been wandering around in a fugue state for two days since the court martial.

Hank says that Jan probably hates him but she corrects him. She pities him. But not enough to put up with him anymore.

And she demands a divorce.

Hank: “Jan, I know it’s too late to talk, but I want to anyway! How’s your eye? I guess I gave you quite a shiner, huh?”

Jan: “‘Shiner’ is a cute word for something that’s painful and humiliating! It makes me sick... and so do you!”

Hank: “I -- I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to hit you! I was upset!”

Jan: “You were more than upset, Hank! You’re a deeply troubled man! You need help!”

Hank stammers, and seems to be wishing that Jan could help him. Or wishing that Jan could understand him. Or that Jan could do something.

Jan: “Sorry, Hank! For years, I lived for you, clinging to you and worshiping you to support your fragile ego! I submerged myself completely to prop you up! No more! Never again! Now, please leave!”

Wow.

This is the very thing I was complaining about last issue with Jan’s sexy talk at Hank. Shooter played me for that exact reaction.

Anyway, she really wants him gone. Now. And two days was enough time that she’s had all his stuff packed up in one of her cars so he can gtfo. She even offers to give him a bunch of money to live on if it’ll get rid of him.

But Hank refuses to take her money. He doesn’t want anything more from her. He seemingly recognizes that he’s hurt her enough. And when she asks how he’ll live, he says he can live off his income from his books and patents.

He’ll be fine.

He won’t be fine.

There’s a scene transition to a seedy motel and a melancholic Hank sitting on the bed as the narration lets us know that actually Hank is deeply in debt and had to sell his patents years ago. All his books are out of print.

I know that he rankled at being supported by Jan but still, how did he end up in debt? Geez, Hank, you’re bad at finance.

“Though he has known gnawing doubt and discontent for months, his expulsion from the Avengers plunged him into agonizing despair beyond his darkest imaginings. He believed that day to be the absolute nadir of his life -- until an hour ago, when he ultimately, irrevocably lost his wife.”

Well.

I actually sort of imagine that if he hadn’t ghosted for two days, Jan wouldn’t have come to the decision to divorce him and cut him out of her life as soon as possible.

She was still in his corner despite what he did. He kept mum on the murder robot, hoping that the court martial would go well, that he had prepared some sort of defense that wasn’t. The thing that he actually said.

I actually suspect that it was disappearing for two days is what made up her mind. The last rocky bit of their relationship was paved in Hank’s emotional unavailability. He wouldn’t let her in. I think spending three days locked up in a murder robot lab instead of talking to her kind of says it all. And disappearing for two days after puts an exclamation on the sentence.

Anyway, I’m glad that he did disappear those two days. All that stuff Jan said about submerging herself for him rings true. I’d much rather she hadn’t been hurt at all but I’ve heard that this post Hank period of her life is a kind of renaissance for her.

She’s really going to spread her wings, if you’ll forgive the pun.

And to borrow a phrase. She’s more interesting without him.

So back at Avengers Mansion, Cap is still. Just. Beating the shit out of the exercise equipment. Geez, Cap.

If you haven’t worked out your frustrations at this point then I don’t know that breaking more equipment is going to!

Jarvis comes in with a lemonade for Cap. A lemonade and a heaping scoop of tell him to get his shit together.

Through. Geez. Through some reverse psychology spiel about the nanny state? Geez, Jarvis. C’mon.

Jarvis: “Years ago, people spoke with reverence about something called ‘the American Dream’! They believed that any man was free to go as far and high as his wits, courage and determination might carry him... They knew that, as with any dream, there was a risk! A man might fail! These days many people want to eliminate the risk! They think some ‘big brother’ should ensure that everyone succeeds!”

Cap: “I know! That’s foolish!”

Jarvis: “But, you see, they claim that things aren’t fair -- that one may be a good man and try very hard and still not achieve his goal!”

Cap: “That’s true! It’s not always fair! No one ever said it would be! Whatever the goal, there will always be some good men who fall short for some reason -- but the best of them will pick themselves up and go at it again, until -- Hmm... All right, Jarvis, I get the message! I’m going to stop being a ‘big brother’ -- stop blaming myself for Hank’s failure... and trust in the fact that, deep down, he’s one of the best!”

Don’t love the ideological argument that got him there but glad to see Cap buck up.

So we scene transition again and time transition to a different person in a different mood.

Johnny Blaze is sitting on an outcropping over a mountain road watching the traffic go by.

He’s in a dour mood because he lost his title as world champion motorcycle stunt rider. And apparently the last dregs of his self-respect.

I have no idea what’s going on in the Ghost Rider book but apparently his life has imploded.

So as he sees some “rich, carefree son of a gun” driving around in his sixty grand custom Ferrari while he himself doesn’t even know when he’ll be able to afford a meal again, why it makes him mad.

Valid.

And he decides hey the world has wronged him so why not lash out a little, as a treat. Starting with the dick in the Ferrari.

And the dick in the Ferrari just happens to be Warren Worthington III, the former X-Man known as Angel.

Also, Ghost Rider’s former teammate on the very short-lived Champions team.

So Ghost Rider pulls alongside Warren’s car in his motorcycle and pops a 200 MPH wheelie to get ahead of the car so he can stand right in the middle of the road.

Warren is apparently a nice guy so instead of going ‘fuck that skeleton bastard’ and running him over, knowing he’ll be fine, Warren swerves.

But he swerves going 190 MPH. And crashes his expensive car into a rock busting it up.

And then dick ‘the middle of the road is a fine place for a stand’ Ghost Rider yanks Warren out of his busted up car and rips his shirt off.

Because he wasn’t actually sure it was really Warren? Maybe Ghost Rider has trouble with facial recognition.

Anyway, Ghost Rider is like ‘race me, nerd!’ and when Warren doesn’t want to Ghost Rider goes “You will do as I say... or perhaps I shall give this woman of yours a kiss, eh?”

Not great, Ghost Rider. This is a bad look for you.

Warren agrees to the race.

So to prepare, Ghost Rider creates a motorcycle out of flame. Hm? What happened to the other motorcycle? Disintegrated off-panel. Ghost Rider mentions that its a big drain to create the motorcycle and that this might give Warren an advantage.

Its all a bit clunky so I think the artist drew Ghost Rider making the motorcycle and forgot that the motorcycle was already out. So then the dialogue had to cover the lapse.

You see that some of the times.

Anyway, the race starts and Ghost Rider immediately starts winning. Even having to deal with the rough terrain, his flaming cycle just go nyoom.

This race doesn’t have any explicit stakes though. And figuring he has nothing to gain nor to loooooooose now that his girlfriend Candy is out of reach, Warren decides he’s just going to beat up Ghost Rider.

So he pours on the speed in a power dive to catch up and hammer punches him off the motorcycle.

Warren decides that might as well have a conversation with the guy.

Warren: “Threatening Candy was a bad idea, Blaze! You used to be on the good guys’ side! What’s wrong with you -- ? What’s gotten into you?”

Ghost Rider: “It’s not what’s gotten into me, cretin! It’s what’s gotten out! I am the living spirit of vengeance! Once Johnny Blaze tempered my wrath with his mercy and compassion, but, no more! To Hades with his heroic altruism and polite fairness! My way is swift and sure! When there is injustice the Ghost Rider craves vengeance -- ! And it shall be mine!”

And then he sets Warren on fire.

Geez, Ghost Rider.

And he used hellfire too, which burns the soul instead of the flesh.

“And an angel falls screaming to the Earth.”

One-third of a title drop!

Ghost Rider takes off on his motorcycle, cackling into the night.

Nine hours later, Warren is in a coma in the hospital. Candy has tried calling the Avengers, hoping to get Beast since he was a friend of Warren’s.

But whoops! Beast left the team recently! But unwhoops! Cap decided that this looks like a job for the Avengers anyway!

Not like he had anything better to do.

Look at him. He was playing a World War II video game.

That scamp.

But after promising that the Avengers would come to Alkalai Flats, Cap realizes that the Avengers are short-handed. Yellowjacket was booted from the team, obviously. But Wasp has taken herself off the active list.

So they’re down to four people (and after they made such a big deal trying to pare down the team, womp womp! Bet you wish Jocasta were still around!) but Cap figures eh what the heck, I bet Thor, Iron Man, Tigra, and Captain America is enough to handle a character called ‘Ghost Rider’!

Which makes me think he has no idea what they’re getting into and that makes me laugh.

Anyway, the next day in Alkalai Flats, New Mexico.

Johnny Blaze working as the pump guy at the local gas station. Remember when pumps were manned? Me neither. Apparently it was a thing in the wild 80s.

Johnny is thinking wow he really should have skipped town after he forced Ghost Rider down and took control back. He feels really sore about lashing out at the world. But he feels so guilty about what he did that he can’t leave until he knows Warren’s going to be okay.

So he got a job pumping gas so he can afford to eat. And he visits the hospital everyday to check on Warren.

And then the Avengers arrive, touching down at the local airfield.

The Avengers, being Avengers, take some time to sign some autographs. Well, Cap, Tigra, and Thor do. Iron Man goes to talk to Mayor Obadiah, the sheriff, the postmaster, and the chamber of commerce.

Its all the same guy.

That sure is a collection of power in one pair of hands! And can one person really be a chamber? Aside from Jonothon Starsmore, I don’t mean him.

Anyway, the airfield is a distance from the town so Iron Man asks where he can rent a car (from the mayor) who takes them to the motel (owned by the mayor).

There’s some fun dialogue here as the mayor calls Iron Man “Mr. Man” and when Iron Man says “uh... that’s Iron Man” the mayor switches to “Mr. Iron.”

And there’s another fun moment as the mayor/sheriff/postmaster/etc drive them to town in the back of his pickup with Tigra snarking at Thor who is standing arms akimbo that even he can’t look classy in the back of a pickup.

Before calling herself a liar in her thoughts.

This whole sequence is just a little bit goofy and I love it.

I wonder if Iron Man more deeply regrets this than the time he had to commandeer a bus.

(Aww, look at Thor waving to the crowd)

But this goofy little sequence is great especially considering what we got last time. And even at the beginning of this issue. Its nice to deescalate the tone a bit.

Iron Man and Thor fly off in separate directions to look for Ghost Rider, unaware that Johnny Blaze saw them arrive at the hotel and went ‘welp! Time to lie low!’

And Tigra decides: “If I’m going to go prowling around the West I think I ought to be dressed appropriately!” and walks into a clothing store.

The ladies running it don’t quite know what to make of any of this. Especially when Tigra keeps talking.

Tigra: “Ah’d like to buy some fancy duds fer huntin’ down a certain varmint owlhoot who’s been terrorizin’ these here parts, ma’am.”

Evalyn: “Beg your pardon -- ? Say, miss, aren’t you one of those Revengers?”

Tigra: “A-vengers! Yes, ma’am!  And yes, my entire body is covered with fur! And, yep, I’m a bona fide cat lady! Yes, I adore fish! No, I don’t eat little friskies, and I don’t take baths by licking myself! Any other questions?”

Evalyn: “What size are you dear?”

With that settled, Tigra decides to try on everything and tells them to bill the Avengers.

I thiiink I know why Tigra wanted so badly to join the Avengers now.

And, hey, understandable! Spending Tony Stark’s money in between doing superhero stuff is a great lifestyle if you can get it.

Its funny because she just got a check for a thousand dollars two days ago.

Tigra has been a very fun character so far if you very purposefully subtract the uncomfortable harassment of Jarvis.

But its nice that someone on the team is having a good time.

I do wonder if she’s absorbing traits from the absent Jan? Huge shopping spree in the middle of a mission is something I can imagine being written for the Wasp. Although the end result is decidedly more Tigra.

Anyway, having purchased a sexy cowgirl outfit to her liking, she goes to find Cap.

And Cap is talking to a mechanic. Cap wants a motorcycle. Adamson the mechanic has a motorcycle. He wants to lend Cap the motorcycle for free in thanks for his service to the country. Cap, being Cap, insists on paying $50 a day.

And that’s how Cap gets a motorcycle that he is inevitably going to break.

Cap: “Well... hello, podner!”

Tigra: “Hiya, Cap! Got room for a catty cowperson?”

Cap: “Hop on!”

Of all the things, I didn’t expect Cap and Tigra to be on the same bad faux western talk train together.

Tigra: “Whee! This is fun! Great idea, Cap!”

Cap: “It’ll help us cover more ground!”

Okay so they’re not entirely on the same page.

This has been a very fun two pages.

So the Avengers spend the whole day fruitlessly searching. Its a good thing that its a slow day in New York. But honestly, Spider-Man and the Fantastic Four can probably handle holding down the fort.

The next day, they’re still looking!

I wonder how much time they were willing to put into this if nothing came up? But then something comes up!

Local child Kim decided that he’d tie a blanket around his neck and play Thor up on a water tower.

I cannot believe that Thor is a bad example by proximity. Geez, Thor. Try to consider who you are adjacent to.

Kim’s mother runs and finds Johnny Blaze who is just about to skip town, having realized that if Angel wakes up, he is S O L.

But Johnny Blaze can’t let a child fall to his death and against his better judgement decides to change into Ghost Rider.

Johnny Blaze/Ghost Rider: “He’ll fall any minute! I can’t reach him in  time! No one could... except... the Ghost Rider! He could! But, do I dare change? If I do -- will he save the boy? I’ve got to chance it! Got to remember I’m doing this to save the kid! Must save the child! The child... Bah! Forget the child! If he should die by his own hand, what does the Ghost Rider care? What is there to avenge? But the Avengers dare to hunt me! There is an affront that the Spirit of Vengeance cannot ignore!”

And then Ghost Rider just ghost rides away from the water tower.

But never to fear! Iron Man swoops in out of nowhere.

Iron Man: “Pardon me, young man, but I couldn’t help but noticing your unusual radar blip!”

Kim: “I-Iron Man?”

Iron Man: “That’s me! It’s all right now, soon -- but don’t ever do this again!”

See, Thor? You should constantly tell children not to try cool things, just in case.

Miles away, Ghost Rider vrooms past Cap and Tigra on their rented motorcycle and then zooms off telling them to give chase, IF THEY DARE.

Zooms off right along the median divider.

Tigra is like uh I don’t think chasing the guy with the flaming head is a good idea, uh Cap we’re driving on the wrong side of the highway, uh I think he’s leading us into a trap but Cap says “Don’t distract me! I think we’re gaining on him!” like he’s a suburban dad on a road trip vacation, about to inevitably take the wrong exit.

Anyway, Ghost Rider leads them into a box canyon.

While he drives straight up the wall, Cap can’t do that no matter how cool he is. So he just crashes into the wall while yelling at Tigra to brace herself.

To her credit, Tigra is flung off the bike and lands on her feet because cat powers. But Cap takes a rough tumble. Plus, he wrecked the bike and that was a loaner! Geez, Cap!

Oh, and Ghost Rider pops up behind them and sets them both on fire. And by that I mean sets their souls on fire because thats PG for some reason while having all your skin burned off is decidedly not.

“Streams of hellfire spurt from the demon’s outstretched hands -- washing over Tigra and Captain America, seizing them in its crackling embrace. The flames bite deep into their souls, and in a searing instant, they know what it is to be dragged eternally thruogh the pits of Hades. Their screams echo through the canyons -- and do not go unnoticed.”

Geez.

Kind of an overreaction honestly, Ghost Rider.

But like the block quote said, their screams didn’t go unnoticed and Iron Man flies in their direction to find Ghost Rider surfing on his motorcycle.

This is a weirdly, morbidly jolly Ghost Rider, isn’t he?

Anyway, Iron Man tackles him off his motorcyle, boasting that his armor can withstand any fire that Ghost Rider can generate.

Hey, kids in the audience!

Er, uh, hey, anyone at all in the audience?

Can you guess the logical flaw in Iron Man’s statement?

Is it...

That he has eye holes and a mouth hole cut out of his helmet and his face is now on fire?

If you guessed that ahead of looking at the panels, congratulations! You are now the proud owner of 10 Fun Time Avengers Reward Points. These can hypothetically be exchanged for fun prizes.

Also: I’m being reminded of Transformers trauma and I don’t like it.

So then Thor swoops down to take his swing at things.

Ghost Rider shoots FIRE EYE BEAMS at the thunder god but Thor just walks out of the flames like a cool guy.

This Thor, what a cool guy.

And then he throws his mighty mallet Mjolnir with a boast:

Thor: “It serves you well to claim kinship with the devil men name in their religions! Liar! You are but a creature of dark magic, a demon from some hellish mystic realm! I, too am a being from a mystic realm! I know what you are -- and I fear thee not! The hammer of the thunder god shall smite thee down, false one!”

Ghost Rider jumps on his motorcycle and... okay this is too good. I have to show you this in its entirety.

So Ghost Rider outraces Mjolnir and then grabs the hammer as its looping back to Thor and lets it carry him at great speed right at Thor so he can bowl Thor over with his motorcycle.

All while laughing like this is just the most fun he’s ever had.

I like that he also manages to spend nearly this entire sequence dunking on Thor. That’s efficiency of screentime.

So the Avengers regroup. Well, they try.

Tigra freaks out at the thought of, y’know, having her soul set on fire again. Which. Valid.

But being an Avenger means having to do stupid stuff.

Tigra: “What?! F-face that again?! You can’t be serious! I -- I couldn’t take any more of that! Cap! You went through it too! You know what it was like! Why aren’t you afraid?”

Cap: “I -- I am! I’ve never known anything so horrifying! But we’ve got to put it behind us!”

Tigra: “I can’t! What if he burns me again! I’d go mad! Please Cap, don’t make me go!”

Cap: “Pull yourself together, girl! We may need you! Think about it -- we can’t let him hurt other people that way! We’ve got to go after him!”

Tigra: “I -- I’ll try, Cap! I’ll try!”

Mm. Tigra is the logical one for this character beat since she’s new to the team. But I dunno. It doesn’t sit entirely well that the only woman on the team is being used for this beat. I’d be more annoyed if Wasp was getting it so there’s that, I guess.

It also helps that Tony is in the background thinking

Iron Man: “I... know how you feel, Tigra! Believe me! I don’t know how you do it, Cap... no armor, no weapons, no superhuman abilities -- but you put us all to shame! What a man!”

I read that in the Ace Rimmer “What a guy!” tone.

Anyway, my misgivings are also somewhat lessened by Cap admitting he’s afraid too and later saying its not wrong to be frightened but you can’t let your fear dictate your actions.

Because “being an Avenger means having to do stupid stuff.” A very wise me once said that. I did.

So Ghost Rider is headed back to Alkalai Flats to find Warren Worthington and kick his ass.

Which is usually warranted, hah, but since Warren is still in the hospital from the previous asskicking, just feels gratuitous.

The Avengers manage to head Ghost Rider off on his way back to town and Iron Man blasts him off his bike.

Ghost Rider behaves in the classy way you’d expect of the man who once posed for this saucy picture.

Ghost Rider: “Idiots! Have you not learned to fear my wrath yet? The girl does! I see it in her eyes! Very well, let her burn first!”

And he shoots some hellfire at Tigra.

Thankfully, Captain “One Step Ahead” America was one step ahead and suspected that Ghost Rider would go after her.

Ghost Rider then turns his fire on Thor and Iron Man but they no sell it (because Iron Man remembered to seal up his armor this time).

So he tries to go after Tigra again and this time gets blocked by Thor.

Thor then pins down Ghost Rider by spinning his hammer just really super fast to create a vortex and Cap says they need to press their advantage and get Ghost Rider to surrender.

Ghost Rider: “Stupid mortals! A hell-spawned spirit cannot surrender! I fight until the vengeance I crave is mine -- or I am destroyed!”

And then Warren T. Worthington III just shows up out of nowhere and spills the beans all over Ghost Rider that this whole tantrum has been a kind of just a tantrum. Because he figured Ghost Rider needed a friend.

Ghost Rider is like “I have no friends!” defiantly and maybe doesn’t realize its a bit sad.

Warren “Angel” T. Worthington III: “I have a theory about you! I think that the more bitter and unhappy you are as Johnny Blaze, the more ruthless and savage the Ghost Rider is when he emerges! You haven’t been too happy as Johnny Blaze lately, I take it! I heard you lost your title! So you took it out on me! That was dumb enough -- but then you made it worse! You almost made it a lot worse! What if the Avengers hadn’t stopped you? Were you out to kill me? Burn the town? Where would it have ended?”

Ghost Rider insists that he seeks vengeance and Angel is like ‘ok fine then vengeance on me. Kill me, dingus.’

But he can’t do it. Or more likely Johnny can’t do it. And his head extinguishes and Johnny takes back over.

To sit on the ground with his hands over his face asking everyone to leave him alone.

The Avengers who were just kind of sitting in the background for this entire encounter, not really sure how to feel about any of this, don’t know how to feel about any of this.

Thor even wonders what to do. But Angel tells him ‘Well Technically Johnny Blaze committed no crimes and I don’t see a Ghost Rider around!’

Cap decides, yeah, this is a good ending! This is a good moment to walk away on! Not our problem anymore! Reminds him of a thing, in fact! Something from his life and maybe a conversation he had the other day?

Cap: “This reminds me of Hank in a way! He lets things get to him... made one mistake... and then made it worse!”

Tigra: “What will become of him?”

Cap: “He has help available if he wants it -- but it’s like he said -- he has a choice! No ‘big brother’ can make it for him! In the end, it’s all up to him!”

Kinda clever to make the story about the Hank Pym overarching plot without belaboring Hank Pym. The Avengers just get involved in a situation that Cap analogizes to the one that the Avengers are experiencing while Hank Pym himself only appears on a few pages. Just enough so we remember that the story is ongoing.

It also lets the story get some lighter toned stuff in the middle of the heavy stuff. Tigra is a delight in this. Even Ghost Rider with his maniacal glee at punking the Avengers is worth a chuckle.

And we get the three fallen angels of the title.

Warren T. Worthington III in a literal sense. He’s a superhero called Angel and he fell because Ghost Rider kicked his ass.

Ghost Rider because demonic related abilities and demons are said to be fallen angels.

Hank Pym because he was one of the heroes, ‘on the side of angels’ but has fallen from grace because of mistakes.

And both Ghost Rider and Hank Pym have people that are willing to go to bat for them despite the mistakes they’ve made. If they’re only willing to accept that help.

I guess Angel too had people willing to go to bat for him since the Avengers flew all the way out here to help him despite barely knowing him.

So what next for the Avengers? And what next for the fall of Yellowjacket?

Next: “Enter the Silver Surfer! Also: the End of the World!”

Dammit, the world can’t end, we’re in the middle of a character journey here!

Follow @essential-avengers because you want to know what happens next but you also want to watch me reblog older posts. Wow, I’m bad at selling this! Please like and reblog also!

[praeyrp]

Lore Update: Affiliations;

We have both affiliations and factions on FS, the difference between them being that affiliations are species dependent and built into the site and factions are largely player made, optional additions (IE: a pack or coven would be listed under affiliation, where the black market or assassins guild would be a faction). 

Below the cut is all the info on our standing affiliations! Do note that we’re not against adding additional affiliations down the line & when our member base can support all the existing affiliations~

Witch Covens;

Lucidum Coven

Creed: To guard and protect, heal and assist, the coven ideals for Lucidum are simple; follow the path of the light and just. 

Do not assume this implies complacency on their part. Politically quieter, the Lucidum strive for peace, understanding, and personal balance though they've learned that such goals cannot always be attained by words alone. Swift to act when necessary, and easy on their familiars, Lucidum is a stable coven for anyone in need. Willing to stand up for its members though unwilling to tolerate any unflattering behavior this coven is stern but always fair. Its peaceful front should not be confused with passivity, and Lucidum proves time and again that still waters run deep.

Tenebrae Coven

Creed:  Power is might. The Tenebrae coven follows the rule of power, a thing that demands a sacrifice that none of its members are unwilling to give.

Seemingly driven by an all consuming pursuit of power, Tenebrae is actually ruled by an iron will and tenacious focus. The coven is invested in all sides of magic and shuns nothing, unsavory and mundane alike, while maintaining the ideal that its members will never stagnate. No reward without risk, familiar and witch alike are all pushed to better themselves well beyond the demands of passivity. Tenebrae is an intense, demanding, coven but its members are strong and capable beyond the norm. A Tenebrae member should never be underestimated, they are legion; encouraged to look out for each other and form close knit bonds they're here to prove that power =/= evil.

Vampire Nests;

Valdit Nest

Creed:  This nest’s rule is simple; we stick together, we survive together.

There’s some sense of belonging to be found among the Valdit members, and while it’s not really a replacement for “family” it does try to offer a place to congregate and spend time with own kind. Valdit is fairly verbose about its distaste for both bloodrage and vampire cannibalism, to the point that many vampire consider it an exceedingly old world and conservative nest. You’re of course welcome to have your kinks, just don’t mention them; don't ask, don't tell is the rule of thumb for Valdit. It likes its members to discuss turning others beforehand, and scoffs on disobedience. 

Pravilo Nest

Creed:  Survival above all, requires sacrifice; Pravilo's creed is harsher sounding, but their rules are far more lax.

Unintentionally opposing Valdīt, Pravilo's the more liberal nest allowing for the growing and learning vampire to falter and not be punished as they might in Valdit. The few rules they do have however, they police with an iron fist. Relaxed about who joins and leaves, and forgiving about any tabooed topic in the vampire society, no member is to encroach on another, hurt another, or snitch on another. The Pravilo nest won't force you to play nice but it will swear you to secrecy and respect. And you will not harm the nest's name, period.

Packs;

Furore Pack

Creed:  Family above all, belongs together; the Furore pack is above all, a family.

Furore is unafraid to throw its weight around if it feels the rights of its members are being threatened, though they're slower to rile overall and generally take a neutral stance, Furore's stance is and will always be its members first and the world outside, second. Their pack-house is closed to the public and warded so its impossible to find without an invitation from a ranked member. As carefully protected as the pack is, it houses a public face in the form of its bar, which helps offer sanctuary to all shifters and also allows the pack some outreach within the city itself. Furore is quiet but politically savvy; while sticking to the background, as the oldest of the packs their voice among the city is a strong one. 

Siviv Pack

Creed: Strength comes from within, never surrender and always protect the pack, and race.

The Siviv pack has a bad rep, and for good reason. Their previous Alpha was a monster, and their current took in a rogue shifter who ended up condemning the entire race as a whole. They are a very open kind of pack, very in your face, with their expensive pack house, and rich members. They have always been the type to try and grow their numbers in anyway and since Malachi has taken the reigns, he has done everything in his power to try and stop the hatred for the shifter race as a whole. It might not have always worked out in their favor, but, they do whatever they can to protect their own and are not afraid to take what they need to take. Whether this is power, or position. Wary or outsiders and witches, but have grown more accommodating to protect their own. 

Cautela Pard (feline)

Creed:  Only as strong as our weakest link; the pard is a quiet and shadowy figure.

Quieter than the packs the Cautela pard is a prideful beast that prefers to stay within its own subspecies. It has been known to allow outsiders but on a whole it’s an exclusive and distrusting club. Its subdued nature goes much deeper than this in that it often stays dormant when political issues are at hand, allowing the much larger and more boisterous packs to speak for all shifters. Never to be underestimated, where they might appear bias and close minded they are incredibly tactical, preferring to play the game from the sidelines with carefully made moves. They do help the community but their arms aren’t as open as the pack’s are. Where the pack seeks to bolster its strength through outside ties the cats seek to strengthen themselves from within. Weak is not something that should ever be associated with the Cautela pard. 

Caedis Pack (hybrid)

Creed:  We are more than our inner strife; the hybrid's strive for equality, above all else.

As a species teetering on the edge of their own inner conflict, hybrids tend to stick only as closely to politics as their current leader is willing and able. The mood within the pack is often tense though well mitigated by its leadership and the well warded house they often frequent for sanctuary and peace. As quiet as they are on the outside, they're not so much on the inside, often warring with one another the pack is a very physically inclined beast. Its members aren't all friends but even with that being said they're expected to respect one another and anyone who falls out of line is swiftly and severely dealt with. There is no margin for error within the prideful hybrids, a group that strives to prove they're equals to their peaceful cousins, the shifters and vampire, and not loose canons roaming the streets.

Fae Courts;

Dawn Court

Tenets:  Honor, Illusion, Caution & Balance.

Ruled over by the fae king, the dawn court holds dominion over light, illusion and above all, beauty. The people of the dawn court are often the more benevolent type, associated with summer and warmth they’re pushed to use glamour freely and abundantly. This isn’t to say they’re less dangerous. The dawn are tricksters, incredibly cunning and mischievous, they pour great meaning into words and word play and will almost always stab you in the back if you show it to them, with a bright joyous smile on their face. Their king is no better, an androgynous and beautiful creature he’s a man of quick wit and silver tongue. The dawn court has long been known for their oddity in collecting or demanding payment for things in a manner that maims and lessens the beauty of those they’re toying with. If you find yourself caught in the trap of the dawn don’t be alarmed when they ask for a payment of fingers or eyes or hair. After all, the less attractive you are, the more attractive they are~

Dusk Court

Tenets:  Truth, Passion, Honesty & Discord.

A queen rules over the dusk, a people fixated on the bestial or natural side of the fae. The people within this court are often feral by nature and tend to be far more malevolent than that of the warmer court. Associated with winter and its inherent chill the dusk are encouraged to live their lives as proudly and naturally as possible, thus they tend to live and thrive within the fae realm itself where they shed their glamour and live as intended. Bold and brash, the queen is blunt and as overtly forward as her people. She rules with an iron fist and a raw feral nature that is both cold and quick. On her surface she is deceptively calm though rarely holds her tongue. As one of the oldest living dragons know to date, she’s in a constant struggle with her own species’ drive to turn to stone, leaving her irritable beneath the surface, though you’d not know by simple glance.