#them witnessing the death of their classmates being a final straw for them to make a very radical decision

[nyan-bynary]

WAIT NO NOT A RANDOM TIKTOK EDIT BRINGING MY ATTENTION TO SUGURU AND YUUJI PARALLELS WAIT FUCK

[marvelslut16]

Inseparable

Pairing: Reggie Mantle x reader

Synopsis: Reader and Reggie have been best friends since they were toddlers, nothing tearing them apart until Veronica their Junior year. This follows the rise and downfall of their friendship. Can they mend their friendship and be back to what they once were, will they be too hurt to fix their broken hearts, or will they finally admit their feelings for one another?

Word count: 2.6K+ (my hand slipped)

Warnings: Mr. Honey; he’s the worst villain to ever enter Riverdale, you can’t change my mind. Mentions of child abuse, nothing graphic past the mention of a black eye. Some angst. Spoilers for s4e4 technically, I still can’t believe what Mr. Honey did. 

A/N: I have like 11 requests I still have to get to, yikes. I swear I’ll do them soon, but inspiration hit and I ended up writing this. there isn’t enough Reggie love on Tumblr, plus I have a tiny crush on Charles Melton, so writing this was a win win. let me know what you think, and if I should write more for Riverdale. Veggie is better than Varchie (don’t come for me), but I still think Reggie deserves better than Ronnie. 

Growing up in a small town like Riverdale there weren’t too many kids to become friends with, but when you met Reggie Mantle on your first day of preschool you knew he would be your best friend for life. Archie was showing off on the playground by walking up the slide when the teacher wasn’t looking. The problem then being that Archie's foot slipped right as you were walking passed the bottom of the slide, and he slid down and ended up knocking you on the ground. You started to cry because he scraped your arm bad enough that it started to bleed. Reggie, whom you shared a table with in class, watched from the sidelines as your teacher helped you up and took you to the nurse, he got his revenge during arts and crafts later that day- ‘accidentally’ spilling red paint all over the front of Archie’s khaki pants. When Reggie made it to the table you quietly thanked him and shared your paint with him since the teacher said he couldn’t have new paint as a lesson to be more careful next time. 

As the years went on, yours and Reggie’s friendship only grew until you were inseparable; you two went on family vacations together, you went to every single one of his junior bulldog football games from the ages of eight to twelve, he went to your ballet recitals when you took classes in grade school even bringing you roses. Reggie was your rock at your grandmother’s funeral, you helped him pass his geometry class Sophomore year so he could stay on the football team, and you were the only person that he opened up to about his father’s abuse- having witnessed it with your own eyes a handful of times. 

Your mom was convinced you and Reggie would fall in love and get married one day, and your father was convinced your friendship would crumble and ultimately go down in a blazing fire. Going into your senior year you hate to admit that your father was right, his words bouncing around in your skull every time your brain shut off for longer than two seconds. Veronica Lodge moved to town Sophomore year, enticing every boy within a fifty mile radius with her upper East side charm. Reggie didn’t fall for Veronica right away, he fell for her junior year when he was helping her with La Bonne Nuit. And as cliche as it is, that’s when you realized you were in love with him, you had been for a while. The small nagging voice in the back of your head told you that it had been since that day in preschool. 

But you would grin and bear the pain, the soul crushing pain, if it meant that Reggie would still be in your life. And you did, for a while at least; until Reggie stopped calling and texting you back, until he stopped begging you to come to his games, until he stopped sneaking into your room every friday night after a game to go over the play footage where you would help him come up with new plays and tweaks to the old ones, until he started ignoring you in the halls in favor of making out with Veronica. You never hated the girl, she had been nothing but nice to you anytime you would interact, but God, you just wished she would disappear and give you your Reggie back. 

You resented Veronica, leading your interactions with the girl to be more tense and your answers clipped, and that was what led to the blazing fire your father talked about. Reggie offered you a ride home one day after school, and of course you jumped at the opportunity to spend time with him again. Instead of going to pops and talking like you thought you would, the two of you got into your biggest, and last, fight ever. 

It started with Reggie asking why you hated Veronica, where you defended yourself and swore that you didn’t. But he wouldn’t believe a word that came out of your mouth, continuing to press you as you two kept driving. The closer you got to the edge of town the worse the fighting got, your voice raising along with his. You accuse him of abandoning his friends, abandoning you, to be with Veronica all the time. He gets mad that you don’t understand why he’s with her all the time, claiming that you couldn’t understand not when you’ve never had a boyfriend. Something that he’s the reason for, since he scared all of the guys even remotely interested in you away with just one piercing glare or one lowly growled threat. 

The comment picking on your relationship status, or lack thereof, is the straw that broke the camel's back. You let loose just as you pass the sign thanking you for visiting Riverdale, the town with pep. Pep your ass, the small town is full of death and endless heartache wherever you look. You rip into Reggie, letting the hurt take over as you scream and scream at him-calling him a terrible friend. He finally screams back, claiming that you’re worse because you hate his girlfriend. He has to pull his precious car over, the car you helped him pick out when he turned sixteen, because he started swerving when you two got into a screaming match. 

The interaction ends with you getting out of the car on the side of the road leading into Greendale, slamming the car door behind you, knowing that he’ll get mad with how aggressive you’re being with his baby, his Bella. He does a sharp U-turn driving beside you, trying to coax you into getting back in the car with him. But you can’t do that, you can’t face him right now. So as you watch the taillights of the gun metal grey Chevelle disappear around the curve in the road you finally let the tears fall down your face, they stream harder and faster the closer you get to reentering the town with pep. 

Reggie had dropped your backpack off at your house when he got back into town, so it was sitting there waiting for you in your living room alongside your worried mother. You cried into her arms that night for hours, until you were all cried out, not caring that you look like a big baby. You had just lost Reggie, you had just lost your everything. You hadn’t talked to him since that day in the middle of your junior year, even after him and Veronica broke up and she went back to Archie like always. The days of your senior year seemed to fly by, October coming in what felt like mere days as opposed to months, and your last Halloween in Riverdale is today. 

You and Reggie would always wear matching costumes to trick or treat, and school just for fun as you got older, this always prompted your classmates to wonder if you two were finally dating. But that wouldn’t be happening this year, for the first time ever. You had even dressed up and sat on his porch in costume when you were six, handing out candy to the other kids so you could talk to Reggie, who was in costume too, through the window because he was sick with a 102.2 degree fever. You were dressed as Kim and Ron that year, his mom had even crocheted him a little Rufus to stick in his pocket. You couldn’t wait to get out of this town, away from Reggie, away from the places where you would see ghosts of your younger selves everywhere you went. 

Kevin calls you freaking out after he and Reggie got caught tp’ing Mr. Honey’s office. Kevin caved after Mr. Honey threatened to make sure he wouldn’t get into NYU if he didn’t. Kevin felt guilty for his actions, and even though you hadn’t talked to Reggie in close to a year you were worried about him. Worried what his dad might do to him when he hears he got in trouble at school again, and worried what the unhinged Mr. Honey might do to him himself. 

You don’t hear anything from Reggie the next day, not that you really expect to. You more-so hope he’ll call you, but you know what they say about hope- it breeds eternal misery. The day goes by at a snail's pace as you stare at your phone throughout the entirety of said day. You finally curl in on yourself and go to sleep after midnight, however sleep doesn’t stay for long. You’re awoken around two in the morning from your phone’s incessant ringing, in your dazed stupor you don’t realize it’s Reggie’s special ringtone- the bulldog cheer from Kim Possible. 

“Hello?” you ask hoarsely, making sure to stay quiet so your parents won’t hear. 

“(Y/N/N), can you talk?” your startled to hear Reggie’s voice on the other line. It sounds scratchy, like he was recently in a screaming match with someone. You open your eyes for the first time, finally accepting that you won’t be able to just roll over and slip back into your dreams. You glance at the alarm clock on your bedside table and your eyes widen at the time.

“It’s like two in the morning Reg,” you sigh, hoping he’ll wait till morning. 

“Can I come over?” Reggie’s pleading now.

“Later, we can go to Pop’s for lunch or something,” you yawn loudly into the phone in protest. 

“I’m already here,” before you can respond the line goes dead.

You can hear quiet, almost not there, footsteps outside your window as Reggie expertly navigates his way through the flowers and bushes outside your window. He taps on the window three times in quick succession, your old signal for when he would sneak over letting you know it was him at your window. You reluctantly get out of your warm cozy bed, stumbling to the window to open it for your former best friend. 

Your plans for just slipping back into bed anf hopefully nodding off while he talks go out the window as you come face to face with Reggie’s swollen face. He has a split lip and a black eye, you’re sure he has belt marks on his back too. You don't care that Reggie is climbing through the window a little too loudly, your sole focus now on fixing him up. Once he’s in the room you sneak to the kitchen and quietly grab an ice pack, stopping in the bathroom to grab rubbing alcohol, cotton balls, and ibuprofen.  

You hand him the pain reliever and your bottle of water, it’s not the first time you’ve shared, as soon as you shut your bedroom door behind you. He swallows the pills down with ease, and you both settle on your bed, a sad depressing routine. You don’t say anything as you clean his split lip, he winces slightly when the alcohol drenched cotton ball makes contact with his open wound. 

“Mr. Honey caught Kevin and I last night,” Reggie admits quietly. 

“I heard, Kevin told me,” you murmur unsure of where this conversation is headed, so you continue to dab at his lip.

“Mr Honey, he said that no one takes me seriously, no one since you. He said that he heard around school that I made my ‘persona’ bigger, became more of a prankster, after I lost you. He-he knew about my dad, (Y/N),” Reggie’s voice cracks, you can’t imagine what he must be feeling right now. “Said people at school are laughing at me, worst of all, you’re laughing at me.”

“Oh sweetie, no!” you're quick to jump in and defend. “I would never laugh at you, you know that. Never. No one else is either, he was just saying that to get a rise out of you.” Your arm moves without your permission, you push a strand of black hair out of his eyes before caressing his cheek softly. 

“He tp’d my car, that I get. That was actually funny,” Reggie hisses, you aren’t sure if it’s because you’re lightly pressing the ice pack to his shiner or because of what he’s about to say next. “But he broke Bella’s windshield, shattered her passenger side window, and busted her left headlight.” 

“I’ll kill him!” you jump up from your spot on your bed, no longer caring if you wake your parents. Reggie holds the ice pack to his eye with his right hand, cautiously reaching for your hands with his left. You calm down when his fingers intertwine with yours, sinking back down next to him. 

“I avoided going home all day, but when I did and my dad saw the car,” Reggie takes in a shaky breath, and you rub the back of his hand with your thumb. “He did, well he did this.” He uses your joined hands to gesture towards his face. 

You don’t say anything, instead just pulling him in for a hug. Reggie tenses at first before melting into your warm embrace. You pull him down onto the bed with you so you're laying side by side, he rests his head on your chest as you tuck the two of you in. 

“I know we haven’t talked in a while,” you let out dissatisfied hum as you card your fingers soothingly through his hair. “But you're the only person I wanted to see, the only person I ever want to see. It’s been torture without you (Y/N).”

“It doesn’t seem like it,” you say under your breath, but he hears you clearly with his ear pressed to your chest. 

“I was an idiot, I let my ego keep me from you,” he moves his head to look up at you, his brown eyes shine with sincerity. 

“Don’t do this right now Reggie,: your eyes fill with tears, “Don’t do or say anything you don’t mean just to make me feel better.”

Reggie moves his right arm from around your waist to brush away a stray tear that slipped out of your eye. He moves his thumb down your cheek to your lips, tracing them with the pad of his thumb. Reggie lightly tugs down on your lower lip causing you to uncage it from your teeth, when did you even bite it in the first place? 

“I love you (Y/N), I always have,” he looks away from your mouth so he can stare into your eyes. “And I think you have too.”

“I have, I love you so much Reggie,” he pulls your face down to meet him. The kiss is searing, and a little wet due to the tears leaking out of both of your eyes, but it’s perfect. You pull back when you get the slightly tangy taste of blood on your tongue. You immediately fuss over Reggie’s lip, said lip splitting again during the makeout. Reggie pulls you back down onto the bed and into his arms after you’ve dabbed at his lip with the cotton ball again. 

“How can I make it up to you?” his eyes shine with unshed tears as he stares lovingly at your face, almost like he’s mesmerized by you. “Not just tonight, but leaving you for Ronnie so I could try to get over you, and for every other night you’ve taken care of me.”

“Just never leave me again,” you whimper, which is cut off when he kisses you again. 

“Never,” Reggie’s never been more serious about anything in his life. 

You cuddle up to Reggie’s chest, his warmth and scent quickly lulling you into  a deep comforting sleep. You don’t care that he should sneak out the window and go home, or that your mom will find you two cuddled up in your twisted sheets when she comes to check on you at ten. All you care about is Reggie being safe, in your arms, and finally having him back in your life-but with one vast improvement to your relationship.

Permenent tags: @crimson-knuckled-queen​ @rexorangecouny @mrs-malfoy-always​

[the-last-cuddlebender]

Kataang Pilot!AU

(This prompt was really fun. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it, Anon!)

Words: 1,659

*********************************

Katara met him when they were in flight school. Well, ‘met’ might be too strong a word.

She was walking down the hall and contemplating fluid dynamics when she passed him—the boy with tattoos a shade of blue that put the sky to shame and with a smile so bright that she had to squint to behold it. His laugh was a vapor trail that made her giddy like nothing else had done before. He gesticulated so animatedly that he nearly cut off the heads of a dozen passers-by.

Katara tried, once, to talk to him. It was the only test in flight school that she failed. She was too quiet; the world was too loud. It didn’t exactly help that some boy named Haru had pulled the tattooed boy into a headlock that devolved into a wrestling match just as she got his attention.

He tried, twice, to talk to her. He was more than successful both times.

The first time, he spotted her from across the courtyard and damn near teleported to her.

His name was Aang. He wasn’t that tall.

He was the kindest soul she’d ever met.

When he left the school, he took most of her with him, and Katara had been searching for what he stole ever since.

...

Not too long after he left her puzzled, empty, and longing, Katara had to leave, as well. But it wasn’t for an advanced program like he flew off to.

Gran-Gran had a heart attack. It wasn’t pretty. Katara was the glue and the salve cooing her brother and her father to cope and recover. They helped her just as much, and she vowed to visit them more.

(Gran-Gran told her that she saw death, called him a bitch, and reminded him to tell her daughter-in-law that Kya had to wait another ten years for her company.)

...

Katara was only a little behind and only had to retake a few classes when she returned to flight school a year and a half later, but it wasn’t the end of the world.

Graduating was easy, but choosing an employer? That was hard. Katara was an ace—the top of her class. They even put her photo in the hall of notable students.

...She was reminded of Aang and what he stole from her every time she saw his portrait pinned next to hers.

...

It was a requirement to serve as a co-pilot for the first few years after schooling. It was like a continued education after medical school when an MD truly learned what it meant to be a practitioner, but turning from co-captain to captain felt like it was taking twice as long.

Sometimes, it took students twelve years to become a captain. Sometimes, it took them two years.

It took Aang eight months.

Katara was entering her ninth month when she was transferred to his airline.

He spotted her from across the terminal like he had been waiting and looking for her. He vanished and reappeared at her side, and if only he had a puff of smoke, she would have thought him a magician.

He shook her hand and talked at Mach speed. His smile alone nearly blew her away, but his hand holding hers kept her on her feet.

“—it was you! They all said you dropped out, but I knew you wouldn’t! And then I saw your plaque when I visited on a favor-call from Roku, and I couldn’t believe—!”

He paused. Katara’s world stood still. Her world also looked kindof splotchy and dotted with black.

That was weird…

Oh wait.

Breathing.

Breathing was a thing she had to do.

Unfortunately, Katara was too late in her revelation. Her heart broke when his eyes softened like that and his concern boiled over into panic. She was thinking about how nice it sounded when he said her name even as she fell back and fainted.

He caught her, of course.

Luckily, Mai and Lu Ten were willing to exchange their schedules to save either Katara or Aang from being fired.

(He had refused to leave her. It was incredibly foolish. Top in the industry or not, their superiors would only take so much from even him.)

It wasn’t exactly a first date, but he bought her food from the cafeteria and bought her one of those super-fuzzy travel blankets to keep her warm. They talked over pizza that was so greasy that they had to dab it with napkins, and they laughed over coffee that was far too bitter to be called ‘edible’.

They shared secrets over hot cocoa and talked like they knew each other forever.

Aang thought he was being sly when he loaded his straw with a paper wad and blew it at her.

He smiled like a kid on Christmas.

Katara felt like she was one, too.

The g-forces she experienced when he smiled—at her—made her so lightheaded that she whispered a thankful prayer to whoever was pulling her life’s strings that she was seated when she first witnessed the miracle so close and in its entirety.

They fell asleep back-to-back (though it was more like side-to-side) in the terminal—just another ‘couple’ bending under the stress of a connecting flight.

...

“You seem eager to be out of here.” Katara settled into her co-pilot’s chair as her captain fussed over the little details that Katara’s classmates had made fun of her for caring about.

“Ba Sing Se has never been...Well, let’s just say that it’s not like how I was raised.”

“But the South is?”

“Of course! Middle of nowhere, lots of high places, room to run and frolic as I please—”

Katara couldn’t hide her laugh. “Frolic?”

“Have you never frolicked?”

“When I was a girl, maybe.”

“You should try it sometime. It’s not like it gets any less fun with age.”

“Is that an invitation?”

“...Maybe.” Aang scratched his face, didn’t meet her eyes, and flushed a color even brighter than the emergency exit sign. “Or it could...be a date?”

“To go frolicking?”

“Of course.”

It was quiet until it wasn’t. A giggle slipped past Katara’s defenses. She hugged her middle and laughed so hard that she cried, and she nearly laughed herself into a coma when Aang bent over, too. His laugh sounded like how good memories felt, and Katara never wanted to hear more of something in her entire life.

She couldn’t feel her seat beneath her—just the feeling of her hand on his arm and the soft bumping of his head against hers.

Katara was falling, and she was falling hard.

But, for some reason, she wasn’t scared of hitting the ground.

If she didn’t know any better, she might have thought that she was flying.

...

Sokka, having heard the hint of interest in Katara’s voice when she recounted her tale with her dreamy tattooed captain, made immediate plans and cashed-in on more than a few favors to get himself onto her new schedule. He didn't trust Aang, not at first. No one could be that happy.

“—and gentlemen, in the event that you have not been in an automobile since 1942, we’re gonna show you how to fasten a seatbelt, so watch closely—”

Sokka, while a phenomenal flight attendant, was walking a razor’s edge onto Katara’s last nerve.

But Aang and her brother got along famously.

Katara should have expected nothing less.

This was Aang she was talking about.

Her boyfriend could befriend the devil himself.

The thought made Katara’s world get fuzzy and black-splotchy again. Luckily, Aang was laughing too hard with Sokka to notice her holding tight to the wall.

Breathing.

Breathing was a thing she had to do.

Aang’s vapor-trail-laugh gave her the cardinal directions and guided her towards which way was up. His arm curled around her waist like the seatbelts that had kept them anchored when they hit turbulence two months ago and dropped 400 feet.

Katara didn’t notice when next she blushed so hard that her vision went black-splotchy again.

But Aang, without pausing his conversation, was already tugging her closer so she all but pressed right against his heart.

His laugh died out. His chest slowly expanded.

Breathing.

Katara smiled.

Breathing was a thing she still had to do.

...

When Katara finally got her wings, Aang couldn’t have been more proud.

Sokka puffed his chest. “This is Katara, my flying sister.”

“Sokka, please…”

“Yeah, Sokka.” Aang was a grinning shadow touching her shoulder and a reminder to smile brushing her side. “Katara isn’t your ‘flying sister’.”

“Thank you, Aang—”

Aang hugged her from behind and held her so tightly that he curled over and started to eclipse her. “Katara is my flying girlfriend~”

Aang rubbed his cheek to hers. Katara grumbled and fought fate to keep angry as long as she could. “You both are insufferable.” She kissed Aang’s cheek like she was swatting a mosquito, but it only made him giggle and hold her tighter.

Sokka pretended to gag and uttered ‘Oogies’ like a mantra.

Katara blushed, lost her slippery grip on the smile fighting to make itself seen, and looked at her father just as the shutter on Hakoda’s camera went off.

...Aang carried the photo on his person like it was a medical device so vital that he would die if he was ever without it.

“Do you have to keep it there?” Katara pulled one switch and then two, and she side-eyed her smirking First Officer.

Aang ignored her and adjusted the photo pinned to the gauges in front of him. His smile got a little bigger, his eyes a little softer. He looked down at the clouds below them and then up at the heavens beyond. “...The stars sure are beautiful, tonight.”

His hand found hers—they were at an altitude that required little more than autopilot, but it was still breaking regulation.

Katara gently squeezed his fingers. “Yeah. They are.”

...

All of their nights melted into a routine that felt like the same night played over and over.

Katara wouldn’t have had it any other way.

She didn’t mind when Aang put up a fuss just because he could and because he liked to get her flustered. She didn’t even mind when he cocooned himself in the blankets and pouted in a silent demand for five more minutes.

He was only playing. He could be plenty serious if he wanted.

Like the time he crabbed the plane onto an icy runway in an emergency landing. Or like the time he dove into the belly of the plane to give CPR to an elderly passenger.

His seriousness could only go so far, though. He truly was a child at heart. There was nothing wrong with that, of course. Something forever young could never grow brittle and die.

Like the way he blushed every time she reached for his hand. Or like the little hitch to his voice that took over his words whenever she hugged him.

He could hardly speak when he asked her to marry him.

Katara wasn’t that much better off, but neither of them had needed words for the longest time. They sat side-by-side in the nose of the plane and ‘spoke’ in the silence for hours on end.

Kisses were quiet, anyways.

Well, not entirely.

Aang laughed, absolutely giddy, every time, no matter how much or how often they did.

Katara’s laugh drifted in his vapor trail as a gentle hum that made his smile impossibly bigger.

Then, and only then, did it feel like she had finally gotten back what he had stolen—all those years ago—from her.

...

His voice was a song, and his love bled into every worded lyric. They were the warm purrs of an engine that would never fail, and they made Katara’s stomach fall and bounce heaven-ward like her wheels had just left the ground.

When she danced with him, every step felt like lift-off. Every turn gave her g-forces that had her sinking into him to keep from being blown away.

The wedding was over, their guests were gone, but every star and galaxy crowded the sky to witness their love for each other.

This was her captain and co-pilot—her husband and best friend for life.

His name was Aang. He was very tall and quite proud of it, though he made himself eye-level with every person he met.

He was a simple monk and a dirty thief.

But Katara finally had back what was hers.

What was hers was named Aang.

He was the kindest soul she’d ever met.

He kept her grounded even though her feet never touched the earth when she was with him.

He was the part of her that she loved most.

His kisses were g-forces.

His ‘I love you’s were free-falling.

His hugs were the wings that handed her the sky.

His smiles were the spirit that held her aloft.

His name was Aang.

He was hers.

He was the kindest soul she’d ever met.

And Katara would remind him of how much she loved him even long after they were both tied to the earth.

*********************************

.

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If you spotted that reference to Tao philosophy, I give you a cookie🍪☺️

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

David's actual return was... bad. What would a good return have been like? As a kid I always expected someone to find him and for him to end up in Yeerk custody and that'd be how they found out who the Animorphs were. I do kind of like Crayak using him but just to get to Rachel, because it'd be a bad idea to give any power to David.

I really like that idea of David finding a way to tell the yeerks about the Animorphs!  It even fits with the existing structure of the series – he returns in #48, and the yeerks find the Animorphs in #49.  

My own suggestion for how to make The Return better?

Make it not a dream.

I have a peeve about dream plots, I’ll acknowledge.  I think that at best they can be an opportunity for an eensy bit of characterization, a heapton of setting, and exactly zero plot.  That said, there are also many scenes in #48 that are potentially scary/cool/interesting, if they just happened for realsies.

If the events of #48 really did occur in canon, then:

Jake and Rachel do what they’ve been threatening since #7, and have an argument that escalates into physical violence.

This helps set up Rachel going full Blood Knight in #52, and Jake doing the same in #53, because these two keep each other ethical-ish any time they butt heads over morality and are forced to defend their decisions to each other.  If the Berensons’ bond has fractured to the point where they’re brawling in morph, then each of them is lacking the other as a check on their behavior.

Marco and Ax’s intelligence analysis determines that (even though they didn’t know it at the time) the events of #46 were the final straw for the yeerks’ secrecy.

The conversation between Rachel and Marco at Ax’s scoop helps sell the idea that the Animorphs’ world is slowly coming to an end.  Too many humans witnessed too much on that aircraft carrier, too many hosts have escaped the yeerks, and the invasion is becoming an open secret.  It’s ominous as hell, because the Animorphs have an inkling that the start of open war will be the end of their ability to live at home with their families, and it’s highly effective at setting up the events of the next several books.

Rachel kicks the elephant in the room by pointing out that Marco and Ax get away with bloodthirstiness while she doesn’t, because gender.

Rachel basically comes out and tells Tobias that Marco is every bit as ruthless as she is, and that Ax is just as quick to kill.  And she’s not wrong.  But Marco and Ax kill coldly, they kill rationally, they kill from a distance, and they kill as boys.  Rachel kills quickly, she kills angrily, she kills up close, and she kills as a girl.  Therefore, their friends don’t tell Marco he’s “worrying” (#22), “terrifying” (#35), “out of control” (#37) or “psycho” (#52).  Their friends don’t get into screaming matches with Ax or act frightened of him.

But Rachel’s a girl, and nice girls are supposed to control their emotions.  Nice girls aren’t supposed to enjoy growing into big strong creatures who can rip their enemies apart.  Nice girls should never be aggressive, and if they are it’s probably because they’re too emotional.  It’s a good point, one I wish came up more often.

Crayak’s deal with Rachel comes due in a way that none of the Animorphs could’ve predicted.

If everything with David is canon, then there’s a fascinating follow-up to Crayak’s offer in #27.  Crayak isn’t just drawing on Rachel’s violent side, he’s drawing on her Achilles heel: that David gets under her skin.  It’s a great wrap-up to the Crayak plot.  It shows that Rachel’s the Ellimist’s favorite not because of her natural-born gifts, but because of her choices.  She’s capable of ruthless violence, but whenever possible she chooses compassion.

There’s also the fascinating ambiguity in the line “kill your cousin,” and the fact that Rachel interprets it to mean Jake — and of course she’s about to kill Tom.  Dozens of fandalites have expended gallons of ink on the question of how to interpret that motif, but it has far more impact if Rachel truly is talking to Crayak in this book as well as in #27.

Cassie’s forced to confront what they did to David.

Leaving aside Rachel for a second, there’s a ton of potential for how this book could change Cassie going into her Big Character Moment in #50.  She never feels the level of guilt over David that Rachel and even Jake do, I think partially because Cassie’s morality isn’t nearly as human-centric and therefore not nearly as horrified by the idea of making a human into a rat.  But if Cassie’s confronted with the reality that she designed and executed a plan that ended with a kid her age trapped in what he considers to be a fate worse than death, then the implications for her character development are almost infinite.

Rachel embraces an unpretty female power fantasy.

I love mecha-Rachel.  Mecha-Rachel is big and ugly and strong, capable of ripping her enemies limb from limb while still being fundamentally Rachel-shaped.

Rachel, maybe more than any other Animorph, has to put up with society telling her that her body is wrong.  Everyone from Marco to her gymnastics coach feels entitled to tell her that she’s too big and tall for a girl.  Everyone from random guys on the street to her own classmates feels entitled to sexualize her body because she’s female.  Rachel doesn’t feel mismatched or dysmorphic the way Tobias does, but she is aware of (and fed up by) the expectations of what her body “should” be.

Mecha-Rachel is unfeminine to the extent that she takes up space — a lot of space — and takes no prisoners.  But she’s still got the aspects of femininity that Rachel loves, from flowing hair to long nails.  Mecha-Rachel is exactly the kind of shape that makes morphing so fun to fantasize about, especially for little girls.

Rachel kills David.

This is maybe what I want most out of #48: for Rachel to kill David for real.  Because, as she tells Cassie, somebody has to do it.  Because she’s strong enough.  Because she’s compassionate enough.  Because she understands David.  Because she understands herself.  Because she’s been a rat, and she’s been just like David in lots of less literal ways.  Because she doesn’t know what the right answer is, so she’s willing to respect David’s wishes for lack of a better way out.

Visser Three gets kidnapped and thrown out of a pokéball and beheaded and then gets better and yet also mysteriously thinks that it’s not suspicious at all one of the andalite bandits looks like a giant human, oh and also there are sentient rats who speak their own rat language.

On second thought, we can leave out all of this nonsense.

Honestly, 99% of my frustration with this book comes from the fact that I can’t tell how seriously to take it.  If it’s just a dream, then a fat lot of nothing happens in the war between #47 and #49, and Rachel’s last book before her death also contains a fat lot of nothing.  If it was something that happened in canon, then I think I’d really enjoy everything in this book except the (non-David) sentient rats.  With only a few tweaks — the first scene taking place in California not D.C., the fight with Visser Three getting cut, the sentient rats getting swapped for more human minions — it works pretty well as a real Animorphs plot, one that helps smooth the transition in both tactics and morality that occurs in the last ~10 books.  This book has some genuinely cool stuff in it, and I want that cool stuff to be part of the real events of the story.

[aoifeanamadan]

After School Special

Fandom: Minecraft YouTube rpf (mcyt)

Word count: 3888

Relationship: DreamNotFound (DreamxGeorgeNotFound)

Summary:

The sky is blue, the sun is hot and Dream hates George.

He really hated him, all smug and sarcastic and closed off. Where Dream was friendly, loud and outgoing, George was quiet and pretentious. It was like he thought he was above everyone else.

Needless to say, neither of them were over the moon when they found out they had to spend two months working together in weekend detention.

Support this work on AO3 :)

Chapter One: Spanish? 

Dream was an early riser, he always had been. It was nice to wake up to quiet suburbia, to see the world jostle into life. He witnessed the cellophane peace stretch and tear. The house was quiet before sunrise. It felt delicate, holy. It felt like it was all his. Dream could wander, tiptoe around the soft quiet. It was like he was the only person left on the planet.

Lie-ins felt wrong on a cellular level. They made him feel a dirty kind of guilt, the missed opportunity. Every day since he was a child, he was up before the sun. And every day he watched the sunrise while eating breakfast. It was gorgeous. Watching the sweet pinks and dusted oranges floating up from the horizon assured him he was there, he was human.

It felt right, millions of years of evolution proving him right. Once the sun was up, the house got moving.

He loved the mornings, seeing his family bleary-eyed and cotton-mouthed. It was a different kind of vulnerability, one coated in familiarity. It made him certain that they were all there. Real and familiar and the same as always.

On the first morning of his senior year, Dream missed the sunrise. I was nothing ominous or scary, he just overslept. His alarm clock’s batteries had run out the night before and Dream couldn’t wake up without the siren blare. His sister had to knock on his hardwood door as she passed on her way downstairs.

Dream wasn’t superstitious. Witches didn’t scare him, he thought spells were bullshit. But missing the sunrise on the first morning of his last year of school, it scared him a little bit. He didn’t realise it at the time, head stuffed with shitfuckshitshit I’m going to be late , that end of the world feeling that comes with waking up late on a Monday. But the thing that scared him was the uncertainty, the proof that things were changing soon.

Normally, once the house was moving enough, he could take a shower without feeling guilty for shattering the peace of the sunrise. It was always the same, hair first then his body, his teeth.

No matter how many times he washed and changed his bedsheets, the night always made him feel dirty. Seeing the water go down the drain felt like seeing the air rushing into his lungs, his blood pumping. It was certain, it worked. Always the same soap, the same shampoo.

That morning, he had to run to the shower. Dream liked routine, a plan, but he liked efficiency more. Even his shower routine was streamlined to be as time-effective as possible. He’d had the same shower gel since he was 11, fresh and clear.

It was just his luck that his Bubble Cucumber & Aloe Vera Hair & Body Wash would run out the first morning in 7 years that he was running late.

But, he adapted. The family soap felt gritty against his skin. It felt like there was a snail leaving a trail of lime behind it. Dream felt dirty, the night was ground into his skin. But, ‘a positive attitude was his most important accessory’ according to his mother, so he got on with it. He showered, he got dressed and he rushed his way downstairs.

His socks thudded softly against the carpeted stairs as he jogged into the kitchen, wearing shoes in the morning wasn’t right in his brain. He was pulling his jumper on over his head as he walked in, really it was inevitable that he’d walk into the door frame. There was a red mark on his forehead under his hairline. Fuck. His sister’s laughter only added to the heat building in the back of his brain.

Dream was a creature of habit, he knew what worked. And why fix what’s not broken? Two slices of white bread toast (with the dial at setting 2) with blackcurrant jam, butter on both sides and no crusts.  A glass of orange juice without bits. It was an easy breakfast, it worked. He never felt hungry before lunch.

The bits in orange juice were gross, the way they congealed on the side of the glass. Just the sight of gravity dragging them down the inside of the glass, leaving a trail of orange guts and gore, it was enough to make him squirm.

So, naturally, when Dream reached to pour the orange juice that morning, he was met with a stream of obnoxiously bit filled orange juice. Dream took his deep breaths, but the rise and fall of his chest made his skin rub against his t-shirt. The feeling of the shirt sticking to his wet, slimy skin was the final straw. He punched his hand twice, squeezed his eyes shut and stood up.

In hindsight, taking the carton and pouring it down the sink was an overreaction. But at the time, despite the protests from his sisters, it seemed like the only option. There would have been no issue other than a new shortage of orange juice, but Murphy’s Law was at play.

Just as Dream was going to throw the emptied carton in the bin, his mother walked in.

“Oh Clay, for God’s sake. I had just bought that!”

Dream got into Sapnap’s car five minutes late with toast in his mouth, ‘thoroughly sorry for wasting perfectly good orange juice’ but more sorry for being seen throwing it away.

“What took so long dude?” Sapnap was smiling from the driver’s seat. The second Dream got in, he put his head on the dashboard. Sapnap only got an exaggerated groan as a response. Dream didn't lift his head.

“Okay!” Sapnap, still grinning, started them on the journey towards school. His predictions about how their senior year would go were a welcome distraction from Dream’s building stress headache.

It was easy, it always was. Dream and Sapnap, Sapnap and Dream. They knew each other better than they knew themselves. Dream didn’t need to pretend to be excited or upbeat. He just had to be there. And he was. And so was Sapnap. And that morning, that was enough for both of them. To know they had each other, each in the other’s corner.

Sapnap talked the whole journey and Dream loved him for it. They understood each other, knew what the other needed. That morning, Dream needed a distraction while Sapnap needed to get the nerves of a first day back at school out of his system.

By the time they were parked, they were running behind.

Dream was late to his first class, physics. He got into school just as first the bell rang but the receptionist wouldn’t let him past. He tried to protest but was only met with a lecture about time management. They didn’t want to hear about his excuse, his mother’s lecture about food waste.

“Well, how could I ‘manage my time’ if my mother was the one keeping me back? What am I meant to say to my mother? I’m not about to tell my mom to shut up.” Dream was almost pleading by that point. His day had gone from bad to worse, to worse, to worse.

“I’d be careful before taking that tone with a staff member if I were you, Dream.” Dream wanted to hit back, stand up for himself, but he swallowed his words. The receptionist didn’t care what he had to say, they were just happy to get him in trouble. Drunk on power and projecting their highschool experience onto Dream. This wasn’t worth the trouble it would cause.

Dream just nodded, bit back his ‘Fuck you’, apologised and headed to the other office for a late note, appeased only with a muttered whisper of ‘total bullshit’ as he walked away.

Such was the tyranny of high school.

When he finally got into the class, equipped with his note, the teacher barely paid him any attention. He didn’t even want the note. He just told him to sit down in any empty seat, then he went back to his diagram of magnetic fields.

Dream surveyed the classroom and was met with a packed grid of chairs. He could see his friends, all the way at the back of the class. It felt like light-years away. They were all frowning at him in sympathy. Dream didn’t like it at all, he didn’t want anyone’s sympathy. Bad was the only one who wasn’t looking at him like he just told them his puppy died. He was tapping his watch and mouthing ‘Don’t be late’. Dream smiled back sadly and shook his head.

The only empty seat was in the front row next to Weird Sarah. Dream bit the inside of his mouth to keep from getting mad, and sat down next to her.

He turned to her, hoping to make some kind of friendship using the ‘positive attitude’ that his mother so valued, but was only met with the sight of her picking her nose at age 18. She turned to him and glared.

Dream thought that might be the final straw, after everything that had gone wrong. His head felt like a tea kettle, he was surprised other people couldn’t see steam coming out of his ears.

But, he counted his deep breaths and clenched his fists until he could refocus on electromagnetism, or whatever the teacher was talking about.

Dream had been so focused on not letting everything from the morning get to him then and there, and culminate into a public rage, he had forgotten to pay attention. He was completely lost.

The teacher must’ve noticed the look on Dream’s face, because it was then he chose to engage  Dream in the lesson.

“Dream, can you tell me how to label exhibit 6.3?”

The words felt like a death sentence. Dream just stared blankly back at him, turning red. Everyone was quiet, all witnesses to Dream’s public execution by way of embarrassment. He wanted to yell, to tell them all he wasn’t stupid he was just panicking. Instead, he sat there in the silence. Any other day he would have had some cocky, charismatic answer but that Monday he had nothing.

He could feel his classmates’ eyes burning into the back of his head, looking at him expectantly. Dream couldn’t have remembered the answer right then if he had a masters degree in electromagnetism. The silence was starting to become painful. He had to say something.

“No?” It came out as more of a question than an answer. The teacher looked at Dream, disappointed. It was too early for this.

“No Dream, you cannot, because you were too focused on staring at your blank notebook. Pay attention please.”

The teacher, Mr McCarthy, was a nice man. He was old - maybe fifty or sixty - with grey hair and frail shoulders. He had three grandchildren and two kids of his own. His youngest grandchild, Lucy, was the apple of his eye. He liked golf, reading and the Netflix programme ‘Too Hot to Handle’. He was a good teacher.

None of that mattered to Dream, who at that moment felt like his teacher might have actually been the devil.

The embarrassment was burning in his chest, in his hands. And he hated it. He didn’t get embarrassed. Dream did not get embarrassed. He got mad and angry and mean, but not embarrassed. So, he flicked the switch. The blood that was flowing to his cheeks changed course to his ears.

He felt it building up inside him again, the same anger from earlier was rushing back in to suffocate the embarrassment. This whole class was fucking bull, what did Mr McCarthy even know about jackshit?

Dream didn’t even hear him open the question up to the rest of the class. He only heard George’s response.

“It’s particle radiation.”

George said it easily, nearly muttering. He didn’t even have to think about it. The class went silent. Dream heard Bad mutter an “Oh no.”

One thing everyone knew about Dream was that he did not like to lose. Ever since he was a kid, everything was a competition. Who could brush their teeth fastest? Who could finish the storybook first? He once stayed up for 27 hours just to make sure he was better than Sapnap at Call Of Duty. He was competitive to the core. It’s easy to be like that when you’re used to winning. Every time he was the best at something, it fueled him to be the best at something else. It was an easy cycle, the blueprint never failed him.

Dream didn’t lose, but somehow George always found a way to put him in second place. Ever since they were kids. When they were doing races, George was faster. When they were doing rock, paper, scissors George was luckier. When they were doing spelling bees, George was smarter.

Dream still didn’t lose, how could he, but he also didn’t win. And that wasn’t acceptable.

George knowing the answer to Mr McCarthy’s question was his final straw that morning.

“Yeah, of course he would need to answer.” It was a mutter to Sarah, under his breath. Sarah didn’t even glance towards him. But, in the silence of the classroom, it was 1000 decibels. Everyone froze, thankful to have front seats to their own personal soap opera.

“What’d you just say?” George’s head snapped towards Dream, all aggression and thought out anger. He was giving Dream a chance to retreat. Everyone knew he wasn’t going to take it. Dream wasn’t the type to retreat.

“I said of course you would need to prove how smart you are to the whole class.” Dream was looking back at him, matching his anger. Nobody was talking.

“Boys,” Mr McCarthy, bless his soul, tried to intervene. It was a lost cause. No one even noticed him. “Just because you’re mad that you didn’t know the answer. Stop acting like a little bitch.” George was talking as if he was speaking to a younger brother, scowling at Dream. He sounded like he barely cared about what was happening. It looked like he would be cold to the touch, like a statue. It made it look like Dream was throwing a tantrum

“George!” Mr McCarthy had never heard George swear before. Dream had. Everyone in the class had. George had been swearing like a sailor since he was eight.

“I’m a bitch? Coming from you? You fucking weirdo-” Dream’s anger was only building. Seeing George look cool and collected while he felt his face heating up made it worse. He stood up, the clatter of the stool bouncing off the walls.

“Boys!” That was the final straw for Mr McCarthy. He slammed his book down on the desk as he yelled. No one moved. Dream was left standing, breathing heavily. It was like they’d been snapped back to reality, remembering that there was actually a teacher in the room. Even if it was only Mr McCarthy.

He pointed his bony finger at Dream and then at George.

“You two. Outside. Now.”

In life, there were some simple truths. The sky was blue, the sun was hot. And, Dream and George hated each other.

But, in the same was the sky had been red in the beginning and the sun would be nothing in the end, it hadn’t always been that way.

When they were younger, much younger, everything had been different. When they were kids, five years old, maybe six, Dream, George and Sapnap had been real friends, or as real a friendship could be at age nine. Sapnap had been the glue holding them all together. He was a mediator, no matter how hard he tried to start the joking fights he was always the one to end the serious ones.

Sometimes Dream thought that without Sapnap, he and George wouldn’t have made it past the age of 10 without killing each other. They were always fighting, over catch, snap, tip the can, even tic tac toe.

Things changed as they got older though. Where Dream and Sapnap got more confident, bigger, taller, stronger, George went quiet. He wasn’t shy, he just seemed mad. He was all snark and edge and frost. He retreated into himself totally, Dream never had any idea what he was thinking. By the age of ten, Dream was sure George hated him, so he decided to hate George back even harder.  

The more time that passed, the more he believed his story. That George had shut him out, and Dream was only acting in self-defence.

After all, George was weird. Where Dream was loud, the life of every party, the centre of the school community, George was quiet and pretentious. It was like he thought he was better than everyone else because he didn’t engage with the school.

Everyone wanted to be Dream’s friends, everyone except George.

Bad came into the picture in high school, all kindness and unconditional friendship. He was just what Dream and Sapnap had needed, he kept them human. Bad stopped him from being a bully. Sapnap had always said to be nice because it was the right thing to do. Bad said to be nice because empathy was a virtue, he explained his experience growing up, how just one person being nice to him could’ve changed everything. He made Sapnap and Dream kinder.

Where Dream hated George, all sarcasm and snark, George seemed to have a vague dislike of Dream. It was as if he didn’t even care enough to dislike him. Even if Dream didn’t want to admit it, on some level he knew that he hated George more than George hated him. This only spurred him on to hate George even more.

Sapnap tried to stop him. Him and George were still good friends. He didn’t let them talk about each other and never told them anything about the other. That was Sapnap to a T, as loyal as they come. No matter how many times he started fake fights, Dream knew he’d always be there if he really needed him.

But, standing out in the hall in the middle of what should've been a normal physics class, Sapnap was not there. Mr McCarthy and George, however, were right in front of him, and they were on route to the principal’s office.

A solid telling off later, his third of the day, George and Dream had received their punishment. For swearing and publically fighting during physics, they were sentenced to two months worth of weekend classes together.

It was that or four months of after school detention. Dream didn’t want to admit it, but he had George to thank for negotiating it down to what it was. Dream would never tell a soul, but it was a tiny bit badass to see George debating the principal while she was mid-rant.

Dream was a lot more grateful than he was letting off.

If he wanted to stay on as the first striker on the soccer team, he needed to be at every practice. And practices were after school, exactly when their detention was first scheduled. He couldn’t have Sapnap out on the soccer field without him to pass to, how would he cope with the loneliness?

George had after school commitments as well apparently, considering how hard he fought to get the mandatory attendance to the weekend classes the school ran instead. He argued that him and Dream could improve their schooling and learn to co-exist, instead of sitting in silence and letting their hatred simmer.

They were even allowed to pick the class, as a way to start them on their journey of cooperation.

Once they left the office, miraculously still alive, Dream turned to George. He tried to push down the automatic response of ‘Fuck this guy’ in order to choose the class they would take. Before he could even open his mouth, George was talking.

“We’re doing English.” Before Dream could reply, he was walking away. Asshole.

Dream chased after him down the hall.

“Hey, hey!” George didn’t even turn around until Dream was tapping his shoulder. Asshole.

“Huh?” George had the audacity to look confused. “What do you want now?”

Dream just looked at him in disbelief, shaking his head. He was so fucking obnoxious.

“Why would we do English? I wanted to do-” Dream hesitated. He hadn’t actually thought about what he wanted to do, too distracted by what an idiot George was for speaking for the both of them without consulting him. Dream realised his pause for too long. “-Spanish.”

Dream did not want to do Spanish.

“Spanish?” George was looking at him like he was an idiot. It made Dream want to double down even harder.

“Yeah. Spanish.” It didn’t even sound convincing to his own ears.

“You don’t do Spanish.” George was getting annoyed. Dream was proving everything that he thought about him right.

“I do!” Dream didn’t know why he was committing so hard to his lie. He didn’t want George to know he was right, God knows how smug it would make him.

“Speak some Spanish right now then.” George was challenging him. It caught Dream off guard. He hadn’t expected the exchange to go further than him saying he wanted to do Spanish, which he did not.

He would’ve spoken some, but never having learned a word of Spanish made that a bit difficult. He hesitated too long for it to be believable.

“No.” Dream’s brain was stuttering. He was trapped in his own lie. This was exactly what his mother always said would happen if you lied, you’d get trapped in it. “No?” George looked at him, smirking like an idiot. Asshole. Of course he would like watching Dream in misery, Sapnap was wrong about him.

“No.” They both stood there in the hall, Dream prayed for the bell to ring and give him an excuse to leave. The bell did not ring.

“Okay then. We’re doing English. For one, we both actually do it. And you need the help.” Before Dream could protest, George walked away. Dream wanted to punch him.

His mother didn’t take the news well. Most parents wouldn’t be over the moon hearing that their child was going to be in weekend detention for two months. Dream tried to spin it as a fun afternoon class but that plan was derailed when his dad came in holding the phone, with the principal on the other end of the line.

In school the next day, after spending twenty minutes complaining to his friends, Dream found George during lunch.

“Hey, I’m going to need your number.” Dream didn’t bother with manners. They were well past that point. He was just following the orders of his mother, who wanted them to co-operate completely. She figured Dream would need George’s number.

George looked up from his friends, eyebrows raised. When he saw Dream, he got up. They walked just a few steps away from the table.

“George, your number?” Dream just wanted to get it over with so he could go back to his friends and complain about the whole situation

“Oh yeah, it’s 08 fuck you 69.” George rolled his eyes, taking the phone from Dream’s hand.

He saved his contact under Gogy <3 and walked away. Dream was left scowling at George’s back.

[crimesandcuriosities]

The Murder of Ana Kriegel: A Girl Who Just Wanted to Make Friends 

Ana’s Story 

In May 2018, years of psychological torment came to a cruel end for Ana Kriegel when she was callously murdered by two teenage boys. After being adopted from Russia at 2 years old, Ana was just 14 years old when she was subjected to horrific physical abuse and succumbed to her injuries in Lucan, Republic of Ireland. Although closely treasured by her adoptive parents, Ana’s subtlety and kind nature was often taken for weakness by others her own age. As a younger child, she endured a complicated surgery to remove a tumour from inside her ear, which caused long-term visual and hearing issues. Rather than receiving support for her impairment, fellow classmates used it as an opportunity to mock Ana and prey on her vulnerability. She would also often receive criticism for ‘not having a real mum and dad’, but despite these setbacks, Ana continued to try and establish friendships. As Ana aged into her teenage years with little companionship, she turned to creating accounts on various social media platforms such as Snapchat, Instagram and Youtube to find people with the same interests. However, instead of making friends, the bullying continued to follow Ana online. She began receiving sexually explicit and threatening messages. One comment on a Youtube video Ana uploaded simply read “I’d have you executed”. The inappropriate behaviour she experienced transcended into real life during October 2017, when Ana was returning home from a Halloween event she had helped to organise. She was approached by four older boys in the street, who told Ana that they were going to have sex with her. She had told them “no”, and as she walked away, one of the boys retaliated by hitting her on the backside. Ana returned home very emotionally distressed, and the culprits were issued with a caution by police. However, this experience proved to be the final straw for Ana’s resilience, and a downward spiral into depression and self-harm ensued. Just as Ana had become more socially withdrawn, she thought her life was changing for the better when she received a sudden knock at her door. It was a local 13 year old boy (Boy B)*, who informed Ana that he was going to take her to meet another boy (Boy A)*, also 13 years old. Ana learned that Boy A was somebody she had liked for some time, so she was more than happy to follow. Sadly, Ana was never to return home, and her body was found in a derelict house after a three-day search. 

( * Boy A and Boy B are named as such due to their age, and their anonymity is protected by the law. ) 

Ana’s Murder 

At first, Ana’s body was mistaken for a discarded mannequin lying amongst used condom packaging and broken glass. However, the blood on her face and bruising on her thighs quickly confirmed that the abandoned building was now a crime scene. Ana had been stripped naked down to only her socks before receiving significant injuries to her head and neck, and she had also been left with industrial tape wound tightly around her throat. Ana’s fingers were underneath the tape, as though she had been trying to prise it away at the time of her death. A more detailed autopsy found that, in total, there were around 60 injuries sustained to her body. This included numerous defensive wounds, leading prosecutors to maintain that Ana had fought extremely hard for her life. CCTV footage was reviewed, which showed Boy B leading Ana away from her home towards the direction of the murder scene, where Boy A was already waiting. After their arrest, traces of Ana’s blood were found on Boy A’s shoes, as well as a ‘murder kit’ hidden in his bedroom which contained a mask, gloves, protective leg wear, a concrete block, and a piece of wood with nails stuck into the end. The ultimate cause of death was recorded as blunt force trauma, but horrifically Ana had also been strangled throughout this ordeal. As well as the beating Ana had sustained, forensic examination also showed that she had been sexually assaulted, as there were signs of attempted penetration and traces of semen from Boy A were found on a torn garment belonging to Ana. Further searches of the young boys’ homes identified that both boys had developed an obsession with violent pornography. Almost 12,000 sexually explicit images were found on numerous electronic devices belonging to Boy A, and past internet searches had included terms such as “child porn” and “teen sweet Russian”, as well as “most gruesome torture methods in history” and “abandoned places in Lucan”. 

Trial and Sentencing 

Despite the overwhelming evidence to indicate their involvement, both boys went on to plead not guilty. Based on what was witnessed during court proceedings, they also received the support of their parents. It was noted that, while details of the case were read out to the jury, Boy A appeared visibly upset and held his father’s hand while his mother also cried. It was also noted that Boy A walked with a limp, which was thought to be a result of his struggle with Ana. Boy B averted his gaze to the ground for most of the hearing and held on to his mother. After a guilty verdict was reached, the father of Boy B flew into an explosive rage before storming out of the courtroom. He then returned shortly afterwards to sarcastically slow clap and angrily say “an innocent child is going to prison” and shouted “you fucking bunch of scumbags!” at the prosecution team. Boy B had previously confided to detectives that he had been approached by Boy A one month before Ana’s murder. He claimed that Boy A had asked him if he wanted to kill someone, and named Ana Kriegel specifically. Boy B claimed he did not consent to participating in her murder, but did acknowledge that he had called at Ana’s home to inform her that Boy A wanted to meet her. He then led her to the location where she would be murdered, but claimed to have run away when Boy A became violent. The trial will recommence on 15th July 2019 for the submission of any mitigating evidence which may reduce the imposed punishment, and the sentencing will follow.

[genocidershodan]

Squad 3

Black Horizon follows two childhood friends Drade and Darius from the small town of Durst Ridge with aspirations to grow up to join the Royal Guard and serve with the famous General Kaidence.

Even though Drade follows Elzor to New Eleanore to become a spellbinder, Darius stay and is squired to his father, a knight.

Eventually after many trials, Darius is offered an opportunity join the Royal Guard and attends the notoriously punishing and often deadly three month training camp.

After the recruits are whittled down to an even number, they are all sorted into six person squads, success in the coming trails depends entirely on the squad as a whole, if one fails, they all fail.

Darius Foxley:

Darius’ mother passed away soon after his birth due to complications. His father was a knight who, despite caring deeply for his only son, was a strict disciplinarian and had difficulty connecting to Darius on an emotional level, who suspected he had never fully recovered from his wife’s death.

He was quite popular at school and had a generally amiable nature that made him friends with pretty much all the other kids. Some would ask him why he chose to hang out with Drade so much, who was essentially the black sheep of the class. His go to response was usually “He’s good value” With a shrug, often leaving the asker to wonder exactly what he meant by that.

After the untimely death of his father, and Darius being labelled a shadow knight, he was never quite the same jokey, fun loving personality he used to be. Still he gets along well with the other soldiers and is known to join in on festivities on the odd occasion. Especially after a few drinks.

Prudence Fleecewood:

Prudence was raised in the Altairian Quarter and, as Toraanim is her second language, she speaks with a strong accent. But not so thick so others have trouble understanding her.

Prudence's parents run the successful Fleecewood clothing brand. As successful as the brand is, even in Toraan. Due to high tariffs incurred on Altairian manufacturing, her parents earn a tidy sum to live by, but nowhere near as much as many people would assume. Still, when it's brought up that her parents own the Fleecewood label, everyone assumes her family is rich.

As a child, she was always full of energy and quite a troublemaker. To the extent where she was always in trouble at school and often starting fights with other classmates. As an outlet for her aggression, her parents signed her up to fencing classes, and took to it instantly and excelled at it of course, and was soon winning competitions all across the Altairian Quarter and even in Toraan.

Prudence could never be only mildly interested in anything. As soon as she was hooked onto something she became fanatical. As a younger woman obsessed with fencing, she grew up idealising General Kaidence, and fantasised about growing up and joining the Royal Guard. As soon as she was 16 and old enough for service, she enlisted in the Infantry Corps.

Hard and straight forward. Prudence is easily excitable and for her the line between exuberance and aggression is exceptionally thin. She despises seeing a stronger person praying on a weakling and will be the first to confront a bully.

Frangelica and Esmerelda Keur:

Almost always referred to as Fran and Es. At first the twins might seem indistinguishable from each other, they often wear their hair differently to avoid confusion, but on the odd occasion will choose not to for a laugh. Although the other members of squad quickly pick up on the differences.

Tragedy entered their lives very early as their parents died in an automobile accident when they were four years old. They spent the next five years living in a state home. However when it looked like they might be split up, the two chose to run away together instead.

Living on the streets was tough for the pair. And the timid Es withdrew. Fran had to step up and take control. She grew up to be tough and always ready for a fight making sure that they both had enough to eat, sometimes going to extreme measures for survival. However as they grew older, learning the streets and who they could or couldn't trust. Es became the voice of reason and would often have to be the one to talk Fran down from a fight. Learning to become the diplomat of the pair.

As soon as they turned sixteen, the pair decided to enlist in the Artillery Corps. At the time the two figured it would be an easy pathway to eventually going back to school and having a normal life. But they took to soldiering exceptionally well. And the two worked effectively as a mortar team. They eventually decided to stay in the armed forces as a career and after taking part in the same tragic incident that got Darius accepted into the Royal Guard, the two earned medals, citations, and also were accepted into the Royal Guard training program.

Klein Birchley:

Klein sticks out among the members of, not just the squad but also the entire platoon, being the oldest and having come to the Royal Guard from the Police Corps, and also that he had never had any aspirations to join the Royal Guard.

Klein came from a long line of police officers, he had never dreamed of anything else. Although his family has a knightly surname, they became shadow knights generations ago, long before the war.

Barely out of secondary school, he applied to the police academy, and had a successful career as well as a family with his partner Clarice and three children. He has an odd way of communicating, a strange quirkiness coupled with a kind of social awkwardness, and an apparent lack of social awareness to the point where he could sometimes come off as incredibly rude. People often didn't know what to make of him upon first meeting and would frequently underestimate his considerable intelligence. this manner served him well as a detective. But he had difficulty maintaining friends outside of work and it put a strain on his relationships.

After an incident involving a hostage situation and Altairian terrorists, Klein played a key role in apprehending the criminals and freeing the hostages, having completely coincidentally been in the building as Clarice worked for the company where it all took place. Klein was labelled as a hero and became a local celebrity. However the media attention turned on his private life, being the final straw for Clarice, she left with the their children. And when the public attention to the local police, certain corrupt elements were exposed and Klein found himself caught in the middle of the situation.

It was then that Klein was offered two options by his superiors. Either resign from the police voluntarily. Or apply to the Royal Guard. Klein would have preferred neither. However he decided to take his chances in the famously gruelling Royal Guard training as a sort of act of defiance.

Tyron Wei:

Tyron grew up essentially a spoilt brat. An only child doted over by his wealthy parents. He went to an elite private school, and excelled in all of his classes, skipping over a few years in the process. Not only is he intelligent, he is also charismatic and quick witted. Very popular with all the students and the teachers.

He graduated secondary school at a very young age. And when he was sixteen he expressed to his parents his desire to apply to the Toraanim Armed Forces Academy. They weren't happy with his decision, but they would also never try to stop him from something he had already made his mind up about. It was a sad fair well when he left. However he still keeps in touch with them frequently and they often send him gifts such as baskets of sugary sweets or plush toys.

His swift intellect and logical, tactical mind, coupled with his good natured cockiness and friendly charisma made the brass quickly notice his potential. Not only in service for a year, he had a reputation as an excellent and competent soldier, and was admitted into the Royal Guard training.

As such, he was the youngest of all the recruits, and frequently gets made fun of for being the baby of the group. But his skills helped the squad get through training. He's a lynch pin in the squad's dynamic and is often seen as team mascot for his fun and charisma.

Erik Henderson:

Erik's thick glasses, chubby face, and easy going demeanour cause him to stick out among the tough and gruff soldiers of the Royal Guard. In fact, passing acquaintances who have never seen him in uniform are usually surprised when they do.

He had grown up in New Eleanor, and knew he had wanted to join the Royal Guard when he saw them marching in a parade as a child. Enamoured with their white and gold uniforms and the reverence the crowd showed for them. He enlisted the day after his sixteenth birthday. He spent several years in the Infantry Corps before being recruited into the Royal Guard, his quiet perseverance and camaraderie with his troops was eventually noticed by his superiors before he was recommended for their gruelling entrance program.

Erik was not in the squad’s training group, having joined the Royal Guard two years prior. When they passed he was promoted and assigned as Squad 3′s corporal,. Despite his relative inexperience, he very quickly connects with the rest of the team. And they admire his friendly approach, tempered by his professionalism. As well as his ability to think quickly on his feet.

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