#implosion series

[clonerightsenthusiast]

putting aside their disastrous history on Team B.E.S.T. putting aside how palpable tango's third-wheeling already is. the bdubs/etho/tango trio has the potential to be the most dysfunctional alliance the life series has ever seen.

tango and etho are both the type (in the life series) to attach themselves to a strong personality and follow their lead. usually skizz, although let's also not forget etho was a red banner. and with this trio, that role almost by default goes to bdubs.

except a) for all his bluster, bdubs is not an effective leader. he does not factor others into his plans. and we love him for it. and b) tango and etho, as much as they love him, have absolutely no respect for his leadership.

to put it this way: as much as they loved making fun of him, if skizz said "jump", they would make an effort. if bdubs says "jump", they'll spend so much time squabbling over how high would be best just to troll him they'll all forget what they were doing in the first place.

which leaves three options: decisions in this group are either gonna be made a) by committee (most likely meaning etho and bdubs come to an agreement and tango goes along for lack of other options), b) individually, or c) by whoever yells the loudest and/or is most stubborn about doing the thing they want to do.

it's going to be a trainwreck. and I for one cannot wait to watch the three stooges drive this train off a cliff.

[whatisgodtoanonbeliever]

Maybe I'm the only one here but with the current state of characters, I'm honestly here for no real growth exhibited and all the relationships end catastrophically

No redemption for anyone and the worst possible pairings stay together oops

[scarletiswailing347]

something i hate about being used to small/dead fandoms is that the more active somethings fandom is the more overwhelmed i get which sucks cause i do wanna participate but oh my god theres way too many ppl here

[kelemengabi]

Coherence octave entanglment

[scribeofmorpheus]

Veilguard Review: Doom Upon the World

Warnings: Spoilers for Veilguard, very political review (considers race, gender, religion and choice consequences centred around established Thedas).

Another long post: 4k words

In my first review (Love, Wisdom and Pride), I focused on the relationships most pivotal to Solas’ arc reaching resolution: Inquisitor and Mythal (though heavily Solavellan inspired, I tried to be aware of how the Inquisitor’s role as a rival/friend outside of romance was still considered as an important relationship in his story). This review, on the other hand, will focus on the worldstate and what we lost [x], as well as my speculations on which story beats/companions/advisors I feel should have been integrated into the story for a deeper emotional payoff for past Dragon Age players (and overall story cohesion).  

N.B: This review is definitely a critique of something I love, born from love, because—yes, I had expectations; yes, they were high; no, I don’t think that’s a problem; no, I do not hate the game we got, but I mourn for what the devs clearly were building towards with the last 3 games in the series, and from what we know from the internal struggles with Bioware under EA’s helm (as evidence from the development time, layoffs, staff’s disappointment, and the differences between the final game and the concept art) the only thing getting in the way of a truly epic game was corporate meddling and greed.

Spoilers below the cut.

Without further ado, the primary criticism I have is that Varric should not have been our advisor! I read a post somewhere that succinctly surmised the that Varric was chosen as our Advisor so that:

Solas would make an “irredeemable” mistake for all the Solas haters to use as an excuse to simply view him as an antagonist, simplifying the goal of the game to: stop the elf from bringing down the Veil.

Varric was used for marketing purposes rather than story depth choices; he’s popular, beloved and an easy carrot for the EA stick to dangle in front of loyal fans.

His writer has literally been trying to kill him off for the last 2 games! Varric was supposed to die in Inquisition! (lol)

I firmly believe he should have been holding the blight back in Kirkwall, and that his position as Viscount of Kirkwall should have affected the outcome of the blight spreading in the South!

Advisors in the North

Right off the bat, the two best choices for advisor, (excluding the Inquisitor out of favouritism) should have been Dorian and Morrigan.

Dorian: because we’re in the North, the Shadow Dragons are by far the more “grassroots organisation against imperial power” kind of organised body the Inquisition started out as. Since we don’t have a calling to fight against like the Wardens in Origins or a family to try and keep together in a city on the brink of implosion like Hawke, or a pseudo religious-political body to inspire Hope in the faithful like the Inquisitor, Valour, Love and Hope cannot be at the heart of this story. It has to be JUSTICE [x].

Justice for the culmination of Anders’ story; for Merril and everything she endured to repair the eluvian; for Fenris, the origin of his lyrium tattoos (which according to GhilDirthalen’s post, there was a plot point linked to elves whose lyrium bodies did not possess latent magical prowess) and the slaves in Tevinter; for the rebelling elves that should have formed factions as the Dread Wolf’s Agents like the Trespasser epilogue hinted at; for misunderstood spirits hurt by mages like Cole; for the ancient elves like Abelas; for the templars who saw the corruption in their ranks but had no way out because of lyrium addiction like Sampson; for those corrupted by red lyrium that was spreading throughout Thedas with no cause or cure; for the dwarves like Branka, obsessed with the answers held in the Anvil of the Void, or Harding, or Shaper Valta who saw a Titan and witnessed the death of the Legion of the Dead; for Sandal’s prophecy!; for the qunari oppressed by the Qun, turned talvashoth, searabas, hisraad like Bull! Justice for two decades worth of worldbuilding on the part of the writers and the devs who loved telling these stories.  

Morrigan: is self-explanatory to the story they were crafting between Solas and Mythal. And what would have been even better is if they actually just explained away the Well of Sorrows’ choice unaffecting the Inquisitor because Morrigan eventually had to assimilate the essence from the well to keep the Inquisitor from going mad—like the anchor had to be tempered by Solas in Trespasser. Easy as that!

The best part is that pitting Morrigan and Dorian as foils of each other further allows the game to have greater stakes and tension because Morrigan (changed by Mythal’s righteous anger and need for justice for what was done to her by the Evanuris) could champion making choices more detrimental to Thedas but ultimately in line with Solas’ plans. And Dorian could make choices that put the safety of Thedas’ citizens at the forefront by sacrificing headway in stopping Solas and his Agents from advancing with their plans!

Best yet, we could have had a hardened vs softened Dorian depending on whether you recruited him in Inquisition, and/or did his quest.

[Inquisitor concept art by Matt Rhodes]

Favouritism Bonus Round: The Inquisitor (or alternatively Morrigan) should have been the voice to champion Rook to seek out the wolf statues, and they should have been present when discussing the memories, as it would have given them more gravitas when uncovering the literal story of "Solas is Andrastian God creating the Veil" or "the Dalish Dread Wolf is being proven to be a saviour" or "Elves originally being spirits in the beginning", or "Titans were at war with the elves" beyond comments like: “Oh, Solas regrets this” or “They were doing it”. (This is the issue with having a “couch setting” for a “war room”—discussions feel less intellectual, factions don’t necessarily bring their own unique viewpoint into the interpretation of Solas’ decisions/Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain’s presence, etc.) Everyone is not digesting the material given like it’s a clue to stopping the world from ending but rather like gossip. With the Inquisitor, as either a friend to Solas, a rival or a romanced Lavellan, finally finding the Dread Wolf’s Achilles Heel after vowing to stop him would have rung true, closed the loop.

Sigh.

This is also why I feel the Inquisitor should have been the one in Varric’s place—like literally. I mean recovering from an injury after failing to catch up to Solas in ACT 1, possibly dispatched by Agents of Fen'Harel! Because they could then be forced to pass the mantle to hunt down Solas to “Rook”. Not dead. Or a blood magic illusion. Just, Inquisitor, wounded, making small talk, sometimes bringing up plot points from Inquisition—your Hawke on the battlements in DA:I or Alistair in the gardens with Morrigan and Keiran.

It would also make more sense for the Inquisitor to be able to use the eluvian to travel between Skyhold and the Lighthouse, allowing for believable absences during plot points where their lack of action inspite of their presence wouldn’t make sense. Not to mention more gut-wrenching if we heard about the South from Inky rather than reading 4 letters!

Previously, I stated how the Inquisitor’s presence needed more weight in the non-Solavellan endings! Some people’s Inquisitor befriended Solas, some hated him, either way, the Inquisitor should have been present for the final showdown beyond a passive observer! If the Inquisitor ended up being the last friend/former love that Solas destroys (in a bad worldstate end where you don’t collect Mythal’s essence), which then prompts Rook to fight him because Solas’ last tie to empathy failed to redeem him, that would have added so many layers! The Inquisitor falling is the last straw for Solas too, whether friend, lover or foe, he fought beside them, stopped Corypheus with them! The Inquisitor was partially his making of a hero; his first “good” mistake! It would then make sense for him to snap, choosing to be a villain in the hopes of being stopped because he can’t stop himself, he’s come too far! Rather than the ‘I am a God’ ending they gave us.

Agency of a “Rook” on an Empty Chess Set (Factions and Backstory)

Personally, from both a writing and a viewer’s perspective, I think our protagonist should have always been linked to the Shadow Dragons (and the factions choices shouldn’t have been incorporated). This is more because, framing one’s backstory as being a member of a faction—not a people with established political positions in Tevinter—siphons the narrative of personal stakes. Imagine being a mage who could have begun with higher approval in Tevinter but lower elsewhere, maybe they’d be saved from the Venatori’s thrall that was linked to Neve’s companion story—again linked to Ashur and the Dragons. Or an elf mage could begin a storyline like that of the city elf in da:o but focused on the Shadow Dragons’ tackling slavery’s presence in Tevinter. A Qunari origin could explore being a refugee aided by the Shadow Dragons as they flee the Qun because they don’t fit in the dogmatic religion. A warden could be a criminal in Tevinter, showing us what is considered ‘rules for criminality’ in a city that corrupt and extremist.

Overall, the factions don’t add much diversity to Rook’s background, backstory, dialogue tree or influence on the world state beyond a last name that doesn’t really matter. With a Shadow Dragons’ background, the very ethos of “Rook” would have been about overcoming oppression, and then the nickname makes sense too, a name to stay concealed, to keep loved ones safe while DAV’s protagonist battles politics, blood mages and blighted gods. It would have been even more meaningful if the nickname “Rook” paralleled “Dread Wolf”, in that it was bestowed by your origin-based backstory antagonist and then used as a call to freedom (we wouldn’t even need a cutscene, this could have been revealed in part of their banter/dialogue). This simple choice would have allowed us to focus on Treviso and the Antaam’s occupation and Tevinter and the Venatori’s rise to power on a more personal level. It would also place our Rook in a position to be a foil to Solas’ “do what is necessary for the greater good” vs “be better than those that came before” plot lines. Building off this, the hardened companion status between Neve and Lucanis should have formed a parallel, with one tilting towards understanding Solas’ extreme efforts to stop the Gods, whereas the non-hardened character should have taken the role of foil. Both of whom would add balance to the tension when discussing Solas’ memories or even in exploration banter during missions (one the “devil” on your shoulder, the other your “angel” depending on where Solas’ actions stand for you since Inquisition).

Finally, the Shadow Dragons' should have been linked to Dorian more directly, potentially created with backing/support from the Inquisition’s advisors/Inquisitor directly (since their default attire is the Shadow Dragon apparel).

Companions: Cole for Compassion; Briala for Rebellion and Revenge

Cole

In my review Love, Widsom and Pride, I briefly touched on the fact Cole (whether recruited, not recruited, kept spirit or changed human) was absolutely necessary as a companion. Because it doesn’t matter which version was present in the world (RIP the tapestry), every iteration of Cole works synergistically with appealing to Solas’ spirit side:

If he wasn’t recruited in Inquisition, he could simply have his default origins as a compassion spirit that ‘follows’ the greatest pain in the Fade that yearns to be healed, giving a compassionate viewpoint to Solas’ folly.

Recruited-to-the-Inquisition Spirit Cole could have a greater connection to Solas than even Varric, seeing as Cole was most likely a literal representation of Solas rewriting his own history of corruption by preventing a spirit from becoming something against its nature.

Human Cole would have a deeper connection to the world of Thedas, and could have been a great tool to prove how change was inevitable, not always a bad thing, and inevitably out of even Solas’ control. And he could still offer insight into Solas' mind via 'remnants' of the time he was more spirit.

Briala

What I enjoy about this companion head canon is that Briala is literally Solas’ direct parallel story-wise:

She’s in love with Celene, the ‘best’ choice for ruler in Orlais even though she burned Briala’s alienage. They share a great power imbalance, with Celene able to affect the fate of all elves in Orlais, yet is unwilling to free them, return the Dales, or concede power even though she claims to love Briala, too. Briala is a rebellion upstart, raised by Felassan for crying out loud. She controlled the eluvians and knew how to get around the crossroads, she has more of a bone to pick with Solas than any other NPC not close to the Inquisitor! (Celene and Mythal share many similarities as well, with Celene seen as the more benevolent of rules when compared to Gaspard the Warmonger; and if Gaspard is in power but controlled by Briala, her being dethroned from her seat of power by Agents of Fen’Harel when she lost access to the eluvians would have been a great story arc to explore).

Sidenote on DAV's Romance, Companions and Choice Consequence

Building off having either Cole or Briala as a companion, I do think it would have been nice to have them as non-romanceable too. Don’t get me wrong, I know it's great to have options, but I do feel making everyone “pansexual” wasn’t the right way to go for all the companions. It takes away character choice, personality, taste and individualism from the companions. Dorian’s story would not be nearly as impactful if he could have been romanced regardless of gender. Solas being unwilling to romance any race/gender besides female elf (though a direct correlation to the developers being afraid of the ‘evil bisexual’ trope that was popular in the 2010s) also adds to his story; where he’s reluctant to see the world as real, to accept non-elven people as having agency, because that would mean he wasn’t walking through a see of Tranquil, but instead, he was the Forgotten One out of time.

I also firmly believe that a possible reason Cole wasn’t a companion despite there being plans in place that he’d return (Trespasser epilogue slide, I remember you), is because I can 100% see an EA big-wig being like: “He’s unfuckable. Give us someone hot and brooding and slap a demon in them and you’ve got fuckable-Cole” and then we got Lucanis.

I like Lucanis. I’m not crazy about him, but I enjoy the Machiavllian family drama. Very Renaissance Medici story beats. I adore Mary Kirby as a writer, too, but I feel the introduction to the Crows of Antiva should have been Zevran’s mantle, or he should have at least haunted the narrative and missions related to the Crow factions (of which there should definitely have been factions within the Crows). Considering the fact I romanced Lucanis, I couldn’t shake the fact that a lot of his “acceptance for being bound to Spite” beats paralleled a Human Cole having been ‘cured’ from Compassion.

The romances seem less… memorable to me than past games. The importance of choice means you have to accept the story unfolding based on the consequences of your choices; and gender-locking at least one companion would show the cause and effect of beginner choice. Taash is actually written to prefer women over men, which is vital to their arc around gender dysphoria and being non-binary, they would have been a perfect candidate! I imagine their story would also be a great way to explore how being one race attempting to romance another could have a slower progression rate (again, because of Taash’s multi-cultural background, and their complex feelings at having been raised by a mother so tied to the Qun, them being cagier around a qunari Rook romance would also have added layers!) But with everyone available to be romanced, and having no initial repercussion for early game choices despite which character model would have bruises or cuts (Neve or Harding), genuinely roleplaying as Rook, and not as someone using Rook as a stand-in for ourselves, is more disconnected than previous games. This is why the romances feel off to me. Doing the romanceable companions’ storylines seem like I’m the one trying to date them, not Rook. Maybe it’s because Rook’s established personality is the direct repercussion of a sanitized worldstate!  

Foibles of being ‘Unproblematic’: A Sanitised World

The issue with trying to make a game that won’t touch on difficult topics, is that, when you make that game a sequel to a series that was literally built on the backs of tackling real world politics, it makes a lot of the world seem plastic. A poor imitation perhaps.

The World of Thedas book actually tells us that Thedas is a fantasy setting that uses the real world as its backdrop for conflict and world building. Andraste is Joan of Arc. Andrastian faith is Christianity founded by a woman. Orlais is the French bourgeois era. Fereldan is more Highlands/Celtics region if it never had a chance to expand because of the blight. Elves are the disenfranchised (and a direct parallel to popular elven cultures that were often portrayed as the pinnacle of advanced magic/civilisation). City elves live in alienages (literal ghettos). Dalish elves (native to the land) are being run out of their homes, the Orlesian’s are trying to claim the territory for their Empire, and their numbers are dwindling, their culture and language a poor imitation of what it had been, barely surviving colonialisation! Dwarves have a caste system that determines everyone’s future! Dagna had to leave her home! Harding grew up on the surface. Varric’s whole plot thread anchoring him in act 1 of DA2 is helping his brother discover Deep Roads riches so they can get their family’s title again.

And through all 3 games prior to Veilguard, we’re told the Ventaori are monsters, the Imperium is crueller to its elves/slaves than any place in the South! The best option beyond turning Feynriel tranquil in DA2 (one of the few Dream Walker mages) is to send him to Tevinter. What becomes of a half-Dalish mage in Tevinter? Neve, our first companion beside Harding, is determined to make Dock Town a place worth living! So, to walk into Veilguard and have no slavery storylines in a place called the fucking TEVINTER IMPERIUM (modelled after the fucking Roman Empire close to collapse) is so jarring. So unbelievable. What injustice is Neve battling? What woes has Dorian been dealing with in the Magisterium?

The closest we get to seeing the darkness that exists in the world (besides the hanging corpses lining the streets of Dock Town if you save Treviso) is the side quest where a father makes a deal with a demon to keep his child alive by sacrificing so many innocents.

And then there's Tevinter's "savage" neighbours, the Invading forces of the Qun! Frightening, right? But from the blasé manner the Qun's rigidity is discussed, it is framed as though anyone can simply up and leave the Qun if they so wished it, according to Taash’s mom. Yes, Taash is being hunted, and their mom is taken prisoner, but it was all in service to a tablet that discussed fire-breathing, not about returning to the Qun. Iron Bull being deemed hisraad holds less severity when the consequences of leaving a subjugating, dogmatic, religious-political society are simply... nothing. There's no anchor to Taash being raised in Rivain for safety reasons beyond keeping their fire-breathing secret. And what of all the elves that commit to the Qun? Why are there no elf converts among the Antaam? What about the fucked-up stuff the Dwarves of Kal-Sharok were doing before Veilguard? Kal-Sharok dwarves apparently were changed by the First Blight, and are supposed to have a ‘tainted’ appearance according to the World of Thedas concept art book. Why are they just... normal dudes in booby armour (lol)?

[Imshael! A demon/spirit of choice & Calpernia as potential companions is insanity>>!]

I possibly wouldn’t have these strong opinions if the games gave the companions more… just more ‘controversial’ stories with harder choices! Veilguard in a way feels like playing a game with child-lock on. Yes, what happens to Tevinter or Treviso looks awful when you see it, but the side-quests, companion stories, NPC dialogues and world around the ‘mise-en-scene’ don’t reflect this--it's like set dressing. The “I can’t believe the Venatori are evil” side comments by Rook in Tevinter when the Venatori takes over become whiny, child-like and “hopes and prayers” coded. Do something then, Rook. You are the hero of this story, are you not?

I am forever grateful that Lucanis is actually hardened and removed as a romance interest if you sacrifice Treviso (finally, good old dragon age consequences).

Now onto good criticism of our companions!

Companions: The Good, the Balanced and the Essential

Good: Neve and Davrin.

Neve is our eyes and heart to Dock Town, our humanising presence for the Tevinter Imperium. She is also written in a way that I find her to have the best agency as a non-romanced character than most.

Davrin is a breath of fresh air for the reputation of the Grey Wardens, he’s the genuine article. Him owning up to being young and foolhardy when he rejected the Dalish ways in search of adventure, only to be battle-hardened and then become more appreciative of the fact he was taught to live in harmony before he was exposed to the discord of the Deep Roads is such a good character growth moment.  

Balanced: Harding. Harding grows into a much more invaluable story piece when she unlocks the Stone Sense and uncovers her people’s history. It’s a rather short-sighted choice to have her be one of the Ultimate Sacrifice characters because what becomes of the story of the Stone? Who hears the song? Who will speak of the Titans to other dwarves if she is chosen to go on the final mission?

Essential: Antoine and Evka! No notes, they should have been conditional companions in a side quest! They’re fleshed out so well, and their relationship is real and built into their character, but it’s not all they are! Antoine is smart, hopeful and also tortured by the new blight. Evka is powerful, pragmatic and also caring.

The Red Herring that should have been: Bellara as an Agent of Fen’Harel! Her storyline would have worked with the concept of being found ‘suspicious’ by players if the Agents of Fen’Harel were an active group. A Veil Jumper in Arlathan whose brother got entabgled with a Forgotten One? Someone who is an outright believer in the elven pantheon? O, Bellara, the power you would have had as a possible double-agent in our midst, only for us to have been wrong in doubting her and having it be someone else! Race and position to power should have inforced so many story beats in this game, man!

Finally: Religion, Where?

I’m a little exhausted, so I’ll wrap this part a little quickly. Religion is paramount to understanding the decisions and states of mind of so many characters in Thedas. Leliana’s arc alone is one of the most intimate insights into Andrastian faith! The Inquisitor is literally responsible for appointing the Divine! The Divine can call for an Exalted March! The Black Divine is a huge plot point when discussing the differences between the Southern and Northern iterations of the Chant. Tevinter’s Old Gods (Archdemons) are blighted dragons linked to the Evanuris that whisper the will of their masters to humans. Archdemons are responsible for the Blight, our first “save the world kiddo” moment in da:o! So where is the disbelief in the streets that Elven Gods exist? Why is it always “Our Gods” are back? What about city elves who believe in the Chant of Light? Where is the Black Divine? Why is everyone okay remaining Andrastian when the fact Solas made the Veil is revealed? Where is the politics and religious civil war in the streets between NPCs?! Between companions? Why isn’t there a cultish, zealous group of extreme Andrastians following Solas around? Why isn’t there another version thinking of Solas and all elves as the second coming of Maferath? How are city elves fairing compared to Dalish elves at the reveal it’s their pantheon gunning to end the world? Again! RACE AND POLITICS MATTER! They always mattered in Thedas before, yet here they are anecdotal at best.

The Veil Should Have Come Down

It’s apparent to me, and numerous others, that Veilguard was stunted by its attempts to be an entry piece that wasn’t alienating to new players of the RPG game format, but it was also haunted deeply by it’s very EPIC tapestry mechanic (chocies mattered!). Ironically, Veilguard served to be a soft re-boot of the series. This, I think, was the grandest mistake. If they meant to reboot the series for future instalments, we should have fundamentally changed the physics and rules of Thedas completely to allow the next instalment to start from the literal ground up. By bringing down the Veil, we’d finally free the Titan’s, introduce the concept of Dwarves with magic, awaked the Forgotten Ones and maybe allow for new species/lore/concepts to shape the future. And to work around the tapestry, they could have simply set the next sequel 200 years later. Sent our heroes to rest. Ended with a new canvas.

It should have concluded with the very ending that was prophesied by Sandal in DA2:

“One day the magic will come back. All of it. Everyone will be just like they were. The shadows will part, the skies will open wide. When he rises everyone will see.”

Bonus: Anaris should have been a DLC boss with Fenris involved!

Why, you ask? Just this data-mined codex entry still present in the game:

Truth be told, like they did with Corypheus in the Origins DLC, I think they could very well bring him back as the big bad of DA5—which I think should have always been about fleshing out the war between the Titans / the Forgotten Ones / Evanuris!

Anaris and a waking Titan?! That would have been beyond amazing!

Which… again, is why the Veil should have COME DOWN!

P.S.: I know a lot of these criticisms seem like unhappy nitpicks, but I did enjoy Veilguard, I got an ending I could live with. BUT I am so angry by how many roadblocks are placed before game devs with a clear story in mind--as is obvious with the concept art book. Obvious threads were leading to Veilguard having always been the end of the Dragon AGE! We kill the last Archdemon! The last dragon linked to the Gods and the blight! The game developers have even alluded to having fought tooth and nail with EA's suits, but could only manage to give us the game we got. And I'm beyond grateful. But MAN does it hurt!

Remember to say thank you to the writers/artists/voice actors on their socials, they deserve a little love too.

Fin!

[bangytell]

jk | m

Santa, tell me if you're really there Don't make me fall in love again If he won't be here next year. Santa, tell me — Ariana Grande

Summary: After the holidays, your new boyfriend gives you more than enough reasons to know he wants you.

Genre: Friends to lovers, smut

Rated: mature

Pairing: Jungkook x f!reader

Word Count: 1.4 k

Warnings: non idol au! Pet names (here we go again), jealousy, thristing over Jungkook, oral (fem! receive), degradation kink? unprotected sex, creampie, double orgasm and pussy drunk Jungkook

a/n: Here's a second part of my soo dear brother's best friend, just some smut cause we all love it, and have a merry christmas !!!

Having Jungkook as your now boyfriend had you in pure bliss, everything with him was feeling so perfect, the last two months of holiday break were a daydream, reality came to you when you started to talk about your university routine, Jungkook had too many of extracurricular activities and not so many of free time.

“Don't worry, love, I'm sure we'll make it work” he caresses your face and gifts you a peck on the nose

But you were so unsure. Something in the inside of your stomach made you… anxious.

Jungkook was so attractive and the ability to do every little task so smoothly and perfectly had the attention of almost if not every girl in school and you both were so newlyweds you were unsure if he would maintain that decision of being with you.

Surely you didn't have all your schedule full of activities, you weren't so popular, your only friend being Ava, other than Jungkook and your brother. As you watched another series together a week before classes began and you were snuggled in the cup of Jungkook's neck as he caressed your hair, you were anxiously thinking and fidgeting your fingers.

“I can hear your thoughts love” You chuckle

“ Don’ worry baby” he hums and pauses the tv show

“Tell me what your earworm is eating inside” you giggle and sigh feeling uncertain as if you should let your overthinking got the best in you, with a smile you gaze upon him from his chest and shake your head in deny

He didn't push you any further, knowing that it was something that you'll tell him, eventually, or he thought you would.

After classes, Jungkook has boxing training. He invites you over, and since you have to do your routine, you do attend.

After his instructor gives a few shouting with instructions you notice a girl, no more taller than you with a beautiful long hair in a high ponytail asking something to your boyfriend and then pointing out her gloves, he gaze at you, as expecting for approval and you shrug your elbows, the girl suddenly has a pout and she walks away, with her gloves in hand, the rejection gave you a wave of confidence.

You see him as his hands punch the punching bag, and the way his muscles flexes and how the drip of sweat fall of his forehead as his long black hair sticks to his neck, barely letting him see in front of him, he looks even feral and something in your core makes your heart pounding heavy in your heart and you're sure that if you were alone you'll definitely pull his shorts off of him and make him cum undone by your mouth. He gazes at you, noticing the way you're looking at him, and he grins in satisfaction as he continues to release a punch here and there.

His class finishes, and then the instructor tells everyone to jump with the rope, and you're sure you're about to implosion if his body keeps moving like that in front of you. The class is over now and he approaches you, holding your waist, all full of sweat yet still smelling clean and so masculine, he pulls you to his warm body and kisses you softly but hungry, as if he had been deprived of you for so long.

“If you continue to drool for me in that way i dunno if I'll be able to let you finish your workout” you giggle as he pulls away from you

The rest of your workout continues smoothly, at the end the usual chit chat as he mentions the girl with the gloves, she wanted help, but he told her very politely he was busy already, when you get home you realize you're alone, you invite him over, and soon you're both walking towards your room. He sees the swings of your hips and the way the fabric hugs your body, once inside he pulls you to his body, kissing you hungrily as you cave in to his strokes in your body and the way his warm close to yours makes you a wombling mess.

He's taking off your clothes, in between wet kisses and gasps from feeling the cold air.

He's golding your body, not stepping away from the door, each cloth already on the floor and he's kissing his way down to your neck, his hand caresses your breasts and you're moaning his name as you're trembling as your aching pussy feels neglected.

“Such a needy slut” you moan his name and he kneel in front of you, looking up and you gasp as he licks the nub of nerves, you loll your head back and he hums and you feel the vibration in your cunt, soon you have one digit into your pussy and its becoming really hard for you to stay standing up, his hands maintain your legs in place and your hand is making swirls into his long locks.

Hes sucking and licking, bullying your pussy with two fingers now and you can't do more than moan and gasp saying his name as a prayer.

“Look at you, all tear apart for me” he grins and continues his pace as you feel yourself gettin closer to your orgasm

“ ‘m coming Jungkook! oh… fuck!” your body trembles and he keeps you in place as he sucks and licks the milky secretion leaving your slutty hole.

“C’mon baby I haven't even fucked you yet” he helps you get in fours at the edge of the bed, you keep your ass up and your face is buried in your bed, at the sight Jungkook discharges his sweatpants and boxers and he can't seem to focus, he begins to slide his tip onto your folds, and he adores the way you're moaning, he loves the sight of your dripping and bullied cunt.

He lets out a groan as he buries himself into your cunt, you gasp and he holds your hips as he begins to thrust into you

“I know you were jealous of that girl at the gym…” he groans again as his thrust become slower and he leaves a trail of kisses onto your back. “But I can only think of you, and your slutty little hole all tight and pretty for me” you moan as his pace quickens he pulls you and now you're holding with your hands as he cups your breasts with one hand and he adores to watch them bounce.

He leaves wet kisses onto your neck and you're with nothing on your mind as one of his hands goes to your clit, the fact that he's doing you raw and that his soft thumb is massaging your clit in circles is making you more that a mess, all dumb for him, only and ever him

“Jungkook! ‘m close so close!” you shout and moan as your orgasm hits you again.

He feels the way your body trembles and the way your cunt is almost sucking him in it makes him cum with a guttural sound, he moans your name and his cum and your own is dripping as he slips out of your cunt.

You let your body fall in your bed as he leaves to your personal bathroom, you close your eyes, sigh in blissfulness and when you open your eyes again you notice him with a towel, cleaning the mixture of fluids.

He smiles and you do too.

“I went raw, I'm sorry” you shake your head in deny

“No worries, I'm on the pill” he kneels and you giggle

“Why didn't you… told me sooner” you chuckle and he does too as his ears and cheeks turn crimson

“How can you call me a slut in a moment and the other your flushing for cumming inside of me” he laughs as he sees you grabbing your clothes

“Well you know”

After getting dressed, you cuddle, he caresses your hair and leaves soft pecks at your temple.

“You know I was afraid you'd leave me when we started classes” he looks confused

“Why 's that?” you chuckle

“Well, you're very popular, and good looking, and your body is like a dream come true I mean, I didn't really thought you were going to still be with…me” he listens to you, and nods understanding your words

“I've waited so long to be with you, and I wouldn't hurt you, that's a promise” he kisses you, softly as you open your mouth and with your tongue open your way to his

“I promise we'll be together as long as you allow me”

After that statement, you knew he could be the partner you'll like to maintain for the rest of your life, and who knows, maybe you would.

<<before

masterlist

©️bangytell, please do not copy or steal my work. Any translation can’t be done. This is the only way to read it.

[pedgito]

MILLER'S GIRL ✎ SERIES MASTERLIST

Chapter Four: Under Your Skin

Chapter Summary: An implosion that changes everything, leaving results devastating but unseen. [5k]

[student/teacher relationship, age gap, no outbreak, power dynamic]

Chapter Warnings: fem!reader, professor!joel miller, inappropriate behavior, reader is delusional lol, background tess/joel (mentions of infidelity), technical infidelity on joel's behalf, unprotected piv, f!oral, angry sex, lack of aftercare, belt as restraints, inappropriate use of a tie & desk, semi-public sex (sorta), angst at the end i'm sorry.

— AO3 | PLAYLIST | PINTEREST

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There’s a deep ache in your body and between your legs as you toss in bed that morning, rousing from a less than relaxing sleep, the faint smell of Joel still lingering on the clothes you fell asleep in, not bothering to change. Licking at chapped lips he’d kissed you so feverishly the night before, you recollect the night in flashes, rubbing sleep from your eyes and feeling riddled with anxiety. 

You reach for your phone blindly, stuffed under your covers as you scroll through your phone, expecting some type of change—an updated grade, a note or two on your follow-up essay. But, there’s nothing. The big, glaring fucking zero staring you back in the face. And for a moment, you feel guilty. You wonder just how badly you screwed things up by doubling down and approaching him so boldly in his office. In his space.

You threatened him and he attacked. Not you.

You never intended for things to unfold the way they did, but you wanted to get your feelings across clearly, even if that meant getting under his skin. 

Joel. Not Mr. Miller. 

Those were two entirely different entities now.

You take your morning slow, enjoying the relaxation of the weekend and taking your time—researching and looking into things you definitely should not be. First, it’s his name. 

Unfortunately, it doesn’t bring up much. His job history was fairly public, no local or national awards, nothing note-worthy and only a few small non-fiction pieces to his name, though you knew there were more—there had to be. With his taste in poetry and fiction you expected something, but came up with nothing. He’s so inexplicably boring to the naked eye and maybe that’s what he wanted. He wanted to blend and disappear.

Curiously, you do more digging on his wife. Who—yeah, it was definitely his wife. A few links later and you stumble upon the marriage certificate, nearly ten years strong. No kids, either.

It was impressive, more than what a lot of people could be prideful about. But Joel, he wasn’t prideful about Tess. He was secretive, dismissive, and shot a look of disgust at his phone every time he received a text, whether purposefully or not.

You find that she works at a law firm, relatively small and headed by two partners. One significantly older than the other—father and son? You squint slightly, searching through the website carefully but not coming up with much. She was a lawyer, that much was obvious.

Still, it didn’t explain the rift. 

What happened?

You try and struggle to find anything rational or tangible, feeling like you might drive yourself insane trying to find out and you spend most of the weekend trudging through the obscurity of things you could find online, very little compared to what you could find out by just asking him.

There’s a tinge of dread in attending class that Monday knowing that no matter how hard you tried, Mr. Miller would never see you the same. He wouldn’t treat you as he had, pedestaling you up above the rest and, though he’d never admit openly, admiring you.

But, god, it ails you. Sickens your mind and keeps you from focusing on anything else.

You needed more answers, more clarification. But, more importantly, you still needed him.

That deep, gnawing feeling of desire in your gut had only grown stronger since your encounter in his office and you feared—knew, it would only worsen as time went on.

-

Joel knew that night that he needed to follow through on his plans.

His lack of trust in Tess, his instability in his life now, and how he couldn’t get you out of his head. The three were a volatile mix and he knew if he didn’t start somewhere that things would quickly grow out of control.

He makes the call to his lawyer the following morning, hungover and tired. Nursing a headache in his open palm as he conversed quietly over the phone. Tess was home, far off and distant in another room but he can hear her shifting around, moving about, and he feels like he’s betraying her. He doesn’t know why he’s filled with guilt and shame—maybe that was partly because of you, his willingness to cross that line for just a moment and kiss you.

It was a momentary slip, his want clouding out his sense of rationality.

You were conniving and manipulative, using his own selfish thoughts against him, his eagerness to aid you in your progress but also allowed a level of vulnerability between you both. Joel should’ve known, he should’ve seen it in the way you looked at him. 

It was admiration and obsession and he fed into it. 

It was something he never had, not even with Tess.

He loved her, sure. Cared about her, absolutely. But the physical connection—sexual or not, had never truly been there. And Joel figures that was why she did what she did, despite how badly it hurt him. He felt at fault for a while, like he had caused it. 

Maybe he did—but he would never have betrayed Tess like she did so easily, even if she swore it meant nothing at the time. Late nights for her were fickle, but they still happened. And that’s when Joel allowed the doubt to seep in and eat away.

But, he just couldn’t do it anymore. He felt like an intruder in his own home.

Tess would be served the papers on Monday evening and Joel would face the wrath when he arrived home, but there was still time. Time to prepare and settle, commit through his day and do his job, even if you lingered in his peripheral as class went on.

Your lack of reaction and response to his unchangingness of your grade gives him a false sign of relief—had you finally moved on from the idea? Joel was clueless to how preoccupied you actually were, chewing on the end of a pen as you sifted through tabs as he droned on at the front of class. Discussion days were always long and dreadful, and as most of the class was discussing the troubled assignment Mr. Miller had given you the week prior, your silence was…required. He avoided you like the plague and you were thankful, to some degree.

Still filled with frustration and simmering rage, you can’t ignore how despite everything—Joel still glances your way. And where his looks before were restrained, subtle and less driven…these were not. Like he was replaying the events in his head every time he looked at you, wondering if he’d tossed your panties out or kept them, if he still tasted you on his lips—at this point, fucking you was the least he could do.

And you know it’s in poor taste, but you approach him at the end of class with a revered look on things—hopeful, even. Apologize, fix your grade, and move on like things never happened.

He straightens a stack of files on his desk as you approach, jaw tense as he swallows and his gaze follows the last few lingering students as you neared on him, like prey. But, your face softens when he looks at you and whatever retort he has on standby dissipates for the moment.

“Um,” You start, unsure of how he would react, “I—can we talk?”

“I don’t think that’s the best idea,” Joel offers logically, “not…now.”

End of day, he thinks. In his office. Privacy. Secrecy. He didn’t feel like airing things out in the middle of the day, not with his divorce on the forefront of his mind.

“I just…I wanted to apologize.” You tell him quietly, “For everything.”

Was it genuine? Not really.

“I can’t change your grade,” He admits, “I’m not going to and it’s beyond the deadline for that assignment.”

You breath sharply through your nostrils and intertwine your fingers in front of you—Joel can see from the way your grip tightens that you’re holding back and nothing has changed.

Unstable and volatile, you both stared at each other for too long, an eerie silence settling.

“That’s—”

He interrupts without much care, “Unfair? Unethical? Don’t start with this. Not now.”

He doesn’t have any leverage here either, but you quiet down under his gaze slightly.

You begin to speak again, but he holds up a careful finger. Like scolding a child for their actions and you bite back a venomous retort as he talks over you, “Meet me in my office at six. Fifteen minutes. That’s all you get.”

He’s on edge, jaw flexing around a tense swallow that feels impossible to get down. He turns back to his desk, ignoring you and ultimately ending whatever conversation you were hoping to have.

He wants you to wait and despite your stubbornness to address the situation now, you settle with his words and nod, a quiet “Okay.” in response.

“Don’t be late.” He stresses, eyes flicking up towards you briefly.

Your insides twist ominously in anticipation, but you feel yourself throbbing with need.

“Yes,” You respond, “Of course, Mr. Miller.”

There’s an urge for praise that Joel bites back.

-

Joel is already opening the door as your footsteps approach later that day, anticipating your arrival and eyes glancing over your figure in the darkened lights of the classroom, the warm glow of his office blanketing you both as he welcomes you in with a gesture, moving out of your way slightly and closing the door to his office as you trailed toward his desk, lingering quietly.

“You can sit.” He directs, thumbs digging into the waistband of his slacks as he adjusts them slightly, the uncomfortable press of his belt pressing into his stomach. Normally he’d undress a little, relax, but he couldn’t allow that. Not with how anxious he felt, knowing what he faced at home, sure that the divorce papers had already been delivered to Tess.

He’s tried to ignore it—and he doesn’t know why he’s worried, but her refusal to cooperate is always an option and that isn’t something Joel thinks he can handle calmly.

“Okay,” You listen, taking a seat in one of the two leather chairs placed in front of his desk, watching as he leaned against the edge of his desk a few inches away, hands clasped in his lap as he looked down, unsure of how to begin, or where, “Um, I can—”

“You need to understand something,” Joel begins suddenly, interrupting you again—it really, really fucking bothered you. He did it on purpose, as a way to assert himself over you, and you felt it in the way he looked at you, down and scrutinizing, “this—whatever this is, or was—it’s inappropriate.”

As if he had a proper moral compass to explain his actions.

“I don’t need a lesson in appropriate behavior,” You counter, “if that’s what you’re leading into.”

“No—”

It’s your turn to interrupt, sitting up straighter in your chair.

“And truthfully, it’s a little unprofessional of you to continue to fail me after I did the make-up assignment.” You respond, a tinge of condescension in your tone, “and you kissed me, if I remember correctly. So—if this is because you’re upset, then I’m allowed to be too. I want a fair grade. Not what you’re punishing me with now because you—for whatever fucking reason, can’t get passed the idea that you had those thoughts too, but can’t accept it.”

“I’m not punishing you.” Joel responds lamely and you squint your eyes slightly as you look at him before huffing out a breath of defeat, chuckling softly under your breath.

“You know—we talked for weeks. Back and forth. And you reached out to me first. So, if you want to deny that then let’s talk about you abusing your power and holding it over my head now after all of that. Genuine talks. You had to care, to some degree.”

“You’re not the first student I’ve talked to outside of class—”

You roll your eyes, feeling the conversation stalling out quickly.

“Do you still have them?” You ask curiously.

Joel doesn’t need to be told. He knows what you’re referring to.

And the guilt on his face as he looks away briefly, tongue pressing into his cheek as he glances at his watch, avoiding your question.

“Am I out of time already?” You ask patronizingly, leaning over in the chair slightly as you struggle to meet his gaze, his eyes pointed elsewhere. “Tight schedule today?”

“What are you expecting out of this?” Joel asks, arms crossing over his chest, biceps stretching under the dark button-up, licking at his bottom lip anxiously. “Are you that fucking stubborn that you think this is somehow going to work in your favor?”

Your face twitches in frustration and you cock your head slightly, rising from the chair and into his space, close enough that you can smell the faint waft of his cologne, looking him over slowly as his eyes fall on you.

“Where are they?” You ask curiously, squeezing yourself between the small space, thighs rubbing against his own as you walk around him, trailing by his desk. “Here?” You point toward the stack of closed drawers nestled in the wood and Joel glances over his shoulder, quick to move as he pushes you away gently, palm flat against your chest.

“The fuck are you doing?” He asks, “You came here to talk. So talk.”

You click your tongue against the roof of your mouth and test your limits once more, “Oh, so they are in there? Kept them for yourself? You know, this whole moral high ground thing is really fucking annoying, Joel.”

He speaks your name as a warning, but it only makes you feel more at ease.

“What?” You ask innocently, “Do you have somewhere to be?”

Joel chews at his bottom lip and removes his hand from the center of your chest, feeling it sting like a hot brand as his fingers curl around the edge of his desk, feeling oddly small as your eyes track him and watch like he’s some type of prey, a devilish smile pulling at your lips.

He made a mistake underestimating you—or even allowing you back into his office. He was screwed.

“Stop.” He warns, watching as you sucked your bottom lip between your teeth and reach behind him quickly, yanking at the drawer but he draws your hand up, tight in his grip and forcing you against his chest, your unrestrained hand falling against the desk to catch yourself.

“What’s going on?” You ask softly, feigning genuine emotion. The crease between his brow growing deeper—you’ve spent enough time with him to know when something is bothering him, someone, and it’s written all over his face. “Come on, I won’t say anything.”

“It’s not your business.” Joel offers lamely, feeling you create a small amount of distance as you push away, your wrist still held firmly in his grip, but lower by his waist.

“Is it her?” You ask carefully, “It’s her, isn’t it?”

Another breath of your name—stop here, stop now.

“Did you tell her?” You ask suddenly, eyes widening. “God, are you really that much of a —”

“No, fuck—” He interrupts, “I’m—not that it’s any of your goddamn business, I served her divorce papers today.”

“Oh…” It wasn’t what you expected, not by a longshot. “Was that—is that because of—”

“No,” His eyebrows quirk up slightly, amused that you thought you were the cause of his marriage's untimely dismantlement, “not at all, actually.”

He doesn’t know why it feels like a weight lifting on his chest, but talking about it with you feels…less imposing than he expected. And your eyes soften slightly at the mention, still beckoning something dark but he can see the genuine reaction that flashes momentarily.

He loosens his grip but doesn’t quite let go, thumb rubbing over the vein of your wrist. 

Joel doesn’t understand why he can’t just let go, like he’s weirdly tethered to you.

“Do you…want to talk about it?” You ask, feeling the need to reassure some comfort.

You didn’t really care, but he seemed so pathetically sad. It spilled over and flooded into you, that small tug at your heart. It quickly fades, his mouth opening to speak.

“Not really.” He doesn’t feel the need to bother, glancing at his watch briefly again.

The minutes were ticking down and he knew you were overstaying your welcome—and he was allowing it. But, you here—it feels good. 

“I can’t change your grade,” He reiterates again, “but if you promise to not do something like that again—I can offer some extra credit, something to help make up for it.”

And ultimately teach you a lesson and punish you in the process. Did you really have a choice?

“Extra credit,” You stress, saying slowly as you consider the word, the implication—you don’t think he means it in a nefarious way, it just feels ridiculous, “seriously?”

Joel nods, “Consider it a…lesson learned.”

A small laugh bubbles from your chest but you ignore it, staring down at his touch and speaking.

“You know—I did appreciate the recommendations you made,” You admit, “if that counts for anything.

Joel stares at you, despite your preoccupied gaze, speaking directly.

“I wasn’t lying when I said I care about that,” Joel says, “I give recommendations to students all the time. But, you seemed more interested so–I gave you more.”

“Right,” You say with finality, “and all those nights at the coffee shop?”

“I’m there quite a bit anyways,” He admits, only a half-truth, “you’re not the first student I’ve had meetings with outside of class.”

He’s trying to reiterate to himself that his actions are justified, but his body is saying otherwise.

“Mr. Miller,” You start softly, “can I ask you one more question?”

Silent, he nods again.

“Why are you still touching me?”

And he doesn’t know why, but something in him snaps. The quickening of your pulse under his fingertips, your eyes finally flicking up to him. He does have your panties tucked away in his desk, he doesn’t meet with students outside of his class like that, and he can try and convince himself all he wants, but him reaching out to you was a personal, selfish decision that had nothing to do with anything but his own curiosity. He sees the subtle catch of your breath and doesn’t stop you when he sees you moving closer, quick and determined.

Fuck his time limit, you think.

 If he wanted you to leave he would’ve forced you out by now.

Your lips are soft but forceful, pressing against his with fervor as you slip your wrist from his grip and bury your fingers into his shortened curls, trimmed down at the base of his neck but there’s still just enough to tug, swallowing down his soft grunt as you pull and bite as at his bottom lip.

Joel has the thought to stop you, but he can’t. 

He feels guilty, appreciating the touch that he’s lacked for so long. But, there’s a creeping sensation of frustration that fills him, vexed with you. And it snaps, completely.

His hands finally touch you, releasing a breath into his mouth you didn’t realize you were holding. One hand cradling the back of your head, the other wrapped firmly around your neck. Just a solid weight that he uses as leverage when you get too eager, nipping at his lip. 

Joel moves you easily, silently as he turns and presses you against his desk, mumbling a soft “Up.” as he aids in the lift of your thighs, taking a seat on his desk as it shakes with the movement and he slots himself between your open legs and kisses you fuller, selfishly.

He’s eager to slip his tongue into your mouth once more, like beforem and you welcome it with ease. Giggling into his open mouth as he squeezes at your throat, the sound breaking his focus.

“So, is this the extra credit?” You speak against his lips, a soft puff of his breath over your face as he keeps his eyes closed, face pressed against yours. “Because I think my fifteen minutes is up.”

Joel can’t do conversation right now, the noise grating in his ears as he blindly reaches for his tie and loosens it, yanking it away from his neck and balling up the material, his eyebrows shooting up slightly in response as he catches your gaze, momentarily confused until you quickly catch on.

Oh, he wants you to shut up. Noted.

He’s guiding the fabric to your mouth before you can properly speak and that’s what he wants, stuffing it between your teeth and forcing you to bite down, his eyes darkened as he squeezes your cheeks between his fingers, shifting a hand under the hem of your dress where it tickles your thighs and you legs widen instinctively, even more. There’s an obvious absence of fabric that Joel notes as his fingers dig into your hips, your eyes brightening at his realization.

And that’s how Joel knows—you never came here to talk. You always had some underlying intention or reason and it drove him insane, but he was a raging hypocrite, wanting it just as selfishly. His fingers drag over your pussy with intention, gliding through your slick and pressing a single digit inside of you with little resistance and you gasp, muffled by the fabric.

“You didn’t come here to talk,” Joel surmises, though it was obvious from the start, “did you?”

You shake your head weakly, eyes squeezing shut as he pumps his fingers and quickly adds another, hand flying to his wrist as he quirks his fingers inside of you and hits a spot that has your stomach coiling in anticipation.  

“What do you want?” He asks hotly, hand squeezing at the base of your neck while he uses his other hand to rub messy, slow circles over your clit. Your hands reach for his belt without question, palm flattening over his cock that was held tightly behind the stiff material of his slacks. “Yeah?” He questions, the subtle squeeze of your hand against his shaft in response.

And part of you really doesn’t think he has it in him to go through with it, but then he’s pulling his hand away from you to manipulate and manhandle, yanking you off the desk sloppily and pressing your front against the edge, fumbling with his belt behind you and pulling it off in a sharp snap, hand flattening against your back as he presses you down.

“Give me your hands.” He tells you, a soft whine of protest coming from your mouth, but then he’s pulling himself from his briefs, cock in hand as he tugs at himself slowly and glides along the center of your pussy, dragging through the wetness. “You want me to fuck you, right? Give me your hands.”

You had control on just about every aspect of his mind—he needed this, the physicality stripped from you.

You oblige silently, face resting against the cold wood as you offered up your hands and allowed him to constrain them tight and snug—he does it with ease. Practice and perfected and he uses it as leverage to pull you back toward him, “So, we have a caveat here. No condom.”

You nod deftly, eyes closing as he tightens his grip and ultimately squeezes the belt even tighter.

“But, something tells me you don’t care—” A shake of your head in response, “—don’t tell me you’re that fucking naive.”

You shrug lamely, wiggling your ass in an effort to move closer, eyebrow furrowing as he moves his hips away slightly. You growl in frustration and spit out the tie, “Fuck you, I’m on birth control. Do you really think I’m that irresponsible?”

His lack of answer is enough of one and he stuffs the fabric back into your mouth with a grimace, “Given your behavior, yes.” He fists himself tightly and slips inside of you with ease, a snug fit but you mold around him perfectly.

And it shouldn’t feel right, but it does. Joel breathes a soft breath of relief as he uses his free hand to fist into the fabric of your dress and use it as a perfect leverage to fuck into you with fervor, disregarding of your own pleasure for the time being—though the angle and the intensity of your thrust doesn’t have you far off, snapping his hips with a furiosity that strikes something inside of you with each harsh movement.

He’s huffing behind clenched teeth, a low growl emitting from his chest as he feels you tighten around him instinctively, sobbing brokenly around the fabric in your mouth, eventually allowing it to slip as you feel his grip shift, pulling you upright by your dress and pressing you back against his chest.

“Why the—sudden change of heart?” You tease, an underlying suspicion in your mind that you don’t speak aloud. He wanted a distraction and you were proving to be a great one. His hips slow suddenly, almost like he’s contemplating a response.

He huffs out a bitter laugh, snapping his hips sharply and forcing a gasp from your chest.

“Do you ever shut up?” He asks, “If I knew you’d be this annoying I would’ve just shoved my dick in your mouth—maybe that would do you some good. You’d like that, huh?”

You giggle softly but it falls off into a broken moan as Joel buries his face into your neck, biting roughly at your skin as he feels himself reaching his peak, knowing it’s been far too long for him—years of lacking sex that quickly divulged into nothing. “I think you would like that, Joel.”

You’re waiting for a chastise that never comes, knowing he hates when his name falls from your tongue—he makes a muffled sound as he loosens the belt with fluid, practiced fingers and discards it to the floor, relieving the growing ache in your shoulders as he crosses an arm over your chest, palm flat against it to hold you in place as he snaps his hips once, twice, before his other hand is digging into the flesh of your own hip as he comes, deep inside of you and with a muffled grunt, teeth leaving a faint impression in your skin—and you’re only slightly disappointed in his lack of attention in making you come, but then he’s pulling out and spinning you around, hands coming up under your thighs to spread you out over his desk, silently pressing for you to lean back, dropping to his knees with his pants pooling low on his thighs. Too impatient to redress fully.

You gasp when he dips a finger inside of you, catching the slow spend that slips out, stuffing it back in as he presses his tongue over your clit and groaning at how you clench tightly around his fingers, spasming at the pressure.

“Quiet,” He warns, “put the fucking tie back in your mouth if you can’t control yourself.”

You can admit defeat, pathetically stuffing the fabric back in your mouth—haphazardly as half of it drapes over your chest, eyes locking on Joel’s as he laps at your clit, fingers stuffed inside of you to keep his cum from dripping out. And it’s so overwhelming that when you do finally come, you feel your vision blacking out, biting down roughly on the silk tie as you claw at the hand he has braced against your stomach, desperately trying to keep your writhing body still.

The aftermath is quiet, jaded—shifting on his desk silently you watch as he redresses, tucking his shirt back into his pants as he slips his belt through the loops, the fingers that were just buried inside of you working so easily against the leather. 

“Satisfied?” He asks suddenly, into the silence as you both lock eyes.

He slips the tie from your fingers, placing it back around his neck and tying it diligently. 

“Are you going to try and convince me you did that for my benefit?” You retort in annoyance, despite how satisfied you actually may be, this wasn’t just on you, “How about you apologize for using me as an outlet for your troubled marriage?”

“You’re not an outlet–”

And as if you spoke it into existence, the knock comes a few moments later. The door opening.

This is the part where Joel’s life finally implodes.

You on his desk, compromising as he still stands halfway between your legs in the middle of shifting his tie and Tess is…stoic. Silent.

“This is what’s been keeping you so preoccupied?” Tess asks, the dooming stack of papers gripped tightly in her hand. “Fucking a student?” Her eyes flicking to you briefly but quickly back to Joel and he nods toward the door, beckoning for you to leave. 

You do, without question. 

 And the aftermath is abysmal.

[reiderwriter]

♦️There Are No Words Left to Speak ♦️

Chapter 5 of That's What You Get

Prev Chap || Next Chap

Pairing: Spencer Reid X Fem Reader

Summary: In a panic, you spill your guts to Penelope and receive some much needed advice before your "date" with Reid.

Warnings: None!!

A/N: This one is 4k words long because I absolutely could not help myself 😭 I've has a lot of messages and asks about this series lately, and it's been really encouraging to see! If you like this chapter, please comment or reblog and let me know or come chat with me in my inbox! Happy Reading!!

You can find my masterlist here and the series masterlist here.

"Penelope, I fucked up and I need your advice," you screamed into the room as soon as the door slammed open, startling the other woman as she threw her phone up in surprise. 

"Jesus, Y/N, you're lucky I didn't reach for the all too full can of pepper spray I store in here, oh my god."

"I'm sorry, Pen, I'm just, I'm kinda freaking out, and I need your help."

"Are we going to need wine, or are we going to need ice cream and a chick flick? What kind of problem are we talking here?" she asked from her place at the desk. 

"I married Spencer in Vegas." You said and then clamped your hand over your mouth as you finally let the pressure of the weekends mess seep out of you now that you'd shared your secret. 

"Oh my god, both, we'll do both. We need both, let's go, let's go now."

–X– 

Penelope drove the two of you home, immediately moving into a mothering role as soon as the words left your mouth, and she could see your impending implosion. You were grateful that she didn’t ask you any further questions as you made your way back to her apartment, just turning on the radio to a channel playing 90s pop hits and simply letting you calm down through the fun music. 

When you finally got through her door, she let you get comfortable and then immediately came back with all the things she promised. 

“Okay, I know you’re more a rose girl, but all I have is this really nice white that Derek got me for my last birthday and half a bottle of tequila, and I think it’s better for the both of us if we don’t open the tequila. Also, I have chocolate, cookie dough ice cream, and tissues, and When Harry Met Sally on DVD, I'm ready to be plugged in and played as soon as you say the word.” 

“Penelope, we do not tell you how brilliant you are as often as we should.” 

“While that is true, I’m trying my best not to immediately cave and ask you to spill, so can we please sing my praises after you explain what you mean by saying you married Spencer.” 

“God, Penelope, I don’t know what happened,” you let your head hang in your hands and she immediately moved to sit closer to you, rubbing a hand over your back and getting the tissues ready. 

“We went out drinking, and my mom got in my head earlier in that call I took, and I don’t remember anything and then I woke up and we were in bed together and-” you rambled out, lifting your head up as you tried to explain, but she cut you off quickly there.

“You were in bed together? Did you… you know, bump uglies with Spencer? Do the old in n’ out? Sorry, I’m making this worse, I’ll shut up now,” she said, but you laughed at her enthusiasm, and you felt more of the weekend’s tension leave your body. You knew that you had made the right decision coming to Penelope with this. She always knew how to make you feel better. 

“I don’t know, but it looks like it. TMI but-”

“Hold on, I don’t think I want to know what the Good Doctor is like in bed.” She visibly shuddered, and you let out another shaky laugh. 

“Well considering I remember none of it, you’d be hard pressed to get those details from me. I did wake up handcuffed to the bed, though.” 

“Shut the front door, no you did not!” Penelope’s jaw dropped. “Oh god, I’m almost morbidly curious, but I don’t want to open that can of worms. Sorry, please continue.” 

You took a swig of the wine she poured you and relaxed a bit further into her couch, pulling your legs up under you to find a more comfortable position as you told the rest of your story to Penelope, gaining more confidence with each of her reactions to what you told her. 

“So, now we just need to track down our two witnesses and get the marriage quietly annulled, and we can forget it ever happened.” You could hear the frown in your voice before you realised you were making that kind of expression, and from Penelope’s reaction, you could see that she’d noticed too. 

“Oh.. oh, I know that look. You don’t want the annulment, do you?” 

“Yes! I mean, no! Look, I really don’t know how to answer that right now, it’s just…” you trailed off, and Penelope silently filled your wine glass again, not saying anything and letting you come around at your own pace. 

“Earlier today, after we told Rossi, and before I came running to you, he… he kissed my forehead, and he called me Mrs. Reid, and I really liked it. And I didn’t think about it before, but Reid is nice, and he is good, and he is obviously really smart, and, god  he’d be a great dad, and he took care of me yesterday and today… Penelope, I think I have a crush on my husband.” You gasped out, feeling the weight of your revelation as it hit you straight in the gut. 

“But we talked about it and we’re getting an annulment and now it’s like I fucked up before I really got the chance to let it go anywhere, and what if it’s a mistake? What if I made the world’s greatest fuck up and married a great man in Vegas and then threw it all away a week later?” you raked your hand through your hair quickly, trying to ignore the tears forming quickly in your eyes. 

“Oh my god, sweetie, it’s going to be okay… You’re going to have to trust me when I tell you that it’s going to be okay…” she patted you on the back and you let the tears fall down a bit, quickly dabbing them away with the now balled up tissue in your hand. 

“I don’t know if I can, Pen…” you tried to smile up at her, but you could feel your lips wobbling and you let your head hang again before you could let out a choked sob. 

“No, nonononoonono, listen to me… Okay, promise you won’t hate me after I say this?” She said, squishing your cheeks between her hands as she made you look up into her eyes. 

“I pwomise,” you sniffed out, voice muffled by her strong grip. She let you go then, content that she had your attention. 

“I know for a fact that the boy is as infatuated with you as you are with him because… because I saw you two.” She stopped there to watch your reaction, but you froze, so she continued.

“You… you called me from wherever you guys were out in Vegas, mumbled some words over the phone and then sent me a picture of a brochure with an address on it, and then when I turned up it was a wedding chapel and you were getting married.” She winced out those last words, and you gasped at the confession. 

“You were one of the witnesses! Penelope!” You pointed an accusatory finger at her, but it was half-hearted. You knew that you were stubborn enough while sober. You certainly wouldn’t have been persuaded out of something you obviously wanted while blackout drunk. 

“I know, I know, I’m sorry, but you guys were just too cute! He was giving you all these small kisses on your forehead and on your cheeks, and you looked like innocent kids giddy and high on love, and I didn’t want to bring you back down to earth. You looked so happy, and I do not make it a habit to get in the way of my friends’ happiness.” 

“Penelope, why didn’t you say anything?” You groan out, sounding a bit like a petulant teenager who has just discovered her mom threw out a shirt she hadn’t worn in years. 

“I wanted to, but I was told not to…” she winced away. “And before you ask, I won’t tell you who else was there! Just know it was someone else who also loves both of you and would’ve pulled you two out of there. No questions asked if they thought you were making a stupid decision!” 

You let the revelations sink in, one by one. Penelope was there. Reid couldn’t keep his lips off of you. The other witness thought you two were good together. It almost didn’t surprise you when you started giggling, finding humour in the situation at least. 

“Oh my god, Penelope, I got married in Vegas to my coworker. And I think I’m in love with him now.” You were in a fit of giggles now, and Penelope hesitantly joined in at first. 

“Yeah, I suppose it is funny when you put it that way.” 

“God, what am I going to do? How am I going to face him from now on?” You pulled yourself together again and faced Penelope again, hoping that she would have actual answers for your very rhetorical question. 

“Well, at least we have a couple of days off now. You don’t have to see him again until we go to work.” 

“No, we have a date tomorrow,” you said matter-of-factly. “Appointment, really, he’s reading some books on alcohol induced memory loss tonight, and then I’m going over to his place to see if any of it can help us fill in the blanks.” 

“Oh god, you’re going to talk books with Reid. That’s practically as romantic as it gets for him. No wonder he wifed you up.” You playfully kicked her leg, and she laughed again. “Okay, so no avoidance, okay. Maybe you could put the moves on him? Try to recreate that scene with the handcuffs. Who knows what might happen.” She wiggled her eyebrows at you then, and you did your best not to once again be overcome by a fit of giggles.

“Okay, enough of my romantic problems. I was promised When Harry Met Sally and that ice cream has probably melted, so let’s get to it.” 

–X–

You braced yourself at the apartment door as you psyched yourself up to knock. As promised, you’d been greeted in the morning by a text from Spencer with his address and a proposed time to meet. He’d suggested 5pm, and you’d agreed, but here you were 20 minutes early, probably looking overdressed and over eager to spend time with your coworker/ husband/ soon to be former husband, maybe. 

You’d left Penelope’s apartment that morning, having had an impromptu sleepover, happy that you’d at least confirmed your own feelings. You’d taken a taxi to collect your car, then spent the rest of your time at home overthinking and overpreparing. 

You’d put on a dress and some make-up, and you were almost regretting the decision now you were on his doorstep, wondering what he’d think. You worked one of the toughest jobs in the world together, and you knew that he’d seen you completely black and blue after going blow for blow with unsubs in the past. Would he think this sudden effort was weird? You tried not to pace, knowing that your footsteps in the hall would alert him to your presence, but you couldn’t bring yourself to knock just yet. 

You checked your phone again. 4:45. You couldn’t spend another fifteen minutes out here overthinking, so you finally just pushed ahead and knocked. Almost as if he had been waiting on the other side of the door this entire time, Reid answered immediately, not even letting you get a third rap in before he was there standing in front of you. 

“Hi,” you said, standing there awkwardly with your hand still up, ready to knock again. 

“Hey,” he replied, smiling at you. 

You felt his eyes trail down your body, taking in your appearance. The dress you’d chosen wasn’t particularly special, just a mid-length tiered dress with bow straps. The weather was getting chillier so you’d layered it over a plain turtleneck, enjoying the added bonus of not having to conceal down your neck to mask the love bites he’d lavished upon you only a few nights prior. 

You looked at him as well, and you were pleasantly surprised by his casual wear. He was more dressed down than he was in the office, but not by much. He was still wearing slacks, and a button down shirt as well, but he’d thrown a beaten up CalTech sweater over the top of them, and he looked so cosy you wanted to bury your head in his chest. He was wearing his glasses, and you were so thankful for that, as you forgot how well they suited him, fitting him perfectly. 

“You’re early.” He said, finally breaking the silence between the two of you, drawing you out of the trance he’d kept you in while you took in the sight of him. 

“Yeah, I guess I just overestimated how long it was going to take to get here. Is that okay?” 

“Yeah, yeah, it’s great, totally fine. Come in.” He moved his body to the side slightly so you could enter the door, but kept his outer arm pressed against the door so you had to duck under it, brushing past him as you went. The small contact made your entire body buzz, your heartrate picking up as you willed yourself to act natural. 

“The food should be here any minute.” He smiled as he followed you back into his apartment. “I wanted it to arrive before you got here so I could surprise you.” You turned around to face him, and you could hear the bashfulness in his voice as he made the admission. 

“Sorry for ruining the surprise,” you smiled up at him. “What did you order?” 

“I remembered you mentioned that Korean streetfood place a while back that does those spicy rice cakes and kimbap rolls, so I got us some of that. Is that okay?” 

“Sounds perfect.” You were touched that he even remembered the conversation when you yourself couldn’t even think of when it might have happened. He turned and walked further into the apartment, and you followed him this time, finally looking around and taking it all in. 

The walls were obviously lined with bookshelves, and there were books laying around in piles everywhere. The walls were painted a dark colour, which made the space feel calming, almost more intimate, and sunlight was streaming in from the open window on the back wall. 

“Sorry, it’s not much. Take a seat wherever, and I’ll grab those books I was talking about.” 

You took a seat on the couch and watched him trail around the room, picking up books from several shelves and stacks. 

“Okay, this is all of them. So the main takeaway is that it usually takes two weeks to fully recover memories from alcohol induced blackouts.” He explained, bringing you a stack at least eight books high. 

“Spencer, did you read all of these last night?” You asked. 

“Yeah, I said I would, I thought it would help.” 

“Spencer,” you took his hand into yours as he set the books on the floor and flopped down to the couch beside you. “I really appreciate you putting in all this effort to help us, but you could’ve just come home and relaxed, you know. Our case was long and tough, and now all of this, you deserve a break.” You stroked your thumb over the back of his hand, trying to make the gesture calm and reassuring. 

“I know, I wanted to do this. I want to remember what happened between us,” he whispered the words softly, not needing to fill the space with much sound as you’d crept closer and closer together since he’d returned. 

“So, uh, two weeks then, is that it, we just have to wait for the memories to return?” you asked quietly, letting go of the small moment you’d shared to get back to the task at hand. 

“It seemed so, but there are some other more general tips we could implement that could help us piece together what happened. We might at least be able to figure out who our witnesses were.” 

You felt almost guilty then, but you kept your mouth shut. You’d decided the night before that you wouldn’t tell Reid about Penelope. At least not yet. You wanted the time first to see if he could possibly feel the same way about you before you worked up the courage to let him in on what you had learnt. 

“Yeah, I’m open to try anything. Within reason, that is.” 

“Great! I was thinking at first that maybe we could do a cognitive interview, but as we only have each other to work with, I thought that might make some of our answers more biased and not garner effective results. But we could still try to jog our memories by working out some of the same emotions, doing some things we could have done that night, and seeing if any of it rings a bell?” 

“Some of the things we did that night?” 

“Yeah,” he repled. 

“Like… like make out or get handcuffed to a bed?” You enjoyed watching the flush creep up his neck, and his eyes go wide as he struggled to backtrack on that one. 

“No, no! I mean, unless you want to, or you think it would help?” It was your turn to be left speechless, your mouth suddenly not complying with your brain as you begged yourself to respond somehow. All you could muster was a glance down at his lips that lingered a bit too long, your body slowly creeping forward. 

He noticed and moved closer towards you as well, letting his hand grasp your waist as you got caught in his atmosphere. 

“It’s worth a try, right? To regain our memories.” He supplied you with the words, letting you stay silent as your lips grew closer and closer together, seconds away from taking your breath away forever. 

A loud rap at the door and a shout of “delivery” had the two of you suddenly bouncing away from each other, Reid scrambling to the door to collect the food, while you stood up awkwardly and tried to pretend there was something really interesting on his bookshelf that had caught your attention all of a sudden. 

For the Nth time in so many days, you found yourself trying to convince your heart to beat a little quieter, and you managed to get yourself under control as he returned with the food.

“I’m sorry, I lost track of time…” he trailed off as you nodded, joining him back at the couch as he began unpacking the food. 

“It’s totally fine, we should eat anyways, trust me when I say this stuff doesn’t taste even half as good cold.” You smiled at him, but it didn’t go quite to your eyes. You really wanted to kiss him, and you were really doing your best to control your disappointment, not wanting to show off how desperate for him you were. 

“Well, you’re in luck, because you now get to witness one of my only flaws,” he said, fishing out two sets of chopsticks from the delivery bag. “I am absolutely terrible with chopsticks.” 

You giggled at him and grabbed the pair he offered you, letting out a dramatic fake gasp. “And you only tell me after we get married? That’s it, I want a divorce,” you laugh, and the two of you settle down into a comfortable silence as you begin your meal. 

–X– 

Two hours later, and you’re still no closer to locking lips with the man than you were earlier. You’d had a nice time talking with him over the food, both of you sitting like kids on the floor as you ate over his coffee table. He’d told you about a Korean film festival he’d attended a few years back, one of many international film festivals he’d been to, and you sat and listened, in awe of the way his eyes lit up when he talked about something that excited him. You hoped that one day, he’d talk about you in that same way. 

You helped him clean up and settled back onto the couch, where he’d mentioned having a copy of one of the films that had since been subtitled, and you ended up in another movie marathon.

The movie was good, but his presence next to you was even better. He’d stretched out his arms on the couch behind you, letting you snuggle up into his side as you pulled your legs up and under you, screwing yourself up in a comfortable little ball, burrowing into him for warmth. He was a fire beside you, and you wished you were bold enough to push further into him, to drag your hands across his skin and feel even more of him, continuing the exploration from earlier. But you weren’t, and, honestly, you were tired, so you let yourself sit peacefully beside him, touching but not much, as you were lulled to sleep by the sounds of the TV. 

It was pitch black outside when you finally cracked your eyes open again, but he was still there next to you on the couch. The movie had been turned off, and so had the TV, and there was a blanket now wrapped around your legs, so he had obviously moved, but he had also come back to you. You shifted your head up to look at him and smiled. He’d picked up another book from who knows what shelf and was reading slowly so as not to wake you with the movements of his hand as he traced down the page. Your head had moved from his chest to his lap, and he held the book off to the side in one hand, his other resting protectively over your waist. He was so engrossed by his book that he hadn’t even realised you’d moved and that you were awake until you spoke to him. 

“Spencer? What time is it?” you asked, your voice thick with sleep. 

“It’s 11:30. You fell asleep during the movie and you looked like you could use the sleep.” 

“Wow, what a way to tell a girl she doesn’t look so good,” you laughed at him as he pouted down at you. 

“I didn’t mean that. Y/N, you look beautiful today. You look beautiful everyday.” 

You lifted yourself up from his lap, one hand braced on either side of his legs on the couch as you bought yourself eye-to-eye with him, your chests close enough to touch if you took a big breath in. Instead, yours were shallow as you looked up at him through heavy eyes. 

“Thank you, Spencer.” You whispered, silently begging him to close the space between the two of you. But he didn’t, instead, clearing his throat and putting his book down, breaking your eye contact. 

“I should be getting home now. It’s pretty late.” You said, standing up from the couch. He followed you up and around as you started collecting your things and organising the space you’d occupied. 

“Y/N it’s late, and you’re tired. I can’t let you drive home like that. An estimated 30% of road accidents occur due to sleep deficiency, you know.” 

“It’s fine, I don’t want to get a taxi and just leave my car here and then have to come back in the morning. I’ll be fine driving,” you said, but he softly took the keys out of your hands as you grabbed them from your bag. 

“Stay here tonight.” He said, less of a suggestion than an already established fact. You looked up at him and knew there was no changing his mind, but he continued anyway. 

“I have a spare toothbrush and some old clothes you can probably use as pajamas, and it’s not like we haven’t shared a bed before. Maybe…maybe waking up next to each other again will help jog our memories, too. We only have until the end of the week, right?” 

He looked at you expectantly, and you let out a little sigh and nodded your head, letting him guide you away to the bedroom and back into sleeping in his arms. 

--×--

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[torscrawls]

Reaching for a Phantasm

This fic is based on the wonderful art of @astravis! Go check it out!

It's been a blast working on this years ecto-implosion and I was lucky to be paired with such a talented and nice artist!!

Words: 5,201 Can be read on AO3!

Valerie knew that ghosts were evil. She also knew that Danny was not. So when she saw him use ghostly powers she realized that he must not yet know that he's dead and that as long as she could keep the truth from him she wouldn't have to hunt him down. She just wished that someone had told her how hard it was to mourn someone who was still there.

----

Danny felt the back of his head collide with the wall as he slammed into the side of the school gym, hard enough to make his ears ring and for his eyesight to cut out for a split second. The building groaned with him as he pulled himself out of the hole he'd made. around him and as Danny pulled himself out of the divot he’d made he could see cracks spreading out all around him.

Vlad laughed as he lobbed another volley of ectoblasts at him and Danny dove out of the way at the last second with a curse and a burst of energy he didn’t really have. The blasts slammed into the building, sending cracks racing across the whole front. 

As Danny ducked around the shots he hung onto his transformation by the skin of his teeth, thankful that their drawn-out and violent fight had at least cleared out all possible spectators. Less people to see him if—strike that, considering his luck it was only a question of when—he lost control of his transformation.

“Why do you always have to stick your nose in my business?!” Vlad growled with a couple more shots to emphasize his point.

“That’s rich coming from you, you fruitloop!” Danny said as he attempted to eke out a bit of ghostly power to raise a shield, only able to produce a faint flicker of green in the air before one of the blasts slammed through it and grazed his left thigh. “Fuck!” Danny swore at both the pain and the realization that his battery really was empty. He needed to get away. “Just—Can you stop trying to mess with people for a damned minute?!”

“There’s nothing you can do to stop me,” Vlad laughed. “I’m going to get the support of the Residents' Association and get them to ban you Fentons from all the town’s stores!”

Danny gritted his teeth, tired of Vlad making his life harder at every turn. “It’s not real support if you force them through possession!” He threw a desperate ectoblast back at Vlad, cursing the fact that he’d been up since before dawn fighting ghost after ghost for days by this point.

Which was most likely all Vlad's fault too.

“You’re too young to get involved in politics, little badger!” Vlad snarled and hurled electricity right at him. Danny yelped and dove out of the way a split second too late. The shot clipped him in the shoulder, sending him spinning to the ground as his transformation suddenly slipped from his grip.

He came crashing down as a human, striking the ground hard and thanking his increased durability.

Vlad landed in front of him as Danny struggled to his feet, raising his fists, and praying that he wouldn't have to actually fight.

“I will teach you to learn to respect your betters, boy,” Vlad said with a grin as ectoplasm pooled in his hands, he raised them up and—

And was suddenly slammed to the side by the bottom of a hoverboard connecting with his face.

Danny flinched backwards as Valerie screamed, “Get away from him you disgusting ghost!”

And he'd never been happier to have her barge into his fight with guns drawn. Maybe because they weren't aimed at him.

Valerie immediately went for Vlad with a vicious series of shots aimed right at his core, forcing him to weave and dodge. A few of the shots went wide and slammed into the side of the gym, causing the whole building to groan and start to tilt dangerously.

“Va—Red Huntress!” Danny called, trying to get her attention, “Be careful where you aim, the gym is about to—”

He didn’t get the warning out in time.

Vlad laughed as he fired off an ectoblast big enough to throw Valerie backwards with the shear force of it. Right into the side of the gym.

She slammed into the side of the building and Danny watched in horror as the cracks spread and grew, widening into holes before the whole building gave one last groan and then promptly toppled over with a deafening crash.

Right on top of Valerie.

Danny caught a split second glimpse of her helmet staring up at the approaching building before it touched down and he instinctively raised his hands to protect his face from the explosion of dust that blew out from the collapse.

“No!” He screamed as he immediately ran to the rubble, scanning desperately for any sign of her. There was none.

Please let her suit keep her safe.

Vlad snorted and Danny glared up at him with a snarl. Vlad only raised his hands and gave a pointed look at the collapsed building. “Well, have fun with that. I’ll get back to my scheduled possessions.” And then he took off, laughing.

If Danny let him go now then Vlad would turn more of the town against him, would make his life even harder.

But. Val.

Val was under the rubble. She was most likely hurt, especially considering the fact that she hadn’t burst out of the wreckage with her guns blazing, and he couldn’t just leave her.

So Danny turned his full attention back to the mess of rubble in front of him, subconsciously reaching out with his ghost sense and there—

A sense of ghostliness, a tickling at the edge of his awareness. It wasn’t his own exhausted ectoplasm he was feeling, this was subtler, more repressed. Controlled. Molded.

He’d felt this before, tasted it at the back of his tongue every time he talked to Valerie ever since she became the Red Huntress. Which meant that it had to be her suit!

With new hope he reached for his core, desperately grasping that cool sensation and wrapping it around himself to turn into a stronger, more useful, version of himself and—

Nothing happened.

He was too tired, too empty. Even without changing form he might be able to dig her out; he still had some of his abilities as a human, but it would take a long time. Too long.

That left him with intangibility. With it he could probably reach her much faster, but she would see him. She would know.

It didn’t matter.

Danny bit down on the panic blooming in his chest and resolutely pressed it back down. He couldn't afford it right now. Valerie's life was more important than his secrets. He would deal with the fall out afterwards. He always did.

Danny turned himself intangible, took a deep breath, and reached out.

——

Valerie was crushed by the rubble all around her. She tried to pull in a breath, gritting her teeth as her rib cage protested the action. If she didn’t have her suit on she was sure that she would have been dead by now. 

She had lost the grip on her gun in the chaos and there was no way she could reach the one strapped to her belt to try and blast her way out. Still, she needed to get out. She couldn’t leave that ghost alone with Danny, she needed to save him.

But she couldn’t move, couldn’t even pull in enough air to curse. This realization made her chest tighten further. What if she wasn’t able to pull herself out of this? What if she was stuck down here in the dark until her air ran out?

Just as the panic started to set in, suddenly, there was a hand on her arm and just as suddenly she could breathe again. The rubble didn’t crush her any more and she was floating as if in a safe bubble. As if separate from the world.

Then she was pulled up, up, up and out.

Daylight reached her and she blinked dazed eyes as she tried to focus. And she looked up at the person who had saved her; looked up at Danny right through their clasped hands.

She stared at Danny's worried face through her own hand for a long moment, uncomprehending. Her first thought was what happened to Plasmius? Her second was oh, I’m dead, aren’t I?

But then she paused. No, that wasn’t right. She had been stuck under that rubble and it hadn't been until Danny had grabbed her that she had turned intangible. He had done it to her.

Which meant that he was—That Danny was—

“Valerie?” He asked with worry clear on his face. His face that looked so familiar; no anger or malice or evil in sight. Just... Danny. Danny who was—

“Danny?” She asked carefully, voice rough and shaking as she sat up on the dusty ground, not trusting her legs to carry her if she attempted to stand.

“Yes?” The worried frown didn’t leave his face as he let go of her arm, giving her some space. “Are you okay?”

“I'm—Yeah. I'm good. Are you—?” She stopped herself. Of course he wasn't. He was de—

But he acted just like normal.

It wasn’t fair. He should be angry and violent and give her a reason to feel like her world was crashing down around her, joining the school gym in a heap on the ground. He wasn’t supposed to look at her with worry and kindness after helping her up. After saving her.

So how could he possibly be a ghost? Had he died just now? Because she had made a split-second mistake and gotten taken out of the fight? Because she hadn’t been fast enough to save him?

She might be out of the rubble, but she still felt crushed.

At least he wasn't fighting and destroying things. Yet. Maybe he hadn't been dead long enough for him to be corrupted? Did she still have to hunt him? She had to, right? He was a ghost. But had he done anything to deserve it?

…Did it matter? He was a ghost. And that should be all there was to it.

She found that it wasn’t.

“Valerie?” Danny asked and his open expression conveyed only worry, a hand outstretched as if to support her. As if he didn’t even know that he’d just—

Wait… Did Danny even know?

Valerie felt cold wash through her at the realization that he probably didn’t. Which meant that she had to be the one to tell him. Or wait, maybe she shouldn’t; if he didn’t know then maybe he didn't have to turn evil. Maybe she wouldn’t have to hunt him down.

“What happened?” The question was out of her mouth before she could stop it, an instinctual demand for answers and an explanation for what was in front of her.

Danny pulled his hand back with a suddenly guarded expression on his face, fear creeping into his eyes. “What do you mean?”

He knew. He had to know. He had to.

Her silence made his worried frown reappear and he crouched down in front of her. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Stop that!” She was surprised by the anger in her own voice as she pushed him away, but she hated the fact that he acted like normal.

“Val?” His eyes were wide and full of hurt and she hated it. “What’s going on?”

Wait. How did he know her name? She was in her suit, he shouldn’t know—

Her hand went to her face and immediately found the big hole in her helmet. So that’s how he’d seen her face. But. He hadn’t seemed surprised. Which meant that he had already known.

Secrets. Lies. He had lied to her. He had manipulated her. Just like a ghost. And now he was pretending to help her, pretending to be her friend, pretending to be Danny! 

She felt hot anger rise in her chest and fuel the blazing hate as she pulled out her gun and trained it between his wide eyes. “Don’t move.”

Danny drew back, stumbling on the same plank from which he had pulled her up from underneath. As if he was a normal human. As if he could feel surprise.

Then he stammered out, “I’m not—I’m Danny! I—I would never hurt you!”

She knew that he was Danny. That was the whole problem!

She kept her gun trained on him and tried to keep her hands from shaking. She didn’t feel any of the usual satisfaction that came from staring down a ghost through the barrel of her gun. “Don’t—” She swallowed heavily and tried again, “Don’t move.”

He didn’t. He just cowered in front of her, hands up to protect his face and his wide, wide eyes full of fear fixed on her. As if she was the danger here. As if she was the monster.

She felt like one.

Besides, if she was responsible for his death then she was also responsible for the creation of an evil ghost. Didn’t that make her just as bad?

The ghost sounded exactly like Danny as he—it said, “Valerie?”

Her hand twitched on the gun as she tried desperately to think. Maybe he really wasn’t aware that he’d died. Could he still be evil? Could she hunt him down for sins he hadn’t committed yet?

She couldn’t keep this from him. She couldn’t. It would kill her too.

But this was Danny.

She looked at his wide eyes and imagined his reaction to her telling him that he was dead. It would be like killing him all over again. She couldn’t do it.

It might kill her not to say anything, but she had to stay strong. She would keep it from him for as long as possible. She would make sure he didn’t realize he was dead, keeping her eyes on him to make sure he didn’t start acting like a ghost, make sure he didn’t hurt anyone, and when he inevitably did she would—

She would put him down.

Danny kept his gaze fixed on her as he asked in a small voice, “…Val?” He looked up at her with his blue eyes, and she—

She lowered her gun. And she hated him so much at that moment that it burned in her chest.

As she holstered the weapon she tried to play her actions off with an angry, “Don’t tell anyone. About me.” Maybe he would believe that her threats had been in response to him finding out about her secret identity. She had to make sure he didn't find out the truth.

Relief flashed across his face. As if he had been scared she would say something else. She told herself again that he didn't know. “Yeah, of course I won’t.” He gave her a shaky smile and a tremulous laugh. “You have no idea how badly I’ve wanted to tell you, both that I knew, and that—Well, you know.”

“That’s… great,” Val managed, the words stiff on her tongue. She found that him knowing her secret identity didn't matter that much anymore. She also found that it was harder to talk to him than she had thought, to act like normal when everything had changed. “I just. I have to go home.”

Home. Would he be safe to go home? The whole town knew about his parents’ obsession with hunting ghosts and he would be going into that situation blind. She focused her suit's remaining sensors and let out a breath of relief as she noted that he didn’t show up as a ghost. It was probably a side-effect of just being created and still being weak, but she would take it. It would mean that he was safe for the time being.

He gave an easy laugh. “Right! Your dad must be worried.”

Valerie barely held back a flinch at the ghost mentioning her dad. He wasn’t threatening him, she reminded herself. He didn’t even know that he was dead.

But that didn’t mean that she wanted her dad anywhere near him.

Danny, oblivious to her whirling thoughts, waved as he turned away. “See you tomorrow!”

In school. As if nothing had changed.

Val gritted her teeth and flew off, not able to make herself respond. She felt like the crushing pressure hadn't lifted off her at all, despite being out of the rubble.

——

In school she watched Sam and Tucker hang around Danny with a knot in her stomach. No one in their tight-knit little group acted out of the ordinary. She took in Danny’s smile as he got punched in the shoulder by Tucker and reeled. Did Danny really die only for no one to notice? Not even his closest friends? Not even him? 

Val watched and watched and came to the conclusion that they hadn’t. They all acted exactly like normal. Which meant that the knowledge of his death was only her burden to bear. So she squared her shoulders and went on with her day. She could do this.

It was her fault that he had ended up like this in the first place and she would—She would carry this for them all. As long as no one realized then it was fine, right? It was like nothing happened.

The only real difference was the glances that Danny kept sneaking her whenever he thought she wasn’t looking. She guessed it was because of what had happened the day before; even if he wasn't aware of the fact that he'd died it must have been traumatic for someone not used to it to get attacked by a ghost.

She could do this, she repeated as she watched him drop a ball in gym class. No, not dropped. It slipped through his hand.

He looked around with wide eyes as if to see why that had happened.

And since she couldn’t let him realize the truth, she stepped in. “I heard Skulker messed with the gym storage last week. A lot of the equipment has been weird ever since.”

Her voice came out slightly shaky and she swallowed the lump in her throat when Danny stared at her with fear for a split second before he gave her a small smile full of relief. “Thanks for the heads up. Haha, I thought I had just gotten even clumsier.”

And then he went back to what he'd been doing, as if nothing had happened, leaving Valerie to get herself back under control.

It was hard to talk to him, knowing that he was dead and not being able to say anything. She felt like she missed him which was ridiculous because he was right there. As if nothing had happened.

Really, she couldn’t understand how no one else hadn’t noticed, not even his closest friends. Not even himself. She thanked the gods that he was so oblivious.

But that didn’t mean that no one would. She checked her scanner between classes and let out a breath of relief every time she confirmed that he still didn’t show up on it. Combined with him acting normally, it probably meant that he was still safe at home if nothing else.

But acting like normal wasn't foolproof. In English class when Mr Lancer handed out worksheets, he must have touched Danny while handing him his papers because he flinched back with a startled, “Wuthering Heights Mr Fenton! Your hands are ice-cold!”

Danny looked startled, as if he hadn’t noticed anything strange about his hands. And of course he hadn’t, the dead didn’t feel warmth.

Val, from her seat next to Danny, leaned over and said, as casually as she could manage, “You always had such bad circulation Danny. Maybe you should try wearing gloves?”

Danny gave her a grateful look. “Thanks. I’ll… Maybe I will.”

During the rest of the class he kept sneaking glances at her and Valerie felt herself tense up more and more as time went on. Every time she looked at him he sent her a conspiratorial smile and turned back to his worksheet. He was trying to spy on her, to suss her out, her mind screamed.

But after class he just gave her a small nod and left. Leaving her to watch after him. And she watched. And watched. 

Valerie watched him laugh with his friends, knowing he was dead. She watched him eat lunch, knowing he was dead. She watched him get bullied by Dash, knowing he was dead. She watched him live his life, knowing he was dead. He was dead.

He was dead. And only she knew.

Did it count as him dying if she was the only one that knew? Since he had only died in her eyes then maybe a part of him was still alive somewhat. She didn't know. She hoped so. It was driving her crazy. 

She found that it was really hard to mourn someone by herself. Someone who was still around. Someone who was standing right in front of her, laughing and living his life.

And everyone acted as if nothing had happened.

And then the day was over.

Val went home as if in a trance.

She didn’t go out as Red Huntress that night.

——

The next day was the same.

And the day after that.

As time moved on she found herself dreading the day he finally realized that he'd died and she had to put him down. She tried to convince herself that she looked forward to it instead; that she would be rid of this empty feeling in her chest. Be rid of the dread and horror she felt every time she looked at him.

Despite this, she watched him more than ever. But she still could barely bring herself to talk to him and instead she started checking her scanner every chance she got.

A majority of the time he didn't show up, not registering as anything ghostly, but the issue was that sometimes he did. 

The first time it happened Valerie's breath caught in her throat and she'd grabbed her gun before making the conscious decision to do so.

It was confirmation. It was damnation. Part of her had hoped that she'd been mistaken after the rubble; confused and dazed and seeing things. But he was dead. He was dead and he just hadn’t moved on. But that didn’t mean that she couldn’t. It was just hard to do when you were watching him attending school everyday as if nothing had happened.

But then the dot on the scanner had gone away. And then it came back. 

He seemed to flip between showing up and not on a regular basis, with him being detectable often coinciding with a ghost attack or similar.

Danny would straighten up from being half-asleep in class, or stop in the middle of a sentence and then excuse himself from the room.

Valerie had never figured out where he went or why but he always showed back up not long after, often injured and trying to hide it. Her best guess was that he got hunted by people or that ghosts attacked him.

At least no one ever complained that Danny had attacked them, so she felt safe to assume he hadn’t turned evil yet and she was determined to keep it that way.

But maybe that was just wishful thinking; she was desperately trying to come up with reasons why she wouldn't have to hunt Danny down.

Once, he showed up on the scanner and for once she managed to follow him out of the classroom and all the way to an empty classroom. Only to find him talking to a ghost.

The ghost in question was a black and white kid and Danny sat on a chair while the kid floated at his side, both of them engrossed in what seemed to be a deep conversation. Danny didn’t give any indication of caring about the fact that his conversation partner was dead. Did that mean that he'd realized what he was? But. Neither of them attacked anyone. They just talked.

Valerie stood still just outside the classroom, peeking inside through the slightly cracked door and felt her anger rise. Because here Danny was, a ghost, conniving with another ghost right under her nose, even though he knew who she was, knew that she went to this school.

And they were just talking. And that was the worst part, because under the anger and the guilt and the pain, there was fear. Fear that she'd been wrong about ghosts this entire time.

But that was impossible.

She hurried away from the classroom and didn't know if she was angry or worried or sad anymore, she only knew that she needed to get away from there. 

Before the next class started, Danny came back and sat down in his seat to talk to his friends. No ghost attack happened that day. 

Valerie started putting even more effort into avoiding Danny than she had before.

Sadly, she couldn’t avoid him forever and he caught her after their last class a few days later. Before she could shoulder her way past him and out the door he said softly, “Val. I just wanted to say… Thank you. For looking out for me. It—It means a lot.”

She glowered as she balled her fists at her sides. “Don’t thank me.”

“I mean it, I really—”

“Don’t,” she cut him off before she skirted past him, making sure not to touch.

She couldn’t handle him thanking her for something she hadn’t done. She hadn’t looked out for him, that’s why he had died in the first place.

She was shaking for the rest of the day. But the conversation made her realize that she had to tell him the truth. Both for her own sake and for his. 

If he'd started showing up on scanners then it was only a matter of time before his parents figured him out. And after that it wouldn't be long until he figured out that something was wrong—if his parents didn't simply do what she hadn't been able to and put him down without hesitation. And that was. Hm. She found that she didn't like the thought of that.

Not that she was worried for him or anything like that. Of course not.

But regardless of why, she realized that she couldn��t do this any longer. She couldn’t pretend that nothing had happened. Which left her with the problem of how to tell someone that they were dead.

The first step was easy; after a few days of gathering courage she asked him to meet her after school, and of course he said yes. He was Danny.

They filed into an empty classroom, the same one she had seen Danny talking to a ghost in, and she took a deep breath before deciding that there was no easy way of doing this. She would just have to go for it. So she squared her shoulders and said, “Danny, I’m— I’m so sorry.”

That stopped him short. He tilted his head at her. “What for?”

“You—you’re dead,” she managed, teeth gritted and hands in tight fists. 

He blinked at her. “I… know?” 

He didn’t seem surprised.

Valerie scowled. “You know?!” Valerie tried to keep her voice down, failing as she continued, “Since when?!”

She had been so scared, so alone. And he had known?!

And if he'd known, then why hadn't he moved on? Could he be that scared of ghost hunters? His own parents? 

She had lived in fear of ghosts for so long, it was strange to think of a ghost hiding out of fear for her, for humans.

She also knew how hard it had been for her to accept that he was dead, she couldn’t imagine what it would be like for him.

He frowned with clear confusion. “Since it happened? I thought you knew? Or what was up with the last few days?”

“But—” She cut herself off, reeling. “But you didn’t react. You didn’t seem to notice.”

“What?”

“Plasmius,” she tried to clarify with a reeling mind. “The rubble.”

He frowned in what appeared to be confusion for a second before his eyes widened in realization. “Ah. So you saw that.”

Him making her intangible, she guessed.

“Yeah. And you— Danny, you died.”

Then he shook his head with a small, sad, smile. “Oh. Oh, no. That wasn’t when— It happened a long time ago.”

Valerie blinked.

So maybe. Maybe he had been dead for a while. Maybe she hadn’t been the one to kill him. She thought that should make her feel better. It didn’t.

Because the immediate question that popped into her head was; how long had he been pretending to get this good at it? How long had he been dead?

Which, of course, led to; how had he been able to hang around her? Date her? Had he ever even liked her? 

He knew how she felt about ghosts. But then again, she also knew what his parents thought about ghosts.

“You haven’t shot me,” he observed and she hated the calm acceptance he said it with.

“Not yet.”

But that seemed to be enough for him as Danny slumped in relief. For some reason, he smiled. “You have no idea how nice it's been to have someone else knowing the truth. Thanks again for all the help, it means a lot.” 

Before she could protest his thanks for the second time, he continued with a much more serious expression, “I just—I'm sorry. I never meant to mess things up for you.”

He never had. Even though he’d been dead for a long time he had never let that affect anyone else as far as she could tell. “I know.”

“And, please, don’t tell—”

Who would she tell? The school? No one would believe her. His parents the ghost hunters? They would capture him or attack him immediately.

But wasn’t that what she wanted? He was a ghost, after all.

“…Val?”

“I won’t.”

He relaxed. “Thank you. And I—I’m sorry you found out this way. I didn’t want to keep it from you, but—Well…”

She knew why he hadn’t told her he was a ghost; she hadn’t kept her hatred of ghosts a secret. And still, he had hung around her. And a part of her still screamed that it had been to find out her weaknesses, to try and hurt her.

No, she chided herself, she knew better. He had tried to hide for his own safety and to spare her feelings.

Cause now she had found out and he wasn’t attacking her, wasn’t threatening her, was even asking for her forgiveness despite everything she had done wrong. All he was doing was talking to her like a person. Like Danny. Because that was all he’d ever been.

“It—It’s fine,” she found herself saying and found that for the first time since the rubble she could breathe again.

She reached out and laid a hand on his arm, gripping tight when she could feel him solid beneath her palm and neither of them turned invisible. He looked up in surprise but didn't shake her off. And this time it was Valerie who dragged him forward, into the crushing embrace of her arms.

Danny was dead, but he was still here.

And nothing truly had happened.

[the-unconquered-queen]

PB thought they could yassify Nia so much on the b3 cover we wouldn't notice them naurifying Mal, Tyril, and Imtura but ain't shit getting past me, none of those individuals was in the Blades series I played so gtfoh with Neil, Malnourished, Tylenol and Implosion

[willowed-wisp]

HER KNIGHT, HIS HEART - part one

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Ser Harwin Strong x fem!OC/reader insert

WARNINGs: swearing, violence, suggestive themes. This will be an 18+ series.



It wasn’t easy, the pressure on her shoulders. Neither was being the eldest daughter to the King’s Hand.

Elspeth couldn’t marry for love, Otto would never allow it. Instead she had been prepared to make the highest match possible. Her father being the Hand of the King made that all too possible- brushing shoulders with royalty and noblemen. Unlike her younger sister- Elspeth didn’t hang on their father’s every word. She had a mind of her own and could muster her own life.

The nineteen year old could choose her friends, however. It just so happened that her best friend was found in the Princess of The Seven Kingdoms, Rhaenyra. It was fate. The pair were kindred in spirit, both quick to tempers raging hotter than dragon fyre.

Only the other understood that pent up rage. Caused from the years of pressure yet to pass. Elspeth was of age and Rhaenyra was at its cusp. Being born into the highest ranks of nobility meant marriage of convenience, a princess and daughter to the Hand weren’t above that duty.

And Elspeth knew that all too well.

“You have a duty to this family, Elspeth, you shall not be so selfish.” When she thought her father had redeeming qualities he would undermine her forgiveness. Always.

“I shan’t marry Jason Lannister! He is pompous, vile and twice my age!” Otto took a step forward, Elspeth a step back. His steely demeanour was too much for her to endure. Yet she stood mighty and true. He still stared down at her. “I’m not just something you can sell.”

“The only use you have to this House is to be wed,” she knew that. Every woman of high standing knew their only purpose l was to married and produce heirs. That didn’t mean Elspeth agreed with it. “The Gods are merciful, covering your antics in Oldtown.”

“I was only singing.” Dismissive, it wasn’t as greater deal as he made out.

“ Skirt up to your thighs, commoners around you… if your mother was alive…”

“My mother encouraged me to live! She would have been proud!”

“You looked like a common whore!” Her back to him- leaving Otto Hightower in his own company. Elspeth would not waste another breath. Elspeth Hightower never had and never would adhere to orders, least of all his.

This wasn’t Oldtown. And she wasn’t some ‘common whore’.

She needed to blow off some steam before self-implosion. How she wished she could ride a dragon; envious of Rhaenyra and Syrax. It hadn’t stopped her from learning the Valyrian tongue.

Elspeth required unbecoming relief.

Metal pummelled into straw, the Hightower punctuating her thoughts with a heaved swing.

‘Why do I have to marry?’

‘Why does he want rid of me?’

‘Why can’t I live my life by my own terms?’

That last one left the destructible mannequin ripped apart in a bedlam of hay on the ground.

She didn’t feel at all relieved. Dragon blood boiling, sometimes she felt like a Targaryen. “Who the fuck could tame me?” Spoken louder than intended- more of a shout. The woman didn’t mind, wearing trousers as a maiden was looked down upon. Especially in the eyes of her father.

Elspeth feared that these flames would one day consume herself. And she feared anybody caught in the crossfire. “Now, why in the Seven Kingdoms does Lady Hightower need taming?”

“She doesn’t.” The words spilled before she recognised the voice. Gruff and stubborn, yet she knew him to be gentle. Auburn hair tousled to meet a grinning face and silvery eyes. “Strong. You didn’t hear any of that.”

His lips thinned, “As you wish, my Lady,” The leather-wearing man stood a head taller- shadowing her. Elspeth used to be intimidated by the man from a young age. She had known him basically all of her life.

“You are lingering,” a slight bite, yet she assumed he was used to her. Or should have been. “Speak freely, I’d appreciate your counsel.” Sheathing her sword his gloved hand held the pommel.

His stance broad, “What do you wish to discuss?” She motioned for the pair to walk at each other’s side- yet he remained standing still. Regrettably unable to order him around- he bore the higher social standing. Elspeth resorted to his wishes.

“The King’s Hand is attempting to secure a betrothal in my name,” he chuckled at the maiden, “What is so amusing?” Her tone was laced in boredom as her eyes rolled.

Hulking shoulders shrugged, “You barely tolerate my presence and yet you ask me for counsel concerning your Lord father… what has gotten into you?” No trace of malice or discontent hidden in his words- she didn’t take him for a man of deep thought. Then again Elspeth hadn’t really gotten to know Harwin Strong.

“You are impartial and are quite fair, when you’re not breaking others’ bones in tourneys.” That made him smug- still grinning ear to ear. Why did he smile so wide? Wielding the sword, a large hand gloved her own- her skin ignited with a buzzing in her ears.

She instantly glared, he grinned, “Stop angering your father,” the stare less sinister on her part, “He doesn’t take kindly to you wielding a sword.” So he meant to disarm her, she didn’t think so.

“I’ll do as I please,”The woman snatched the sword, while the knight pulled both girl and sword toward himself. Arms clashing with cool fabric, brow inches away from his as was the contrasting smirk.

He forced it higher- Elspeth couldn’t have gotten closer if she tried. “You asked for counsel, my Lady.”

Fingers unlatched from the weapon- cheeks ablaze, “That doesn’t mean I have to adhere to it,” Elspeth held a distance- processing his words. “Shouldn’t you be at Harrenhal? Rather than playing knight?” That smile never faded from his face.

Taking a step closer, “I’ll have you know, I’m joining the City Watch in two namedays. You’ll be seeing a lot more of me, I’m afraid.”Her eyes rolled at his joviality. He was going to become a pain in her arse.

“Does that mean you’re competing in the tourney later?” Eyes of sparkling green beamed into his of steel.

A nod.

Elspeth curtsied- maybe she shouldn’t incur the wrath of Otto Hightower for the headache it caused. “I will see you there, Strong,” her back turned now to him.

“It’s Harwin…” She had known him for well over a decade, yet the habit didn’t die hard. He was a Lord after all and heir to Harrenhal and the Strong family, whereas she’d inherit the name of her betrothed- not that of her own.

Long, waved hair settled and her head turned, “Farewell, Ser Harwin.”

But he didn’t relent, “And you’ll be in the royal box?”

His eyes bright so she could see them from the distance covered, “What of it?” She was growing impatient.

“I just wanted to know where to receive your favour,” The smile diabolical- heat warmed her centre. She wasn’t naive, she’d been to taverns joined with pleasure houses. For the knight, Elspeth couldn’t harbour such feelings for him. It wasn’t destined for her. “Take care, my Lady.”

She turned for a final time, memorising Harwin Strong’s smirk, his eyes… memorising him.

“Where have you been? Father has been looking for you,” Elspeth wasn’t sure whether or not Alicent was truly a sweet little girl or a suck up to garner favour. Needless to say the youngest daughter was their father’s favourite- but at least Elspeth didn’t wear a mask.

She waved the news off, “When have I ever listened to our father’s orders?” Her younger sister silent, hands at her front- nails bloodied. Enough for Elspeth to grasp her palms for closer inspection, “What have I told you? This world is already cruel enough, don’t scorn yourself by your own hand.” Even if Alicent was petulant at times, Elspeth still loved her until the ground started shaking and the World ended altogether.

A sorrowful look from the younger, “Is this about mother?” A nod and she brought Alicent into her side - a crushing hug. Elspeth felt her kin tremble, she held the girl up. Tears shedding

Though, that was both of the sisters.

“I miss her, Elsie.”

“As do I,” a long inhale, “But we are strong, Alie. We are Hightowers, we light the way. I love you, more than Gwayne,” both found humour. Laughing with each other. “If I’m not mistaken, we have a princess to attend.”

The youthful face of Alicent Hightower lit up again, as tears were wiped by Elspeth’s emerald sleeve. “You’re just like mother,” the older’s heart shone at those words. She always had a likeness to their late Lady mother- comments enough to be memorable. But Elspeth never saw it, for her and Alicent their mother was the most beautiful woman in court. After she passed, Alicent thought the same of ‘her Elsie’.

She plainly smiled at Alicent. “What did father say he wanted?”

“He didn’t actually want anything, you just haven’t spoken to me since…” Even Elspeth would admit it, she was ignorant and rude. There were no excuses for her behaviour, though she hadn’t been the same since her mother’s death. Especially Otto. His leash on his eldest daughter had grown shorter in those following months.

Elspeth would light her own way.

[lol-jackles]

Walker is cancelled but it also died with the dignity intact.

There are a lot of responses of people who never watched it but are stunned that the CW would cancel its most viewed show. The statements of the cast and crew have been of gratitude, remembering how great the set was. Those who liked the series are not engaging in absurd boycott campaigns and even those who didn't like it admitted that it was incredible that the show lasted 4 seasons when it had many obstacles.

The fact that Jared made the announcement himself instead of the CW executives or a news outlet also proves how serious he took his role as the lead and EP.

This cancellation felt different than the other ones and it put Jared on top. His career prospect looks even better than what could have been after SPN without Walker.

Walker is shaping up to end strong with two high stake storylines and leave on a high note.

Yup it didn't make sense to people that a profitable #1 scripted show would end before it's time, but 4 seasons is still a good run when the industry is going through historic downturn. Articles have called the show a "minor miracle" because it debuted during the global pandemic, survive through unprecedented round of strikes, and a change in network ownership. All while creating one of the most enviable work set for cast an crew (x) , adding to the Austin economy, and emerge as the top-rated show.

I'm still amazed that Jared was able to negotiate filming in his own hometown, to me that unprecedented especially since Austin is not exactly known as a place for filming tv shows other than Friday Night Lights. Even 9-1-1 Lone Star is supposed to take place in Austin but is filmed in L.A. And he went further and help create that enviable work environment for cast and crew, a standard that is almost unheard of in the industry but shown it's possible. I can only imagine how relieved Dan Lin was after spectacular implosion of his last tv show Lethal Weapon. 

Jared will continue to have a career as a tv leading man if he wants it. Casting directors are sending him offers because his track records speak for themselves. His stock in the industry is pretty much on a silver platter.

[m1ckeyb3rry]

── THE GLASS PRINCESS // THIRTEEN

Series Synopsis: You wake up in a strange room with no memories, broken glass at your bedside, and a prince named Zuko as your only chance at figuring out who you really are.

Chapter Synopsis: Things in Ba Sing Se come to a head, taking a violent turn you are unprepared for.

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Zuko x Reader

Chapter Word Count: 5.4k

Content Warnings: complicated relationships (strangers to friends to lovers to enemies to strangers to lovers to enemies to lovers), amnesia, alternate universe, lots of secrets and lying and mystery

A/N: as seen in the chapter summary this is chapter leans on the more violent side #sorry BUT just wanted to say i love you all thanks for reading and sorry i’m so mean to your character

“Quynh,” you sniffed, holding onto one of her claws. “Quynh, they want to kill Kuei.”

She growled, low and deep, which only made you cry harder. Only when she noticed that did she stop, though her breaths still came quick and short as she rubbed her cheek against your body in a vain attempt to comfort you.

“Who?” she said.

“I don’t know,” you said. “They haven’t done anything yet, but I heard them. I heard them!”

“Tell me what they said, my dear,” she said. “As best as you can, so that there is no chance of misunderstanding.”

“They said that if I turn out to be an Earthbender, they will get rid of Kuei so that I can take the throne,” you said. “They want a powerful ruler, and they don’t — they don’t think that he can be that. But I don’t want to be queen! I just want to play with Kuei!”

“That’s contingent on you being an Earthbender, though,” she said. “You haven’t shown any signs of bending yet, have you?”

You hiccuped. “Yes. Today. I was on my way to show Kuei when I overheard the conversation. But no one can know. Pinky promise not to tell anyone, Quynh! I don’t want Kuei to be in danger.”

“I won’t tell anyone,” she soothed you. “But you are a bender of Shan’s line. If you do not learn to control your power, you will destroy this palace.”

“Huh?” you said.

“Bending without control is based solely on a wild instinct. If you do not train in some way, shape, or form, then your every emotion will be like a stone on the surface of a pond. For the everyday individual, this isn’t anything devastating, but you are the princess of the Earth Kingdom. Your bloodline begets only the strongest of Earthbenders, and so the consequences of your bending running amok are that much greater,” she said.

“But if anyone catches me, then Kuei — Kuei — I don’t want Kuei to die!” you said, bursting into tears again. 

“He won’t,” Quynh said. “Listen to me, Y/N. If you cannot train properly, if you cannot learn the Earthbending forms and movements that are specifically designed to calm the mind and focus the art, then we must come up with a suitable replacement.”

“What can replace a teacher?” you said.

“I will be your teacher,” Quynh said. “And the crystals around us will be your element. Crystals are a step removed from stones, and so they are difficult for the more traditional benders to master, but you are skipping over to them entirely by virtue of your situation.”

“Will that be enough to ensure that I am not caught?” you said.

“I think so,” Quynh said. “Once you are bored of crystals, we will move on to glass. You see, dear girl, there is a truth that is oft-ignored in this new era of bending: it is no harder to move a mountain than it is to emboss a window. Perhaps one is more ostentatious — who ever takes the time to be impressed by the minute details of a piece? — but both are of the same difficulty. The explosion and the implosion are equally as destructive, are they not? If you cannot practice with the mountains that are your birthright, then you must turn to the other extreme. You must endeavor to bend with an exact perfection; allow no blemishes, so that your mind does not turn on itself in its solitude.”

“Princess Y/N,” a slippery, cool voice said as you rounded the corner towards where the tea shop was located. “It was surprising enough to see you hanging around the Avatar and his friends, but to find a girl of your birth and stature in the Lower Ring instead of in the palace is definitely unexpected.”

You froze. It was a voice you did not recognize, but if they knew you had been with the Avatar, then there was only one group they could have been from. Your swore as stone gloves warped into cuffs around your wrists, binding them behind your back and dragging you into the custody of a man wearing a familiar uniform.

“Dai Li,” you hissed. “What are you doing here?”

“Between the two of us, I do not think that you are the one who has the right to be asking me that,” the agent said. You ground your teeth as another agent dropped down beside you, grabbing your shoulder roughly.

“Long Feng will be furious,” this new agent said. “You’ve disobeyed his singular order. What an ungrateful girl you are! A princess who was given everything she ever asked for and was only asked to stay in her rooms in return. Yet you could not even do that much.”

The people on the streets were beginning to stop and stare, whispering to one another at your state. It wasn’t every day that Dai Li agents made their presences obvious — there was an unspoken awareness that they were always there, creeping about in the corners of the collective consciousness, but it was rare for them to become forefront. Even in the crime-riddled Lower Ring, it was the militia-men who enforced the common laws. The Dai Li only appeared for the gravest infractions, and for you to be led away in stone cuffs like this was a scandal of unprecedented magnitude.

“There are more important things for Long Feng to be furious about,” you said as you were pulled through the streets by the Dai Li agents.

“Nothing is more important than you, your royal highness,” the first agent said sweetly, mockingly. “The safety of the Earth King’s heir is paramount to the kingdom’s security.”

As you passed the tea shop, the door slammed open, and the Dai Li agents paused as Lee sprinted out, his face like a thundercloud, his shoulders tense and expression in a scowl darker than any you had ever seen him wear.

“What’s going on here?” he said, crossing his arms and staring down the Dai Li with none of the fear and respect that they rightfully commanded. The way he stood was if he were the one that they should be afraid of, though it was a ridiculous notion — what could a simple tea shop worker do to the famed members of Ba Sing Se’s secret police?

“Out of the way, boy,” the second agent said.

“Where are you taking Y/N?” Lee insisted. “I won’t move until you tell me.”

“Y/N? You’re on a first-name basis with her royal highness?” the first agent said. “How impetuous! It’s laughable, really, for you to think that this girl cares about you.”

It was meant to be nothing more than humiliation. By exposing your identity, the Dai Li were ensuring that you could never again return to the Lower Ring, not if you valued your life or at least your dignity. The people who lived here hated you, after all, hated everything you stood for. The spoiled princess who cared little for their suffering…now that they knew the truth, they would never accept you again.

The whispers grew louder. Her royal highness? Y/N, as in Princess Y/N? The Earth King’s sister? What is she doing here? How dare she show her face after everything? How dare she pretend to be one of us?

“Get out of here!” a man shouted. The declaration was like the breaking of a dam, as the people’s voices rose higher and higher. The Dai Li stood beside you grimly, doing nothing to shield you from the insults thrown your way.

“Is this how you royals entertain yourselves?” a woman said. “Is this what we are paying our taxes for? So that you can live our lives for fun and then go back to the luxury of your palace?”

“Give us our money back, thief!”

“Do we look like tourists, huh? Why’d we have to pay to enter the city?”

“Why are we second to a bear? Why does the Earth King care more about his pet than his people?”

“Selfish witch! You’re no princess. You’d abandon the kingdom if it meant you could live a life of luxury! You ought to be sent to the front lines, let’s see how you like it there!”

“Down with the tyrant! Down with the traitor!”

It was exactly the kind of uprising that the Dai Li had been employed to quell, but they stood there and watched, faces impassive as people came closer and closer, pressing in on you, screaming things that you could not cover your ears from, not when you were still restrained.

“Ain’t she the princess they said was made of glass? I wonder if she’ll break like it, too!”

You weren’t sure who hurled the first brick, but it was only thanks to Lee’s quick reaction that it did not hit you in the head. He yanked you out of the way, but the missed opportunity only incensed the people further.

“You have to get out of here,” you said to Lee. “This is the culmination of years’ worth of anger. I am the target for their rage, but if you’re near me, then you will be caught in the crossfire. Take Mushi and go somewhere far away until this has blown over!”

“Will I see you again?” he said. A window shattered, glass raining down around you as people began to fight one another, too. They were just furious now. They just wanted someone to hate, and whether it was their neighbor or their princess mattered little to them. As long as they could inflict the hurt they felt onto another person.

“I don’t know,” you confessed. “I don’t know anything anymore, if ever I did. But I want to, Lee. I want to see you again, and so I believe that I will.”

“Death to the Glass Princess! Death to the Glass Princess! Death to the Glass Princess!”

“You have to go now!” you said. A nearby produce stand was turned on its side, tomatoes rolling out and bursting as people stomped on them in their haste to destroy something, anything, everything.

Out of nowhere, Dai Li agents manifested, using their Earthbending to trap the citizens in constructs of stone, the riot stopping as abruptly as it had started. You used your shoulder to shove Lee away from you, shaking your head at him when he tried to protest before turning away, knowing that he would not leave unless you dismissed him in a way so inarguable that it left him with no choice.

In such a short time, the road had been utterly destroyed. The storefronts had been torn apart, glass and stray stones and smashed goods everywhere. The street itself ran red with tomato juice and pulp and blood, and the people who were encased in rock by the Dai Li were bruised and worn from the effort of the riot.

“Where are you taking them?” you said as the Dai Li moved with brutal efficiency, restraining everyone in the crowd before releasing them from their temporary prisons.”

“They’re all due for a visit to Lake Laogai,” the Dai Li agent standing at your left shoulder said.

“This is why you were forbidden from leaving the palace,” the other Dai Li agent said.. “Do you understand now?”

“I understand,” you said, though what you understood and what he was saying were at odds with one another. It was the kind of conclusion you were only equipped to draw now that you had left the palace and seen the reality of Ba Sing Se, of the impenetrable city whose walls contained any explosions and turned them inward.

As you were marched down the street towards the palace, you could not help yourself from craning your neck for one final glimpse of the ruined street where you had spent so much of your time. Your happiest days had been on these very cobblestones, in and out of these very shops.

Those days would never come back. They were gone now, destroyed as surely as the setting in which they had taken place.

You caught the eye of the man who had started it all, who had shouted at you to leave the Lower Ring. He had been forced to his knees and held there by stone restraints, and a Dai Li agent stood above him with a severe expression on his face.

When the man noticed you looking at him, his eyebrows drew together, his irises shining with fear and desperation. He mouthed something at you, or perhaps he said it aloud and you were too far to hear it, but either way you comprehended the message.

Please.

Your eyes widened, but you were shoved around a corner before you could react. And then there was a scream, followed by a horrible cracking sound, followed by an eerie, disconcerting silence.

Upon arriving in the palace, you were brought to the throne room. The throne itself was noticeably empty, but Long Feng was standing in front of it on its dais, his sly face adorned with a mournful frown. It only deepened when he saw you, and he sighed as the Dai Li agents paused before him, bowed, and then left, leaving the two of you alone.

“Princess Y/N,” Long Feng said, trying to adopt the same fatherly tone he always took on around you. “I cannot begin to describe how disappointed in you I am.”

“Then don’t,” you said. “And tell the Dai Li to free me of these restraints. What would my brother say if he saw me like this?”

“Why, certainly, he’d agree with me, if not my methods,” Long Feng said. “You’ve nearly died so many times in the city that it’s clear I was right. You never should’ve left.”

He might as well have dumped a bucket of ice over your head. So many times. How had he known about any other instance? How had he known that assassins had come for you, and more than once?

“What will happen to the people of the Lower Ring?” you said. “What will you do to them?”

“Do not fret,” he said. “The instigators were publicly executed, as a reminder to the others of the power of the Dai Li. As for the rest, well, the only ones hurt by their little demonstration were themselves. That’s an even better punishment than anything I could come up with.”

“Executed?” you said.

“As long as you stay out of it, Ba Sing Se will remain safe,” Long Feng said. “Now that the dissenters are gone, the public sentiment will return to its usual.”

“But I don’t want it to return to its usual! The people of Ba Sing Se hate Kuei and I, and for good reason,” you said. “They are struggling, and instead of helping them, we are making things worse. Surely you know this, so why have you not yet advised my brother to stop what he is doing and enact policies that will benefit our kingdom?”

Long Feng scoffed. “You know nothing of ruling a kingdom; in fact, you know even less than your brother. If you and he would leave the running of Ba Sing Se to the more qualified, then things would not be so dire.”

“There’s a war,” you said. Long Feng paled, and for a moment, his well-schooled expression dropped into a sneer. It was brief, but you were quicker than he. You saw it, and the beginnings of a theory formed in the back of your mind.

“Who has fed you such vicious lies?” he said. “There is no war.”

“The Avatar,” you said. “I’m sure your men told you that I was with him. If I am lying, then he must be, as well. Do you still deny it?”

“The Avatar is a young boy,” Long Feng said. “Young boys are prone to exaggeration and boasting. In a world that has survived for so long without him, don’t you think he would do anything to gain some legitimacy? Fabricating a conflict isn’t beyond that scope. Of course, occasional skirmishes are a natural consequence of the size of the kingdom, but an actual war is unthinkable. The world is at peace.”

“And the refugees are tourists,” you noted. “Isn’t that right?”

“You’re confused,” he said. “The overload of information that you were faced with in Ba Sing Se has muddled your poor mind, so that you are susceptible to the mind tricks of outside actors like the Avatar.”

“That’s not true!” you said. “I know what I saw. Why are you denying it so vehemently?”

Speaking to Long Feng always reduced you to childhood. With him, you were once again nothing but a little girl throwing a tantrum. It did not help that he was perpetually looking down his nose at you, like you were lucky to have gained his attention at all, like he was doing you a favor by acknowledging you in the first place. You despised it, despised how small he made you feel, despised how powerless you became whenever he rebuked you.

“I’m afraid I must ban you from your brother’s chambers for the time being,” Long Feng said. “I cannot have you contaminating his clear-headed judgment with your hysterics.”

“You’re confining me to just my room?” you said. If that was the only punishment you received, then it’d be a blessing, but of course you could not reveal that to Long Feng, who would then come up with something even worse to thoroughly chastise you.

“Maybe,” he said. “Or maybe not. How did you escape?”

“Why would I tell you that?” you said.

“If you ever want to see Kuei again, you will,” he said, his smirk growing cruel as you gasped despite yourself. “You two are all-too-similar. Perhaps you think that because you have found a way out of the palace, you are invulnerable, but I can promise you one thing, your highness: if you do not cooperate, I will forbid you from your brother for good.”

You clenched your fists by your sides. “The window.”

“The window!” Long Feng said incredulously. “Do you expect me to believe that? You live on one of the highest floors of the palace. Even for an Earthbender, that route would be suicide, but you are not so much as that. You are worsening your own case by lying.”

Closing your eyes, you bowed at Long Feng, though as a princess you were required to bow to no one but your brother. He did not stop you, though. He never stopped you.

“You’re right,” you said. “I was lying. I apologize. The truth — the truth is a little more incredible, and I had doubted you’d be convinced by it, but that is out of my control. The only thing I can do is speak it and hope you have faith in me as your princess to stand as a bastion of integrity and truth, even when I tell tales that are all but outlandish in nature.”

“Get on with it,” he said. You took a deep breath to calm your racing heart, whose pulse beat like a drum in your chest, behind your eyebrows, around your ears.

“I disguised myself as a servant,” you said. “Once I was dressed like that, no one paid any attention to me. Making my way to the kitchens, I snuck out of their door, and from there, I ran into the city.”

“No one noticed the truth of your identity?” Long Feng said.

“It’s amazing,” you said. “The kind of things that you pay no attention to when you think of someone as lesser. When I looked like a servant, I was treated as one. For better and for worse.”

You waited with bated breath, hoping beyond hope, praying to Quynh, to Agni, to Tui and La and every other spirit that he would believe you.

“It seems I underestimated you, your royal highness,” Long Feng said. “Chhay!”

From behind the dais, a man appeared. He wore the same uniform as the rest of the Dai Li, though the collar of his undershirt was gold instead of green, a signifier of his elevated status. You knew without being told who he was: Captain Chhay, the legendary captain of the Dai Li and Long Feng’s second in command. The stories told about him were numerous; he was the closest to a national hero that the Earth Kingdom had, as well as the main reason that the Dai Li were so loyal to Long Feng.

“To ensure that you never have the cause to don a servant’s garb again, I will assign Chhay to be your guard,” Long Feng said. “He will stay with you at all times and watch over your every move. In that way, we can be certain that you are where you are supposed to be at any given moment.”

“Don’t worry, your royal highness,” Captain Chhay said. Fear spiked in you, because the voice was not unfamiliar to you, and you suppressed a shudder, doing your best to remain neutral. “I’m sure we will get along.”

“Yes,” you said, fighting to keep your own voice steady. “I’m sure we will.”

Captain Chhay emanated an aura of cocky, self-assured smugness. He knew that he was powerful; maybe he even knew you feared him. Either way, he had to understand that between the two of you, he was the stronger, and so he walked with a swagger to his step as he escorted you to your room.

“Captain Chhay,” you said, holding onto your skirts, wishing you had someone there to protect you. The Blue Spirit…Lee…you would’ve even taken Sokka, at this point, though you doubted he would’ve done very much besides maybe demand the captain do a cartwheel. But you were alone, without even the Water Tribe cartwheel-fanatic as an ally, and so you had to figure out how to do this on your own. “How long have you been in the Dai Li?”

“I didn’t take you as a student of history,” he said.

“It’s one of my hobbies,” you said, wiping your palms against your bodice. “I’m sorry. I’m really nervous.”

“Nervous? Why?” he said, though a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “Not because of me, I should hope.”

“It’s — it’s just that you are so famous,” you said.

“And you are a princess,” he said. “I am but your humble servant. As for your question, I joined the Dai Li shortly before your brother’s coronation.”

The next question was the most delicate, and you could almost persuade yourself to not ask it at all. After all, did you really want to confirm this? Was it worth it, or did you ought to leave well enough alone?

No. If you were right, then you were the only hope left for Ba Sing Se. For your subjects, who were crumbling under the oppressive injustice they faced daily to the point that they had almost killed you in an attempt to restore some semblance of order. If not you, then who would defend them? Who cared for them nearly as much? Who knew them in the way you did?

“When were you promoted to the rank of captain?” you said.

“When Long Feng was appointed your brother’s regent,” he said. “The information is public, so why are you asking me?”

“There’s no better source than the one which lived through the event,” you said. “I am going to take a bath. I trust that you do not need to be at my side for that?”

“I will remain just in front of the door,” Captain Chhay said. “Don’t even think of doing anything funny. I’ll detect it immediately, so it’d just be a waste of time for the both of us.”

Your bathtub was more like a small pool, constructed at Kuei’s behest when you had told him you longed to learn to swim. It was filled with warm water at all times by servants who never introduced themselves to you, and it was deep enough that you could float in it and not touch the bottom if you so desired.

It was only once you had submerged yourself that you let your mind wander. What did you do now? You were just the weak little princess, the girl who could do nothing for anyone, including herself. You could not even go to Quynh for advice, not with Captain Chhay all but atop you constantly. If you exposed that secret, then there was no telling what might happen, to both you and her alike.

You were trapped in a vipers’ enclosure, and the vipers were of such deadly stock that you really had no hope of survival at all. You could only submit to Long Feng’s demands, could only beg Captain Chhay for mercy, so that he was not overly harsh when the time came.

The pool had begun to cool off by the time that you ascended the stairs to leave it, wrapping a towel around you to ward away the chill you had been feeling ever since Long Feng had unknowingly revealed his hand. But that chill was internal, and the towel could do nothing to protect you from it, so after a moment, you set it aside and put on your nightclothes, exiting the bathroom with trepidation.

Captain Chhay was leaning against the wall, his hair let out of its braid and loose around his shoulders, his helm low over his brow, though he was by no means asleep, tilting towards you as you scurried towards your bed like a mouse.

“I will rest now,” you declared, pulling the blankets up around your shoulders and staring at your desk, which was at the other end of the room. It was covered with your glass sculptures, the ones Quynh had been so proud of you for making. A dragon. Twin fish. A badgermole. A flying bison. A bear, constructed so carefully that the fine points of glass covering its surface appeared to be fur, appeared to be genuinely soft to the touch. And uncountable others, each different from the rest, united only by the perfection that you had attempted to attain with every attempt.

Sleep evaded you, though you were not actively trying to seek it out, either, not when Captain Chhay still stood in your doorway, his half-lidded eyes trained on your motionless form.

If you fell asleep, there was no guarantee you’d ever wake up again. You mulled over the events of the day as you tossed and turned, hating how things had changed in such a short span of time but realizing it was necessary. It was in the end not a change that had occurred but a shift in your awareness. These things had been happening for quite some time already.

More than yourself, you worried for your brother. Maybe you could escape, could open the door and run into it and demand Quynh close it before you were pursued, but what would become of Kuei? As long as Captain Chhay was around, it was not safe for him. It was not safe for either of you.

With that in mind, it was obvious what you had to do, but were you capable? Well. You supposed you had to try. For Kuei. For your kingdom. You had to try, or else your people would continue to die, would continue to endure agony and blame your family for it, though you and your brother had never done anything but try to love them.

So you threw the blankets aside and slid off the bed, shoving your feet into a pair of slippers, and you did not pray to the spirits for help. It was your father you called upon — not the 51st Earth King, but your father, the man who in a sense constituted half of your being. It was him you asked for guidance, even though he could never give it to you, even though he had never known you enough to care.

“What are you doing?” Captain Chhay said.

“I had a nightmare,” you said. “Can I talk to you about it? I am still so — so shaken up.”

“I’m not your babysitter,” he said. “Talk to someone else.”

“Aren’t you?” you said. “I have no one else. Please, captain…I am all alone in the palace. In the world, in fact. Won’t you at least listen to me? If it were your own daughter asking, wouldn’t you want for someone to show her that consideration?”

“I don’t have a daughter,” he said gruffly. “My wife died before she could give birth.”

Still, he softened imperceptibly, making his way towards you. You backed up towards your desk, his every step matching your own as you grew closer and closer to where you wanted to be.

Please, Father. 

“It was such an awful dream,” you said.

“What was it about?” he said, finally giving in, taking off his helmet so that you could see his shrewd eyes, which were as gentle as he could make them. It was almost as if he felt sorry for you, as if he were seeing his never-born daughter in your place.

“The day my father died. I saw it in such vivid detail,” you said. Your back hit the desk, and your hands trembled as you reached for one of the statues, slick fingers glossing over their surfaces before finally finding enough purchase to grab onto one of them.

“You weren’t even alive when that happened,” Captain Chhay said. “How can you dream about it?”

“I’ve been told the story so many times that it can sometimes feel as if I were there myself,” you said. “Besides, it was a dream. All sorts of impossible things happen in those.”

“That is true,” he said. “Was that all? It happened many years ago. I’m sure it was frightening, but there’s nothing to be done about it now.”

Please, Father. You disguised the twisting, undulating motions of your hands by pretending to wring them behind your back out of distress.

“Something different happened,” you said. “Something new. You see, this time, I heard the assassin’s voice as he killed my father, and to my surprise, it was one I recognized.”

“Your mind cannot conjure up new sounds, so of course you recognized it,” Captain Chhay said, though the softness was rapidly fading from his eyes, replaced with wariness.

“No,” you said. “That’s not why. I recognized it for a more meaningful reason, I know I did.”

“Whose was it, then? Are we to place a man on trial just because, what, you had a nightmare?” he said.

Please, Father.

“Actually, the trial has already begun,” you said. “And the verdict has already been decided. The voice really does belong to the man who murdered my father all of those years ago, and I know that because it was the same voice which belonged to the man who tried to kill me so many times. Because it was your voice, Captain Chhay!”

I’m sorry, Father. Please, Father. Father.

Before Captain Chhay could react to the accusation, you used your bending to impale his heart with the spike of glass that had once been the bear statue. He collapsed immediately, blood bursting from the site like a fountain, the glittering tip of the makeshift weapon poking out of his back.

“How — did — you — bend?” he choked out, voice gurgling as even more blood welled up in his mouth and spilled past his lips, forming a puddle by his cheek.

“Long Feng isn’t the only one who’s been keeping secrets,” you said, bending the glass out of his body so that there was no evidence of what you had done. Smashing it against the ground to further the deniability, you bit your tongue to push back the bile rising in your throat. “You were assigned to kill me, weren’t you? Weren’t you? Answer me!”

Captain Chhay’s body convulsed once, and then he was completely still, his eyes glazed over, frozen while looking somewhere distant, forever stuck searching for something he could not find.

You had done that. A choked sob escaped you, your horror at the deed mixing with the relief you felt that he could never hurt you again. He could never take Kuei from you like he had taken your father.

Patting your palms, now stained with crimson, against your white nightgown, you turned towards your dressing room, where the door to Quynh’s Den had just appeared. Walking towards it, you pulled it open and gave the room one final look, taking in the violent scene created by your own hands.

Then you stepped into the passageway and closed the doorway behind you for good.

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[spiderpussinc]

are the 2099 comics THAT bad in terms of racism plus other weird writing choices??? i'm starved for miguel content and would like to read the original comic run but i keep seeing the debate of the original comics being problematic and/or downright just BAD bad (not to mention miguel is supposed to have mexican heritage but he's straight up a white redhead lol)

Some people may disagree but speaking as a latinx writer; it's bad because it is racist, yes! On multiple fronts!! And beyond that, it's also bad as a complete failure of comics structure and compelling narrative.

Longpost, on readmore;

I say this as a long-time capeshit reader, as politely as possible: Miguel's comics are a *paycheck* book. As in; a series a writer does monthly to be paid for it, but with middling aspirations and downright negative characterization depending on where their mood is.

The first few issues of his 1992 run are relatively complete and well-balanced, may even trick you into thinking this story is going somewhere; but that's only because they're the /character pitch./ Ill skip to the end and tell you upfront. That 1992 series ends with the implosion of the whole "2099" line of comics (an universe that included other books, like ghost rider, doom, etc, by other writers) due to dwindling public interest and mass cancellations. The end of that run is basically meaningless, since the whole thing got retconned - and even before that a guest writer had came in and made mistaken character reveals pdavid wasnt happy with and wanted to erase before the finale. The event book that wrapped up that universe was unironically, literally called -- "2099: Manifest Destiny."

Now, I don't like Peter David's writing. I think he's obsessed with the idea of building harems out of his female characters (when he's not fridging them, or making them act ~crazy~ to further alienate them from the protagonist) and it is the kind of grueling, joyless reading experience I can only describe as making you feel Oily Inside. This goes as far as multiple stalking plotlines, the inclusion of a guest appearance from AU s/x slaver Hulk in later years, Miguel's mother being strongly implied to have been forced into conceiving him by his real dad who's the evil CEO of alchemax, general torture painporn. His broader supporting cast is so interchangeable and disposable that they were literally disposed of.

In terms of the racism; I have mentioned how he uses cultures as tokens and does 0 research whatsoever. The way it feels and the way it is deployed is through a lens of Exoticism - tourism. Miguels suit is allegedly "a dia de los muertos costume" b/c pdavid seems to think that holiday is mexican halloween. In the orig book, you'll see plenty of broken japanese and stereotypical orientalist caricatures - after killing his first love interest, pdavid introduces a japanese girl who is unironically, literally named "Xina" (that pretends to be chinese on occasion) to fill in the vacant role. Miguel himself falls right into all the usual latino stereotypes — short tempered, drug addict, sex magnet "latin lover" (this last one also applied to his brother Gabriel, who for the longest time is characterized by just Going Through A Lot Of Girlfriends). And it's kind of insane bc he's still being drawn as a deeply deeply white man, but not even that takes off the burden of the racial microagressions!!! They're the only times pdavid seems to remember that heritage! Then there's the commemorative hanging page. Since you mention the redheadedness; thats another insane thing to me. He has 0% of irish in him. His dad is Blond. Who is this man?

Most of the info in the 2099 run is either revealed to be a lie midway thru (miguel is not mr o'hara's son, nor addicted to rapture) or completely retconned away to be rewritten in new runs. Different writers have tried to come in and do miguel in other team/event books but frankly nothing stands out and most of them get marked as alternate-miguels. Unfortunately, every time marvel decided to give another shot at spider-man 2099 they also brought pdavid back. The newer books were never a success, and theyre just as filled w/ the garbage i mentioned earlier (wow! Steampunk spider-woman is given to pdavid for *ONE* issue and instantly tonguekisses gabriel before leaving, so novel. More fridging ensues. Stalking. Etc.) 2099 as an *universe* has been retconned so many times Nothing is consistent and Nothing is set on stone and frankly i think they should make it an AU separate from main canon and build a whole new world already.

The art in the 2015 + runs consists mostly of tracing, and more of that oily weird feeling applied to fem chars. Perhaps you have noticed in this entire hate review have never once spoken about Miguel's heroic plots and memorable villains --- he has none. At least nothing I can remember or distinguish. (Interchangeable, disposable, etc) There is a vague inkling of "this is an anti-stabilishment spiderman, he fights against The Public Eye, the Corporation Cops!" at the start but much like his cultural illiteracy pdavid has no real insightful politics commentary, so that dissolves into the background in time. Its all buzzwords. All of his plotlines are solved in circuitous or soap operaish extradrama ways; and while some of this is present in other superhero comics, what stands out to me MOST is how utterly fucking joyless Miguel's comics are. It's like going through a slog on obligation. They genuinely gave me a headache every time.

ATSV does a great job of reinventing Miguel and rebuilding the parts of him that showed real promise. Being a different tone-swapped spiderman, futuristic, being more on the tech-science side of crime fighting. Him being a single dad with a daughter is also new. (And he is single! There is no singular mention of marriage or a wife anywhere, he's a geneticist, multiple spider-men we see in this movie were literal clones made in tubes - i am fond of the idea he's a transmasc dad but even if you think he's cis he could have made that baby himself. Adoption is also always there.) I think its very clear ATSV didn't want to bring any of pdavids major weird shit w fem chars to the big screen on the hopes that miguel gets rebooted eventually. I think he's gay. Nobody can prove me wrong.

On that note, Steve Orlando (queer writer, also wrote for DC's midnighter/apollo) did some of the latest 2022/2023 Miguel miniseries. Another reboot! Those were "2099: Exodus" and "Spider-man 2099: Dark Genesis" - i think its campier/trying to tackle superhero plots more head on and trying to do something wide wacky cast focused at Marvel's personal request, but Miguel's future is very up in the air rn. I do really hope they reboot him into something closer to ATSV with latines at the center soon.

What I always reccomend for people curious abt miguel: read his first 3ish 1992 issues, get a general feel and close the book as soon as you feel annoyed. It won't get better. Remember none of it is canon nor has been relevant in over two decades. If you want to know the wider context of his messy chronology, check out some of the 2099 "all comics" type of youtube videos, theres some pretty easy to digest summarizations if u dont wanna waste ur time reading stuff that just got retconned again lol. Most writers now are operating on vibes and that is a freedom you should also allow yourself in your own fanwork.

Putting his panels out of context can be very funny though. (For further curiosity or tangents, there's always my meta tag)

[queenshelby]

Chemical Reactions (P. 21)

Pairing: Cillian Murphy as J Robert Oppenheimer x Student Reader

Warning: Age-Gap, Infidelity, Smut, Torture

Words: 1,889

Note: The fic is spoiler free and my own fantasy and imagination. It is not historically and scientifically accurate.

It was early December and a few more weeks had passed since Robert had sent the letter to you, to which he received no response. 

Concerned, Robert met with General Groves who informed him about the progress of your case and difficulties for him to obtain correspondence from you. Unfortunately for Robert, Groves also informed him that reaching a conclusion in respect of your release still required more time than initially expected due to bureaucratic delays.

Feeling helpless and anxious, Robert continued to pour his energy into his work, focusing solely on the task at hand which, again, proved more difficult than he had anticipated. 

The first implosion test failed and a series of subsequent tests resulted in setbacks too. Although these failures might have discouraged lesser men, they served to intensify Robert’s dedication and tenacity. Each failure drove him further into his research, leaving behind nothing short of success when the stakes were highest.

But, it wasn't just the scientific aspect that consumed him – the mere thought of failing you made his predicament worse. 

It didn't matter how many hours he spent poring over equations and calculations, his mind always drifted back to you. Your image haunted him like a phantom, taunting him with visions of your smiling face, tender touch, and warm embraces. And then, late nights turned into sleepless nights as thoughts of you invaded his dreams, making sleep seem like an elusive creature refusing to grant him respite.

These agonizing days wore on, each bringing fresh torments. Nightmares plagued Robert's slumber, filling his waking hours with a profound exhaustion until, one afternoon, just weeks before Christmas, everything seemed to fall into place when Groves came to visit.

"Robert," Groves greeted with a solemn expression as, without knocking, he entered his office and startling him from his thoughts.

"General," Robert acknowledged with equal gravity, rising slowly from his chair, a hint of worry etched across his brow.

"Do sit, Robert," Groves ordered calmly, gesturing towards the seat and, as Robert sat back down, he noticed that General Groves appeared unusually serious and formal.

Swallowing hard, Robert composed himself, preparing to confront whatever dire situation lay ahead, thinking that, clearly, his day could not become any worse after, just that same morning, yet another implosion device failed to detonate. 

"I have an early Christmas present for you," General Groves announced abruptly, casting aside any pleasantries. 

"General, I am Jewish, we do not..." Robert began to say, but the General interrupted him sharply.

"Trust me Robert, you will be delighted nonetheless," Groves chuckled, causing Robert to furrow his eyebrows.

"Unless that surprise is going to helpful when it comes to activating the gadget, I must apologize if my excitement remains contained, General," Robert retorted with a rather exhausted look on his face, making the General realize how little he must have been sleeping.

"Well, for a matter of fact, the surprise I have for you is a scientist and I am hopeful that she might be able to help you become inspired with new ideas that will, indeed, help with the activation of the gadget," Groves responded confidently, knowing full well how important your contribution would be.

"You are bringing a new scientist on to the project without my consultation?" Robert asked incredulously, his initial disbelief transforming into anger. 

"Indeed, I am Robert. Now come. I want you to meet her," Groves commanded briskly, stepping past Robert's desk to lead the way. Robert hesitated briefly, wondering why the urgency, feeling somewhat unwilling to get excited. But, curiosity piqued his interest, driving him to follow suit despite his reservations. Together, they descended the steps leading outside and, soon enough, Robert realized that General Groves was leading him past the security gate and towards his own house.

"General, forgive me for asking, but why precisely are we heading to my home?" Robert enquired curiously, attempting to contain his growing suspicion.

"Like I said Robert, I want you to meet the newest addition to your team," Groves stated firmly, opening the door to his residence, whereupon Robert found himself suddenly standing inside, bewildered by the sudden shift in locale.

"General, please explain to me..." Robert began to plead, his tone displaying a mix of frustration and impatience, just before he got interrupted. 

"Robert, believe me when I say you will appreciate meeting this woman," Groves answered cryptically, guiding Robert into the living room where, suddenly, he saw you sitting there, looking up at him with those intense eyes that had captivated him so completely.

Robert froze in shock and disbelief upon seeing you. The unexpectedness of the encounter left him momentarily speechless, taking in the sight of you before him as though he were viewing something unreal or a mirage. Time stood still as he gazed at you, lost in admiration. His heart raced wildly against his rib cage while his mouth went dry.

Standing up, you rose gracefully, walking towards him with an undeniably feminine sway, your soft footsteps echoing against the wooden floorboards beneath you. As you reached closer, Robert felt his breath hitch, watching your every movement intently, struggling to regain control of his erratic pulse.

"Do I not at least get a kiss?" you teased playfully, tilting your head to the side, flashing a shy smile. Robert felt his heart skip a beat, overcome with both relief and longing, the familiar yearning returning with vengeance. Reaching forward, he took hold of your hands, pressing his lips fervently against yours, feeling a surge of desire coursing through his veins. 

"Where is our son?" Robert demanded passionately, pulling away momentarily while you clung onto him, reciprocating his affection wholeheartedly.

"He is asleep. In your bedroom. He cried all the way here, so he really needed the rest," you explained earnestly, caressing his cheek lovingly. Robert leaned down, planting a gentle kiss on your forehead, relieved that your son was safe.

"Thank you, my love," Robert exclaimed gratefully, embracing you tightly, unable to let go even after several minutes had passed. This was the second chance he never imagined receiving – a gift straight from heaven. For about a year, you two had been kept apart, separated by deceit, distance, and obstacles, but fate had conspired to bring you together again.

"Perhaps I should give you some privacy, but before I go, please be advised that officials are going to keep a close eye on the both of you. Y/N will not receive security clearance and must remain at Los Alamos until the project concludes. She has been cleared of all wrongdoing, but these are the precautions we will need to take to bring her back on to the project, Robert," Groves began before addressing the fact that Robert now had not only one, but two, children to be looked after.

"As far your children are concerned, they will remain here, with you. This includes Kitty's son who she chose to leave in your care upon her departure from Los Alamos. I have taken it upon myself to employ a child nurse to look after them both. She will arrive tomorrow," Groves informed, pausing briefly as Robert digested the news. It was certainly a lot to process - finding solace in your arms, having been reunited with you, and now learning that he would also bear responsibility for raising not one, but two young lives. "Now, you must understand that, for obvious reasons, I expect you to retain professionalism at work. The only reason I have allowed Y/N back on to the project is because I consider it beneficial to the well-being of the man who runs Los Alamos for me. So now, I expect focus from you, Robert!" Groves instructed sternly, drawing attention back to matters concerning national security before saying his farewell, hoping not to be back until after Christmas. 

After Groves left, silence fell heavy around you both, giving you both time to truly reflect on what transpired. Both hearts racing, filled with gratitude and apprehension, Robert pulled you closer, allowing your bodies to nestle snugly into each other. He couldn't believe this was finally happening, you being right there beside him, holding him close, cherishing moments previously stolen from you.

"I need to see our son," Robert insisted, breaking free from your embrace gently as he heard him squirm, making unsettling noises.

"Of course," you smiled before, overwhelmed, you closed your eyes, savoring the tender memory of his touch.

"Come with me and I will introduce you," you offered, entwining your fingers with his as you led him toward the bedroom, sharing a comforting warmth as you walked shoulder to shoulder.

You then opened the door to the dimly lit room where your tiny son stirred peacefully, swaddled in blankets, angelic features contrasting the gloomy atmosphere. The sight of him stirred mixed feelings of joy and sadness in Robert, reminding him of the responsibilities he faced along with the happiness derived from being reunited with you in this world, at war. 

"Go on, pick him up. He is awake," you encouraged softly, reaching across to guide Robert's hand toward your son's small body.

Gingerly, Robert lifted him from the cradle, feeling like the weight of the world was now balanced precariously in his palms. Carefully, he held the infant close to his chest, feeling his fragile frame trembling slightly underneath the pressure of fatherhood. The sweet innocence radiating off of his son struck Robert hard, filling him with both immense pride and trepidation simultaneously.

"See, that's your daddy, my sweet boy," you whispered softly, your voice resonating with genuine tenderness as Robert rocked him gently.

"He looks just like you, Oppie," you added lightheartedly, referring to his striking features, causing a hint of laughter to surface in Robert's strained expression.

"He's got your smile though," Robert remarked pensively, gazing deeply into the baby's eyes which mirrored his own intensity. Seeing the resemblances brought forth fond memories of the days spent together when everything seemed perfect, a stark contrast to reality.

With tears beginning to pool in his eyes, Robert turned to face you, trying to hide his vulnerability behind a facade of bravado. Unable to maintain composure any longer, he wrapped you both in a protective embrace, holding onto you fiercely until, suddenly, there was a knock on the door.

"Dr Oppenheimer! You must come quickly!" his secretary announced frantically, catching Robert unawares with the urgency in her voice. Startled, Robert glanced hurriedly towards you, hesitation evident in his eyes as he contemplated leaving your presence prematurely.

"Go, Robert! I will be here when you get back," you reassured him, stroking his arm affectionately as he moved closer to you.

Taking a deep breath, bidding you goodbye, Robert set off towards the sound of his secretary's distressed call and, before you knew it, he barged out the door. 

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[yourobedientserpent]

Athelind Long's Superhero Chronology

Cross-Published from my Blogspot blog, Kirby Dots & Ditko Ribbons. INTRODUCTION  There's a tendency to divide the different eras of comic book superheroes into "Golden," "Silver", and "Modern," with occasional, tentative attempts to parcel off the Bronze Age, as well.

Let's just say that this lacks nuance. The Superhero Genre has gone through a lot of trends and phases and distinctive cultures over the years, and lumping almost half of its history into some concept of "The Modern Age" is just phoning it in. 

Some notes: 

This is not quite the same as the ages of COMICS, though there's similar nomenclature, largely because comics history tends to focus on the superhero genre even when it tries not to. This is about SUPERHEROES, in more than just a single medium; the "Ages" only indirectly impact other genres. 

All dates are approximate. 

There's plenty of overlap between Silver/Bronze, Bronze/Iron, and Iron/Aluminum, but when I started looking a keystone events, I was astonished by how neatly everything fell into 15-year chunks! 

THE CHRONOLOGY

Prelude (1830s-1938): The dawn of mass-produced popular culture: penny dreadfuls, dime novels, pulp magazines, newspaper comic strips. Folk heroes and detectives start sharing the pages with costumed adventurers, some with peak-human or superhuman abilities. Professor Challenger, Sherlock Holmes, The Nyctalope, The Shadow, Doc Savage. 

Golden Age (1938-1953): Begins with Superman, of course; ends with Post-War Superhero Implosion and Frederic Wertham's anti-comics crusade. The JSA stopped appearing in All-Star Comics in 1951. Fawcett stopped publishing Captain Marvel in 1953. 

Interregnum (1950ish-1960ish): A lot of historians make much of the gap between the Golden and Silver Ages, but, in retrospect, it's surprisingly brief. Superheroes never really go away, but they are de-emphasized in favor of other genres in comics, including horror, romance, and science fiction. Even at DC, other than Superman, Batman, and Wonder Woman, superheroes are relegated to back-up stories in anthology titles. Still, The Adventures of Superman with George Reeves remained popular throughout this period. 

Silver Age (1954-1970): The Reign of the Comics Code Authority (est. 1954). Really starts to roll with the demise of EC Comics and the reboot of The Flash; peaks with the "camp" craze popularized by the 1966 Batman TV series; ends when Kirby Moves to DC and Marvel publishes the Spider-Man Drug Stories without the Code Stamp. Early on, formerly-anonymous creators start getting openly credited on the title pages of their stories; this starts at Marvel, but DC eventually follows suit. 

Bronze Age (1971-1985): Begins with O'Neil and Adams revamping Batman and Green Lantern; Ends with the Crisis on Infinite Earths. Both DC and Marvel start paying closer attention to continuity and "relevance", and the most successful titles are the ones that most fully embrace an ongoing serial storyline (Legion of Super-Heroes, X-Men, The New Teen Titans). The specialty comic book shop starts becoming more common at the beginning of the era, and the closing years of the era herald a growing Creator's Rights movement, the birth of the Direct Market -- and the dawn of the independent publishers. 

Iron Age (1986-2000): Begins with Deconstruction: Elementals, The Dark Knight Returns, Watchmen, and the Wild Cards "mosaic novel" series. Ends with Reconstruction: Morrison's JLA, among others. Dominated by a determined effort to Take Superhero Comics Seriously. The Big Two kill off or "reinvent" goofy, campy Silver Age characters. DC tries very hard to bring coherency and consistency to its new, Post-Crisis timeline. Several independent publishers try cold-starting superhero "universes" of their own; most of them fail, but a lucky few manage to sell their characters to the Big Two (Ultraverse, Wildstorm). 

Aluminum Age (2000-2015): When Everything is Recycled. Marvel starts the Ultimate Universe. DC resurrects Silver Age characters who got killed off in the Bronze and Iron Age. The Comics Code finally dies in 2011. DC does a succession of "sequels" to Crisis on Infinite Earths: Identity Crisis (2004), Infinite Crisis (2005-2006), and the deceptively-named Final Crisis (2008), culminating in another Hard Reboot with the New 52 in 2011. Marvel does its own version of Crisis with the Multiverse Incursion story arc in New Avengers from 2013-2015. "Decompression" and "writing for the trade" become common as trade-paperback collections become more economically important than the traditional monthly comic magazines ("floppies"). 

Digital Age (2015-Current): Superhero not only become mainstream, but actually dominate movies and TV for several years -- this starts in the Aluminum Age, with the MCU in 2008, but is solidly codified by the debut of Arrow in 2015 and an explosion of weekly prime-time superhero shows that lasts almost a decade.

Comments are welcome, but be civil! This is intended to provoke conversations, not fights.