#okay fine his issues are rooted in jean i guess that makes sense

[s0fter-sin]

storm saying “connection is a fragile treasure, one we sacrifice so much to maintain” as morph is trying to comfort wolverine only for wolverine to let them when they shift into sabretooth, starting a trend of wolverine only accepting morph’s care and affection when they look like someone else, sacrificing their autonomy in order to express their feelings are you fucking kidding me

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Intrinsic: Jameson in Therapy

Prompt from Anon:  If you're still taking prompts... "Have you tried NOT doing that?"

CW: Noncon survivor discussing future consensual spice, Jameson’s masochism, frank references to noncon and pet whump, brief internal victim-blaming, world-building detail about WRU

Dr. Berger tucks a bit of graying hair behind one ear, smiling slightly at Jameson from her place in the soft armchair she uses during appointments. “Well,” She says, thoughtful, “have you tried not doing that?”

He looks up at her from where he sits curled up on the long sofa, knees to his chest, picking absently at loose threads across the knee of his baggy blue jeans. As always, she is careful not to let her eyes move to the places where hair is slowly growing back in over bald spots where the straps of a leather muzzle had rubbed, careful not to look at the scars he wears on every inch of exposed skin - she’d made the mistake of being caught looking, however briefly, and had discovered that the newest of her clients was deeply insecure about the visible evidence of his captivity.

She’d apologized, but it had taken time to develop enough trust to come back from her initial mistake. She would not jeopardize that now, after they’ve made so much progress and she’s begun to see a shift in how he talks about and relates to his new life, his world.

He even told her the name he chose for himself, and that he’s been telling the others in the house, one by one. Accepting that it won’t be taken from him like his original name was - that it belongs to him, and is his to share or not. 

She would never, ever admit it, but... Jameson is one of her favorite clients to work with. He’s working so hard, every week that they meet he trusts more and more that the path he’s on is one that will move him forward. 

“What?” 

His voice is slightly rough - someone who has screamed enough to have permanent vocal chord damage, she thinks. She makes a note to speak to Jake Stanton about having a physician check on the potential for nodes or other issues that might pop up later. She’s not a medical doctor, but… well. She’s had a lot of clients with vocal chord damage in the sixteen years she’s been working in the pet lib movement, and you start to pick up on the little signs and symptoms they don’t necessarily declare out loud.

“My question is really just me being a little facetious, I won’t lie, but I do want to talk through the spirit of the question. When you mention feeling guilty that you are having a physical response to your housemate, that you are attracted to them and have been struggling with... well. I’d like to really dig in to where that guilt comes from. Now, I am aware that adjustment houses tend to discourage relationships between household members during their time in residence to cut down on the chance for conflict, but that’s not where your guilt lies, is it?”

He goes back to picking at the hole slowly wearing through his jeans. Dr. Berger waits, giving him the silence and time he needs to think his way through the question and the possible answers. After a long time, he says softly, “No. It’s not. I don’t give a fuck if Stanton wants me to hold somebody’s stupid hand or not.”

She has to force her smile not to widen, wondering if Jameson is aware of just how like Jakob Stanton he really is. No wonder they don’t always get along. “Okay. So can you talk to me about just what you sense of guilt, this worry you feel, is rooted in?” 

She watches with some small surprise as the angry, defiant recovering Box Boy who has spoken frankly and openly to her about being maimed, injured, treated as an object, referred to as an animal... blushes.

“I want-... It’s not the, um, the response. That I hate.” He won’t look at her now, and he’s one who loves to stare her down whenever he thinks she’ll be shocked or disgusted by what he has to tell her. But this… this, he’s ashamed or embarrassed to say. “They’re fucking gorgeous, that’s... anybody would like them. It’s… it’s what I want from them that... scares me.”

“You are accustomed to a certain level of unwanted physical attention, it’s not at all uncommon in Romantic rescues to continue to feel sexual attraction and desire after freedom-”

“No. It’s. It’s not that I-... I know that’s normal. It’s… I want…” He shifts, uneasily. “I want… I want Allyn to hurt me.”

The last sentence is whispered. It’s not sharing a thought, it’s confessing what he feels is some kind of sin he is committing or intending to commit. Dr. Berger sometimes feels like a priest in a confessional booth, although she’s never been one to suggest atonement - no, fear of oneself is where the core of most of her clients’ pain lies, in her experience. Instead, she works on reconstructing the impulse or fear from its foundations, breaking apart the horror of its weight and reconfiguring it so it’s easier to understand. 

To take control of, to direct.

She helps them to own themselves, not to fear the prospect but to see in it freedom they have always deserved. 

Fear is the absolute last thing any of her clients should ever have to feel again. They have been taught to devalue and debase themselves, to fear what their bodies can be made to do. If she does nothing else, Dr. Berger hopes she is able to help them be just a little less afraid of the bodies they live in.

“You want your housemate to hurt you?” She asks, gently. “Do you mean in the sense of a serious injury, or…”

“No. Um. No, I fucking… I think about them, um. Hurting-... like… like they used to do. Biting me, or... or scratching... I th-think sometimes about Allyn h-holding a... never mind. Just. Hurting me. I’m-... made to be hurt.”

“You are made only to be yourself,” Dr. Berger reminds him, her voice low and without any hint of judgement. “We’ve talked about your captors before and how you were held. You believe that you were made into a masochist as part of your training, and so you’re frightened that your mind is thinking about your housemate in ways similar to how you were once forced to think about your captors.”

His nose wrinkles - he’s more dismissive than most of the language she uses, and early on delighted in insisting on using words like owner, handler, master. Things he thought might shock her. But Dr. Berger has heard nearly everything she thinks there might be to hear, by now. She only smiles slightly at his expression, jotting quickly down on her notepad a few notations. 

Finally, he offers hesitantly, “I-I guess. Allyn is… good. They’re soft, and nice, and they’d never-... but I want them to. And it’s-... it would make-... them be like Robert, or… wouldn’t it? It’d be… treating them like… I don’t ever want to be what I was again, so why the fuck can’t I stop thinking about it?” 

He is so rarely vulnerable. Dr. Berger doesn’t take for granted the gift he gives her by letting her see past the wall of anger and derision he has built to keep himself safe. In many ways, he reminds her of when she saw Jake Stanton after his own brush with WRU’s handlers and their methods. Bristling, defensive, and with wounds that cannot be bandaged. They instead need to be exposed to the light.

“Intrusive thoughts that contain elements of your captivity are absolutely normal. You are still in the early stages of making progress, and progress is never linear, Jameson. There is no starting line, no ribbon at the end of the race. There is only moving forward, bit by bit, even if sometimes we move back.”

“You mean I move back,” He says, sullen now. “You don’t do shit. You’re already fine.”

“Mmmn, that’s not… quite accurate. I actually see someone myself, you know.” Dr. Berger smiles at his obvious, visible surprise. “My mentor once told me he never trusted a provider of therapy who did not themselves seek it out. I have my own progress to work towards, just as you have yours.”

“Problems are probably real fucking different, though.”

“Well, that’s true.” She allows herself a warm laugh - and is rewarded when he doesn’t bristle or assume mockery like he used to, but relaxes and even gives her a very small smile in return. “But I would advise you not to compare yourself to others. Your situation, while not unique in some ways, is still unique to you. You’ve been through a kind of horror that no one else has - even if others have experienced some similarities, the traumatic events they experienced will never be entirely like yours.”

He nods.

“But-” She holds up one finger “That doesn’t mean we can’t use what we know as a framework, a foundation you can build your own way on. Think of an ancient Roman road paved into a highway in modern Italy, for instance. The foundation was there, a path laid by people who came through before. But you can take what you need and use it to find your own way. I know that you’re scared of your thoughts, I know that you are frightened of wanting to find gratification or satisfaction in pain because you think it means a return to how you were treated before, or that you are inherently changed in damaging ways by your captivity, but…”

When she trails off, he leans slightly forward “But?”

She chooses her words carefully. “Jameson, would you be willing to consider something that may make you a little uncomfortable?”

He looks at her, depths of feelings in his brown eyes, and slowly nods. “Why not? I’m already fucking uncomfortable. All the time.”

His thin shoulders under the oversized band shirt he wears make angles under the fabric as he shrugs, although in the time she’s been seeing them those sharp edges have already begun to round out, the lines of his jaw and cheekbones are softening.

She’s seen it over and over again, the physical changes reflecting the rebuilding of an entire life. It never ceases to amaze her, how hard each and every one of them works. 

“Okay. This may be hard to hear at first but I think it will help you.”

Eventually he nods. “Yeah,” He half-rasps. “Yeah, okay. Just say it. Everything… everything else you’ve said has helped. Go ahead.”

“Okay. So, what I would like you to consider… perhaps what you see as an enforced flaw, a crack that was put into you, a danger you present to your housemate due to your conditioning and mistreatment… it might be in fact an intrinsic part of your sexual expression, and simply an aspect of your attraction to them, and the wish you stated to me to perhaps escalate your current relationship.”

He swallows. The color drains from his face, except for two spots of bright red high along his cheekbones. “What?” His lips barely move. 

“Jameson…” Her tone dips, reassuring and soothing. “I know what you were told. I know you were likely given a series of half-truths and whole lies designed to engender dependence and teach you to loathe yourself and therefore disconnect from your body. But… that body? It’s very real, and it’s entirely yours. I think that we need to look into the possibility that you already had certain tendencies that were exploited and twisted. Those tendencies are not inherently unhealthy or damaging if you learn to pursue them in a safe environment.”

He blinks, once, twice, his eyes glittering. 

She’s made a misstep and she knows it immediately, clear as the tears Jameson never allows to fall. She didn’t time it quite right. They should have spent more time working up to it…

“Are you saying I’m just-... like this?”

“Not the way you are suggesting,” Dr. Berger says softly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t express myself clearly enough. Please let me elaborate a little.”

“I fucking hope you d-didn’t mean that I’m-... that I’m just fucked up,” He says, looking away from her, down at the floor. She pretends she doesn’t see one hand go up to curve around the side of his neck, recreating some of the weight of the collar they are so often taught to rely on for a sense of safety.

“I absolutely did not mean that. One thing WRU excels at - one of the reasons they have been so successful - is that they utilize very effective techniques that encourage a sense of complicity and responsibility in the people they abuse and violate. I’m going to hazard a guess that you were told that you chose what happened to you.”

“I signed up for this,” Jameson whispers automatically, rote and robotic, without hesitation. At least, Dr. Berger thinks, she’s been doing this job long enough that hearing that no longer gets to her like it used to. “I wanted to be some rich asshole’s-”

“Yes. That. One way I think they are able to convince so many individuals so thoroughly isn’t only because of the standard methods of sleep and nutritional deprivation, the repetition, memorizing, the mistreatment… no, I think one thing WRU does is find in each of its victims a core truth they can exploit and cause you to fear in yourself, making you more vulnerable to the idea that this company is somehow saving or helping you by ‘making use’ of it. They find your weak point and use it to shatter you, but what WRU never realizes is that the very weakness they exploit is also often the same piece of you we can recover, that we can reclaim. In your case… Jameson, have you ever heard of consensual masochism?”

He’s hooked, she thinks, on this line of logic. On the lifeline she’s thrown him, something to grab onto. A way to begin to believe, in some small way, that he isn’t ruined. They all think they’ve been ruined, by the time she meets them.

None of them is.

“No, I-I haven’t. Does this mean… there are people like me who aren’t, you know, fucktoys-”

“Recovering Romantics,” She corrects, gently. “And yes. Masochism is a not-uncommon mode of expression that many people engage in consensually in the context of healthy sexual expression.”

He swallows, hard. She watches his throat move. Sees the look in his eyes, the minute changes in his expression. The hand pushing against the side of his neck slowly drops. She can see the gears turning within him, a shifting point of view maybe. She can see what he doesn’t want to speak out loud.

There’s another silence. This one is more comfortable, and as always she gives him all the time he needs. 

“How-” His voice cracks, and he clears his throat, blinking rapidly again. His knees slowly uncurl and his feet, clad in old hand-me-down sneakers, find their way to flat on the floor. Without his ever-present scowl, he looks years younger. Terrified.

Hopeful.

“How can I-... how do I-...” He takes a deep breath. “If it’s just… part of me… how do I make it safe?”

-

@astrobly @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @whump-tr0pes @raigash @moose-teeth @orchidscript @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @eatyourdamnpears @boxboysandotherwhump @vickytokio @whumpfigure @outofangband @downriver914 @justabitofwhump @thehopelessopus @butwhatifyouwrite @yet-another-heathen @nonsensical-whump

[groovybaybee]

Greener - III

I, II

(3.9k)

cw: mentions of abuse (nothing too intense but better safe than sorry), drug use (weed), alcohol consumption

BUZZ

 “Sorry to be a pain, can we just do the bridge one more time?” I ask guiltily.

Practice should have ended fifteen minutes ago, but the neuroses in my head refuses to pipe down.

 “It sounds great, but if you want, we can run it again.” Lana tells me from behind her drumkit, the gentle huskiness of her voice soothing me.

 “Yeah, sorry, lets call it for today. Think I’m just nervous.” I nod.

 “First show isn’t for a while, take it easy.” George speaks as he gently locks his guitar into its case.

 “Yeah, you’re right.” I sigh, rolling back my shoulders in an attempt to loosen them.

 The pair bid me goodbye, offering reassuring hugs and pats on the back, before heading out of the studio’s practice rooms. I take a few minutes in the empty room, tucking away cords and straightening things in an attempt to steady my breathing.

 BUZZ

 Reaching into my back pocket for the phone that has not stopped vibrating intermittently for the past twenty minutes, I spot three text messages. 

The first is from Lucy.

 PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE CAN YOU PICK UP SOME STUFF ON YOUR WAY OVER LATER?

 Truthfully, I had almost forgotten about Lucy’s barbeque. At least once a month she has some kind of large gathering, claiming it to be a necessity, and that not enough people celebrated just being alive. It is a beautiful sentiment, something I have always admired about Lucy is her effervescence. However, this does mean that my plans, to lay in bed the rest of the day and wallow about how unprepared for tour I feel, have been scuppered.

 I quickly reply to her and ask for a list.

 The next two messages are from Harry.

 One is a picture of him with a golden Labrador. Both appear to be smiling brightly.

 The second is the caption: ‘A girl asked me for a photo today and I told her she could only have one if I could take one with her dog – Harry’.

 Which one are you? I send back.

 Immediately, I receive a ‘:( - Harry‘ and cannot help but chuckle at him as I pull myself out of the room.

 He’s still talking to you despite how dumb you are, hmm?

 Sure, I might have been a bit rash and ridiculous in rejecting him, but it is for the right reasons. There is no way that I could put someone as wonderful and positive as Harry through all my issues.

 You’d suck the joy out of him.

 Instead, we are friendly. We speak every day. I try to keep the flirting to a minimum, but the boy does not make it easy. He is so charming and funny; it is impossible not to be swept up in his world where everything is bright and shiny.

 I can’t let that happen.

 No. There needed to be space between us. Nothing rude or unkind. Just space. Boundaries. I desperately need to keep conversations between us nothing but friendly until whatever attraction he has to me fades.

 Shouldn’t take long.

 Trying to shake off the part of me that saddens at the thought, I think ahead to this afternoon, scrolling through the extensive list of things Lucy needs me to bring her.

 Quickly stopping at home, I change into a light blue dress, patterned with small white flowers, bringing a cardigan with me as an extra layer, knowing that I would likely be staying out until the early hours of the morning.

 After picking up almost everything on the list, unable to find golf balls and unsure why she wanted them in the first place, I drive over to her house. Lucy had told me today would be a small gathering, but she says that every time, so I brace myself as I open the front door.

 “Lu?” I call, the house uncharacteristically quiet.

 The sound of claws on the wooden floor of the hallway brings a smile to my face, Pip bounding around the corner.

 “Hi, baby!” I giggle as I place my bag of supplies on the floor and crouch to greet the excitable pup. “Look how big you’re getting!”

 “If that’s you, Vi, come help me!” Lucy lets out a whine from the kitchen.

 “It’s not Vi, it’s an axe-murderer!” I call back, scratching behind Pip’s ears, making her mouth open and tongue roll out happily.

 “You can help me too!” she retorts.

 With a happy sigh, I pick up my bag and follow the sound of her voice. When I reach her, she is stood precariously on her countertop, rooting through a cupboard.

 “Careful,” I warn.

 “Thought I had kebab skewers,” she tells me, haphazardly hopping down in defeat, “Guess not. Did you bring the goodies?”

 For the next hour or so, Lucy and I work like a well-oiled machine, setting up space outside for food, but mainly making and sampling a variety of different cocktails. By the time some of her friends start to arrive, the two of us are already a little bit buzzed.

 Amongst the crowd that starts to fill out the house and attached garden is Joseph, a dear friend of Lucy’s. ‘Dear friend’ in Lucy’s world meaning they have sex and get croissants together the next morning. To be fair, it is the closest I have seen that girl to a relationship in all the years I have known her. Best not to rush Lucy into things. She will make up her mind when she is good and ready, like always.

 I notice him entering the house, eagerly scanning through the throng of people to find his girl, his eyes lighting up when he does so. Striding over to us, he presses a kiss to Lucy’s cheek and gives me a tight hug.

 “Hey,” Lucy greets him, her voice considerably lower as she wraps her arms around his waist and pulls him into her. She wastes no time in connecting their lips, hands running through his hair with complete disregard to her surroundings.

 Undoubtedly, she would blame it on the few drinks, claiming they are lowering her inhibitions. We would both know how hard she would be lying.

 Lucy has the type of freedom and self-confidence that I wish I possessed. Living her life the way she wants to, completely on her own terms, and with nothing but goodness in her heart, an ever-present sense of reckless abandon for social norms. It is clear that she lives in her own world, and anyone that has had the delight of meeting her would agree; it is a beautifully liberated world.

 The sun begins to set in the real world, but Lucy’s sun is only rising, each passing hour only enthusing her more. I watch her from the kitchen window as she has handstand competitions with some of her co-workers, no one able to resist her charms.

 “Fancy making me one?” I hear a familiar, albeit surprising voice ask from behind me.

 Turning around, I see Harry, dressed in slightly flared blue jeans, a white vest and vibrant blue Hawaiian shirt. He looks great, but when does he not?

 When I meet his eyes, his smile has left traces of itself in the dusky green as he nods his head to the cocktail shaker in my hand.

 “H-Hi.” I stammer to get out.

 Pathetic.

 “Hi,” he says softly, reaching for me instantly to pull me into a hug.

 For a moment I do not react, realising quickly that this is the first time our bodies have touched. In a quick, rushed desire for intimacy, my arms wrap themselves around him. My fingertips splay across the expanse of his back, feeling his muscles move under them. I am pulled in tighter, Harry letting out a soft sigh as his chin rests on top of my head. My nose brushes against the bare flesh of his neck, accidentally but not unhappily inhaling the scent of him. Not just his cologne, but him. It is everything I can do to pull myself away, even if only to peer up at him, our arms still encircling each other.

 “How’ve you been?” he asks gently. His voice has such a relaxing effect on me, melting away any stress from this morning and washing it away with each breath.

 “Harry!” Lucy interrupts gleefully, charging in our direction and wrapping her arms around us. “My favourite people.” She exclaims with a tight squeeze.

 “I’ll pretend I’m not hurt,” Joseph teases, having followed her inside to check on her. A decision I immediately recognise to be wise when I take in Lucy and notice her eyes struggling to stay in the same direction.

 Even after hours of eating, drinking, and heavy petting, Lucy is not done celebrating. Instead, she insists that we set up some of the microphones from her small home studio, assembling a makeshift karaoke in the middle of her living room.

 “Sing for me.” Lucy demands with a giggle, pushing a mic into my hand before plopping on to the sofa, her legs swung into Joseph’s lap. Instinctively, he moves a hand to hold them there, giving her a look of amused adoration.

 “Why do I have to go first?!” I laugh incredulously at my best friend, once again, pushing me outside of my comfort zone.

 “I’ll sing with you,” Harry offers, a smirk trying to mask tentative eyes.

 I open my mouth to object to the whole situation, but Lucy interrupts me with a devilish grin.

 “What? Don’t you want to do it with Harry?”

 If looks could kill, Joseph would be clinging to a corpse. However, at this point an offshoot of the main crowd has trickled into the room and is gathering around Harry and myself expectantly.

 “Fine!” I sigh, covering my intense feelings of panic with humour the best that I can.

 “Feeling decisive or want me to pick something?” Harry asks, desperately biting back a mischievous grin as he pours through Lucy’s laptop, connected to a series of speakers bound to piss off her neighbours.

 “You pick.” I shrug, my glaring eyes still fixed on Lucy as she giggles into her drink.

 “Okay,” Harry says, tapping play on a karaoke version of Somethin’ Stupid by Frank Sinatra.

 “Amazing.” Lucy laughs loudly over the backing track, sending a complimentary wink in Harry’s direction. The two of them share a smile, while I roll my eyes so hard that I could give a moody teenager a run for their money.

 “Ready?” Harry asks, looking to me with a look so devilishly charming that I cannot help but return his grin no matter how hard I try.

 “I know I stand in line until you think you have the time to spend an evening with me,” we begin to sing, our voices pairing surprisingly nicely.

 “And if we go some place to dance, I know that there’s a chance you won’t be leaving with me,” our voices sound great together actually, creating natural harmonies. It is clear that Harry is just as surprised as I am when our eyes meet, continuing to sing along, there is an excited glint to them that plants warmth in my torso.

 Ever the performer, Harry puts a piece of his soul into the song. His voice shifts beautifully through dynamic changes, channelling emotion until he is almost acting the song and the lyrics are just his lines.

 Forcing myself to avoid his gaze, held so lightly but fixed nonetheless, upon me, I look to Lucy. Desperate to convey to her how hard and fast my hatred towards her has manifested, but she is beaming at me so genuinely that all malice (however false it was in the first place) melts away and I simply look to my supportive, if a little manic, best friend. In her hands, her phone has replaced her half-finished cocktail, her eyes flittering between the recording and live performance.

 For a moment, I am ready to chastise her for filming my embarrassing--

 Pitchy.

 My embarrassing, most likely pitchy performance. I soon realise, however, that did I not have an awkwardly shoehorned friendship with Harry (something I had purposely neglected informing Lucy of for fear of another pep talk) I would be begging her to record me singing with someone whose career I admire so greatly. It has been a dream of mine to duet with talent like Harry’s, and she made it happen. As always, she is being a good friend.

 I blow her a kiss, which she reaches out and snatches from the air with a grin.

 “The time is right, your perfume fills my head, the stars get red and, oh, the night’s so blue,” I drift back to Harry where he is already waiting for me, looking at me with such tender appreciation.

 “And then I go and spoil it all by saying something stupid like I love you…” Our eyes are locked. The cheeky smirks have slipped from our lips. My awareness of the others in the room seems to fade away as his eyes pierce me, and, for a moment, it feels as though he sees straight through my façade. For the shortest time, he sees the way I look at him, feels the battle of caution and excitement ever-present when I see him.

 It’s just an act.

 Once again, the noise in my head overpowers the thump of my heart. My eyes flit back to safety, singing the rest of the song to Lucy, purposefully overacting my love for her to distract from any feelings towards anyone else.

 The song comes to an end and I make a subtle but speedy getaway, replacing the microphone in its stand and dashing to the kitchen. Thankfully, the room is empty, the majority of the gathering having congregated into the living room as Lucy belts out an enthusiastic rendition of ‘I Love Rock ‘N Roll’, getting the whole party stomping their feet with her.

 “Really knows how to throw a party, doesn’t she?” I hear Harry asks from behind as fumble through one of the cabinets until my fingertips find the little tin box I was searching for.

 “Mm,” I nod, taking a deep breath to centre myself before turning to him.

 Harry is stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame slightly but keeping his distance from me, observing me carefully. His body seems tense, jaw held tightly and forehead creasing deeply. A million questions swirl through my mind, the most prevalent being: why that song? However, I ignore my itching curiosities and try to act casually.

 “Do you smoke?” I ask, lifting the small box into view.

 “Sometimes.” He nods, seeming a little more at ease.

 “Come with me.” I say, waving him to follow me.

 We slip out of the back door and into the garden. Lucy’s house is a lot more modern than mine, her garden landscaped and levelled, only a few bushes and flowerbeds breaking up the slab of lawn. At the far end of the garden is a patch of shade provided from an overhanging neighbouring tree. Harry and I sit here, settling in silence as I pop open the tin, grateful to find a joint already rolled. I place it between my lips and light it, inhaling deeply a few times before offering it.

 “I’ve never seen you here,” I mumble through the light cloud Harry exhales before it is blown away by the gentle breeze, revealing him gazing at the ground.

 “Pretty shit friend really,” Harry utters, fiddling with his shoelace to avoid my gaze, “Lucy always invites me, and I bail every time.”

 “What made today so special?” I ask before I can stop myself being so intrusive.

 Harry just shrugs.

 The pair of us sit in silence for a while, passing the dwindling joint between ourselves as the sun flickers across our skin, occasionally finding its way through the shady branches above.

 “I’m sorry if I pushed you into that by the way,” Harry starts, looking at me for the first time since the kitchen. “I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

 “It’s okay,” I say softly, desperate for the remorseful look in his eyes to disappear. “We sounded pretty good together anyway.” I offer, my choice to look on the bright side pulling a smile on to his lips.

 “I thought so too,” Harry muses.

 We sit in silence again, but it is more comfortable this time, the two of us relaxing into the gentle wind. Eventually, we lay side by side on the grass, watching clouds drift past happily.

 “That one looks like a tulip,” I smile, pointing to a bulbous cloud.

 “You’re crazy,” Harry laughs, “Looks more like a lollipop.”

 “They’re pretty similar,” I smirk, turning my head to look at him. He does the same, and the warmth he earlier planted in my chest returns, hotter this time.

 “You were the first boy to give me flowers.” I tell him, my voice cautiously quiet, as though someone might overhear on the deserted lawn.

 His voices matches mine when he speaks, equally timid of the situation we’ve gotten ourselves into, “I’d plant you a whole garden.”

 My eyes search his face, desperate to see a crack, to find an excuse not to believe him, but the urgency in his eyes stuns me. I lay trapped on the grassy bed, warm and cosy and terrified of what I might say or do next.

 You’ll fuck it up like you always do.

 My throat parches at the though. All I can do is nod my head, returning it to its original position and begging the sun to dry the welling of my eyes.

 Eventually, I see Harry shift in my peripheral vision, mirroring my exact position and gazing back up to the sky. The heat from the sun begins to burn into my skin as if punishing me for hiding from him.

 “If I told you something would you promise not to hate me?” I ask tentatively. How much could I share before I scare him away?

 “I promise.” I hear Harry say with a breath of a laugh.

 “Okay,” I start, taking a deep breath as my mind tries to settle on a place to begin, spinning a haunting collection of memories like a roulette wheel, before thankfully landing on the lightest. “I don’t know if you saw this, but there was a video of us the night we met… outside Spago?”

 “I saw it.” Harry utters softly, my heart sinking to my stomach.

 If he saw the video, he saw the article. If he saw the article, he must have read the comments. He must have seen how poorly the idea of me in his life went down with his audience.

 “Did it freak you out?”

 “Yeah.” I answer after a moment. “Sometimes I wonder if I’ll survive this industry.”

 “I think you’re stronger than you know,” Harry says gently.

 If he only knew.

 “You sound like Lucy,” I force a laugh, trying to change the topic to shift my discomfort as quickly as possible.

 “Maybe we have a point,” Harry teases, I see a smirk slip across his face from the corner of my eye.

 “I wish I wasn’t so scared all the time,” I whisper.

 A moment of silence passes before Harry speaks up, his voice tender as he turns his head to watch me.

 “What would you do if you weren’t scared?”

 Too afraid to meet his gaze, I tell the sky, “I would trust myself. I would let myself feel beautiful and be proud of what I achieve, and the voice in my head would shut up.”

 “I get that,” Harry whispers, and when I turn my head to meet his eyes the fear melts away slightly. “I call my voice Peter and whenever he’s getting in my way I shout: ‘Fuck off, Peter’.”

 The thought brings a smile to my face, and Harry mirrors me once again.

 “Try it,” he encourages.

 “What? Just scream ‘Fuck off’?” I laugh.

 “Yeah. I’ll do it too. Just pick a name,” he smiles, head rolling back as he readies himself to yell.

 The smile on my face lingers as I watch him, biting his bottom lip with excitement as his whole body wriggles in anticipation.

 “Okay,” I grin, matching his position.

 I picture the voice in my head, all the unkind things he has said to me, made me believe about myself. I name him, putting his face to the cruelty and feeling an overwhelming sense of power at the prospect of making him own everything he has put me through.

 You really think this will work?

 In a need for support, comfort, and mainly just because I want to, I slowly slip my hand into Harry’s. I hear him exhale deeply but do not dare look at him or move at all for fear of disturbing the symbiosis of our bodies. When I feel his thumb trace over my own, a warmth settles throughout me, strong and encouraging.

 “FUCK OFF, WILL!” I shout, eyes squeezed tight.

 “FUCK OFF, PETER!” Harry hollers right after me, quickly looking back to me.

 His eyes are hopeful, an excited grin spreading across his face as we lay in the aftermath. The world seems to pause for a second, silenced by our screams, before the breeze continues through the trees and the party continues on.

 “Why ‘Will’?” Harry asks with a chuckle, adrenaline pumping through him.

 The joy drains from me slowly, agonisingly.

 “He—um, he’s my ex,” I try to say quickly, but my heart is pounding, and my teeth start chattering.

 “Oh,” Harry says sympathetically, sitting up to look at me, my hand slipping from his.

 I know he is only being kind, but the tonal shift just twists the knife in deeper. Part of me thought I could keep him a secret. The same part of me that thinks never unpacking the possessions he tainted would keep my new house pure, safe from him.

 “It’s fine.” I shrug, sitting up and picking up the tin that lays between us.

 “We could… talk about it?” Harry offers, looking at me with desperate, hopeful eyes.

 Maybe we could.

 “Okay,” I start tentatively, pausing for a long breath, “We met when I first moved here and he was wonderful, really showed me off, made me feel special you know?”

 Harry nods gently.

 “Everyone loved him,” my gaze drops to the grass tickling my skin, fingers swirling around blades, “No one really believed that things weren’t as perfect as they seemed so I thought I was just taking stuff he said the wrong way because he really cared for me and wanted me to be realistic about what I could achieve.”

 My gaze flits to Harry’s face, held cautiously still as I give him the abridged version of a year-long relationship.

 “I believed him when he said I had to manage my expectations, that the grass was always greener and only 3% of musicians ever make it big. Even when I started doing shows he wasn’t supportive…” I cannot look at him as I continue, fear and doubt climbing up my throat and forcing a lie out of my mouth, “Just kind of fizzled out.”

 Harry is silent. Pensive. For a while, all I hear is the low groan of branches in the wind.

 “Not a good guy.” He muses eventually, his voice soft and low.

 “Yeah,” I chuckle, the sight of a smile on my face causes the same reaction in Harry, “Not great.”

 “OI!” Lucy yells at the top of her lungs, drawing our attention away from each other’s empathetic glances and back to the house. “You got my weed?”

masterlist

[justacouplebandfics]

We’ve got scars on our future hearts (Jalex) - Chapter 3

Description: Alex dealt with self harm when he was younger, that’s over now though- he’s better, until he’s not. Struggling with the idea of self harming as an adult Alex keeps the issue to himself, but living on a tour bus with your band there’s only so long you can keep something a secret.

Warning: Contains graphic descriptions of self harm

It’s also available here on Wattpad, and you can find the masterlist here. 

Alex's POV

The show went great, well, in my mind it went great. The alcohol slightly numbing my system might be skewing my perception. Jack seemed a bit on edge, understandably- but it looked like he hadn't told any of the guys. We all joked around, Jack joining in occasionally but mostly staying on the side lines, the crowd all seemed super into it- if there was any visible animosity between me and Jack they definitely didn't pick up on it.

"Damn Alex, what'd you get up to this afternoon?" Rian asks as we all walk back towards the tour bus "I've not seen you that pumped in while."

I think about it for a moment- telling them I was solo drinking in the middle of the day is probably a bit of a red flag, especially after this morning with Jack. But I don't have to completely lie "I found this Mexican restaurant in town, they serve you a beer with each taco- I guess I just kinda lost count a bit" I laugh.

Rian joins in "Does this mean you're coming out with us tonight then?" I look over at him, and Zack behind him looking on expectantly.

"Yeah I guess so!" I say without really thinking. I'm not sure more drinking is the best thing for me right now, I should probably take the evening to process what's happened today, but before I can revaluate Rian and Zack are already running towards the bus to take the first shower, leaving me with Jack.

I hear his footsteps stop falling in line with mine and turn around to see him standing still staring at me, we make eye contact and the tension is unbearable- neither of us want to speak first but we both know something needs to be said. With the remaining liquid courage in my system I decide I'll break the silence "What?" It comes out a lot harsher than I intended, and I cringe internally as his face drops a bit.

"What do you mean 'What?', I understand that you don't like talking to people about your problems Alex but I'm not okay with that- I'm not comfortable just pretending this morning didn't happen"

I can feel the same uncontrollable wave of emotions building inside me as earlier, but I try to push it down and diffuse the situation "Jack, I know I flew off the handle a bit earlier, and I'm sorry- I shouldn't have done that. But what you saw isn't anything to worry about. They're old blades, I honestly forgot they were in there- I'm fine" I tell him, putting on a smile. Nice, nailed that.

But Jack doesn't think so "That doesn't add up and you know it, don't lie to me."

So much for controlling the emotions- words start coming out of my mouth before I have a chance to think about them "Can you just stop Jack? I don't need this pity, and I don't want it- I didn't ask for you to go rooting around in my stuff this morning." Jack looks taken aback, and before I can stop it "Just leave me the fuck alone."

I turn and start walking to the tour bus, the moment the words left my mouth I regretted them, but I'm still so consumed with emotion that I don't know how to process that, let alone rectify it. Fuck it, maybe getting wasted is exactly what I need.

Jack's POV

Alex is drunk- not regular Alex-letting-off-steam drunk, not even first-record-deal-party drunk, Alex is beyond wasted. Sure- it's a laugh, and I'm sure if this morning hadn't happened I'd be right there alongside him, but it wouldn't be happening at all if this morning hadn't happened.

Me and a few of the crew are standing a bit off to the side, nearer the bar so the music is just quiet enough that you can have a conversation if you really try. They're talking about some show that's just come out, I smile and nod in what I think are the right places, not really trying to hear what they're saying- I think they're mostly involving me in the conversation to be polite anyway, I'm much too focussed on Alex.

He's out in the middle of the dance floor surrounded by the guys, he looks like he's having the time of his life- but every now and then he stops just for a moment and he gets this blank look on his face, but as soon as it comes he's right back into it. Maybe I'm reading too deep into it- maybe it's just because he's drunk, but there's something about it that just doesn't sit right with me.

I decide I'm not doing myself any good by watching him and go out to the smoking area, I don't even really want a cigarette, I just want some fresh air and a clear head. I light one up anyway and lean against the barrier, taking some deep breaths- I think about how to talk to Alex without him blowing up on me again. I was a little hurt by what he said earlier but the rational part of me knows he didn't mean it, he's just overwhelmed, he doesn't know how to handle what he's going through. I'm disrupted from my thoughts when a group of girls come out into the smoking area, all loud giggles and screams- I give them a smile and quickly finish my smoke, stubbing it out and heading inside. I'll take pounding music over drunken screams any day.

It takes a minute but I find the group again, they've moved off the dance floor and are now over by the bar- I notice there's no Alex.

"Where's Alex?" I ask Matt, not caring how desperate it sounds.

"Oh dude you just missed it!" He laughs "The kid was wasted, threw up all over Rian's shoes and started babbling on about how sorry he was for everything"

"I tried to tell him it's just a pair of trainers, I can get them cleaned but he didn't seem to get it" Rian adds, I look down to see him in just his socks, shoes kicked off to one side and looking definitely worse for wear.

"So where is he?" I ask again.

"On his way back to the bus, I guess he must've got all the booze out of his system when he threw up on Rian 'cus he was with it enough to call an Uber"

"You let him go on his own?" I shouted.

"Dude chill, Zack offered to go but he was adamant he was fine- seriously once he quit the crying he seemed pretty sober."

None of this was sitting right with me at all, something about Alex's behaviour was just so wrong. "I'm gonna go back too, I'll see you guys later" I told them, not waiting for a response before I started jogging towards the exit.

Alex's POV

I stumble onto the bus, throwing my jacket down on the sofa- I'm not even that drunk, yeah I threw up but whatever that happens all the time when people drink. That's not the reason I needed to come back, I needed to come back because I realised I am the problem, the way I spoke to Jack, the way I treated him when he was being nothing but kind to me- it's disgusting. I'm disgusting. I'm this huge, pathetic burden on everyone I'm around.

I make my way to my bunk and grab my sunglasses case, bringing it to the bathroom with me and slumping down on the cold tile floor. I open it up and tip it upside down, but all that falls out are the sunglasses- frowning, I tilt it back up and pry open the back pocket, there's nothing in there. "Fuck sake Jack!" I shout, realising he must've got rid of them after this morning- I don't know why I expected them to still be there, it makes sense. I bang my head back against the cabinet and think for a moment.

It's not that I'm planning on killing myself, I never cut deep enough for that anyway, I just feel like I deserve the pain tonight. Opening up the cabinet behind me I have a look around to see if there's anything I can use- I see an unopened pack of razor heads, taking one out and smashing it open with the corner of my phone case I pick up one of the blades. Its so much thinner than anything I use, I lightly run it along my finger and it cuts right through the top layer of skin- okay so it's a lot sharper than anything I use too.

I take off my jeans and throw them against the door, hiking my boxers up on the right side. Taking a deep breath I position the razor on a clean patch of thigh, dragging it across my skin- its light, barely even breaks through the first layer of skin, so the next one I push harder, then harder. The alcohol's thinning my blood so I'm bleeding way more than normal, the floors a mess- I'm not sure how I'm going to clean this up before one of the guys get home.

With far too much alcohol-induced confidence I push down deep and do one final slice on my thigh- it looks different and I immediately know I've fucked up. Bubbles of fat are popping up through the skin and it's bleeding bad, this is so much deeper than anything I've done before.

"Oh fuck" I say to myself, I keep repeating it again and again just staring at it- I'm hyperventilating and I have no clue what to do, I start to cry, salty tears streaming down my face, snot bubbling out my nose. I press tissues to it and it starts to stop the bleeding but that only means I can see the fat better now- it's terrifying. I used to think when I hit fat I'd finally feel content with my self harm, that it would feel like some kind of achievement, but the reality couldn't be further from that.

I'm so caught up in my own mess I don't notice Jack entering the bus until he's swinging open the bathroom door, he looks down at the blood and the tissue I'm pressing to my thigh and then up to my face. "J-Jack" I sob, no idea how to deal with this situation, "Please help" is all I can think to say.

"It's okay" he keeps repeating "It's gonna be alright," normally I hate when people say that but now it's okay, it's what I need. I need someone to tell me it's going to be okay. He kneels down beside me and takes the razor from my hand, I didn't realise I was still holding it, and leans over to grab the rest of the broken razor head from the floor and throw it in the bin.

He takes a deep breath and moves my hand holding the tissue, by this point mostly soaked with blood, pulling it away from my thigh. I watch his face as he looks down, his eyes go wide for a moment "Oh god 'Lex, I think this might need stitches" he looks up at me and back down to the cut.

"No please Jack I don't want to go to the hospital, I don't want people to know" I plead with him, he looks at me with so much emotion in his eyes, and after a sharp sigh bends over to kiss me on the forehead.

"Alex I don't think that's the right decision but it's your decision- I know we have some butterfly stitches in the first aid kit out front just give me a moment I'll go get them." I nod, tears still falling from my eyes, but at least I'm breathing somewhat normal again. He returns with the butterfly stitches and some bandages- looking back down at the cut I've noticed it's stopped bleeding, they all have. "You're gonna need to get cleaned up before we can bandage this up, do you think you're able to get in the shower?" he asks, turning it on so the water heats up.

I stand up slowly, putting my weight mostly on the clean leg and hobble towards the shower "Yeah, I think I'll be able to manage it"

"I'll be right outside the door, just shout if anything goes wrong." He makes a move towards the door.

"No wait, please stay" I beg, catching his arm. "Please, I don't want to be alone." He looks at me before pulling me into a hug, I wrap my arms around his waist as he wraps his gently around my shoulders.

"It's gonna be okay 'Lex." He buries his nose in my hair for a moment and pulls away "If I'm gonna be in here while you get showered I'm going to grab some cleaning stuff and start clearing this up- I'll be back in a second okay?"

I nod and take off my boxers and shirt when he leaves the room, stepping into the shower- grateful that the steam fogged up the glass so Jack couldn't see me. I start to wash off the blood, some of it dried, some of it still fresh- I can vaguely see Jack's figure on the floor, scrubbing at the blood. I feel bad, I should be the one doing that.

"I'm all done out here when you're good" he calls out after a while "there's a towel and some boxers on the toilet, just let me know when to turn around" he calls out over the shower door.

"Okay, I think I'm done- turn around." I step out the shower to see him standing in the doorway facing away from me, I quickly pat myself dry, taking extra care on my thigh so as not to make the cuts start bleeding again, and slowly pull on my boxers; Stretching the right leg to the absolute limit of its elasticity so it doesn't touch any of the cuts- unsure what to do I sit down on the toilet lid. "All dressed" I say kind of awkwardly, and Jack turns around.

He immediately kneels down in front of me and starts working on my leg "Okay so I did a little bit of googling and I think we need to close up this big one with some butterfly stitches, and then the rest we can just cover up with bandages" he looks up at me as if asking me to confirm, I nod weakly, it all sounding right to me, and watch as he takes out a couple butterfly stitches.

"I think this might hurt a little, I'm sorry" he says, pushing either side of the cut together so it closes up, I wince a little in pain but keep my leg still- there's no point jumping around and making this take longer. Sticking one side of the stitch to one side of the cut, he moves his hand and tapes the other piece to the other side, closing up half of it- he repeats the same process again and the cut looks a lot less scary. Still not great, but it could definitely be worse. He cuts off a piece of bandage and tapes it down, covering all the fresh cuts.

Once he's done he simply holds my thigh in his hands for a while, looking into my eyes "Jack I'm scared" I finally break down again, hunching over into a sobbing mess.

"I know 'Lex" he tells me, standing up and scooping his hands under my knees, picking me up to carry me to his bunk. He sets me down on the edge and climbs into the bunk, scooting backwards against the wall; pulling up the covers he gestures for me to come in and be the little spoon. With my injured leg facing upwards I get under the covers next to him, he wraps his arms around my chest and pulls me back, holding me tightly. "I'm always here for you." I break down into another fit of sobs, but Jack calmly runs his hand through my hair and shushes me until I fall asleep in his arms.

disclaimer: If you hit fat ALWAYS go to the hospital guys, it's not an option- it leaves the risk of infection insanely high if you don't get it professionally stitched. Remember, this is just a story.

[bangtancentricsblog]

vampire MC x human Yoongi (aka the one where Mc and Yoongi are mates)

mentions of blood loss, killing of infants, parent death, vampires are cunts, also heavily unedited as all works are when I post

others

It'd been almost three months since you'd fed from Yoongi. His heart ached at your silent treatment of him. He'd smashed his phone after a month of you ignoring his calls and messages. He was a mess, blonde hair now showing the roots, eyes adorned with deep heavy purple bags from lack of sleep. The worst was that he'd wracked his brain for possible ideas on what he'd done wrong. He always came up with the same idea; you hadn't really loved him. Sure you'd begun dating under the rule that it was only so you could feed from him. But something had changed in you, some odd weeks later you'd taken less of his blood. Only feeding from him every Sunday, you still came around though often times just to hang out, go out, and sleep.

It was no wonder he'd grown accustomed to your presence in his apartment. It was during a feeding you'd taking a bit too much, so much so he'd weakly had to push you away as he pressed the silver ring on his finger into your arm. His barely coherent mind caught the sizzle from the silver making contact with your skin before you pulled away. Lips stained red, eyes wide once a beautiful shade of brown now glowing carmine. It faded in seconds your eyes quickly darting over his somewhat unconscious form lips trembling as your tongue wrapped around the abundant apologies fleeing your being. Your tongue felt heavy in your mouth as you realized what you'd done. You'd fled after sealing the wound and that was the last he'd seen of you.

Yoongi after so much time had made up his mind, he'd go to your house and get you to speak to him. He deserved an explanation, that was the least you could do. So he pulled on a jacket and headed out. His mind was so busy he'd made it there faster than he anticipated; and now stood before the door to the giant Victorian. A heaviness he hadn't felt before suddenly sat atop his shoulders with feet cemented to the ground. His game plan had been simple, show up, get an explanation, make up and then leave. Simple right? Except now it didn't seem like it. His heart hammered in his chest reminding him that he was in front of a house filled with vampires and he was very much human. So human in fact it took him promptly five minutes to finally notice that Jimin had been sitting just outside the front door. A small hesitant smile lining his lips that could turn any hetero man in an instant.

"Jimin, how long have you been there?"

"Long enough besides I knew you would come around sooner or later."

"Did you foresee this moment?"

"No, I'm just good at guessing games; and you forget I'm a half-blood. We don't get fancy powers like the pure bloods."

"Then how could you possibly know I was going to be over today? I'm here to talk to _____."

"I didn't. I assumed you would but I don't think it wise for you to be here."

"Why?"

"You do remember that you're human right? I mean how can one not realize their own mortality."

"Of course I know I'm human what does that have to do with _____? Is there something you're not telling me?"

"Hyung would kill me if he knew what I was doing. Lets take a little walk and while we're at it how about we have some story time."

"I'm not up for your crap right now. As your hyung I want to know where _____ is."

"In human years of course but I'm way older than you. Born in the 1400's, so that would make me a hyung by default no?" Yoongi sighed heavily watching as the young vampire stood, dusting off his jeans and casually walking down the steps.

"Your not allowed to see _____."

"Why not."

"She's gone on a rampage. So Hoseok had to lock her up to keep her safe."

"What do you mean by rampage?"

"You see pure bloods and half bloods differ only slightly. Half bloods are always from a vampire mother and human father. Pure bloods have both vampire parents except all vampire females are half bloods and all if not most males are pure bloods. Thus creating a pure blooded vampire such as Hoseok, and Jin. Namjoon and I are half blooded born from vampire mothers and human fathers. We're born with no special power, our fangs are shorter and appetite can be quenched with both human food and blood."

“So then what is _____?"

"She's a rare type of vampire. One of the few female pure blooded vampires in all existence."

"I don't understand just how many pure blooded female vampires are there?"

"In Korea, just two including _____. On the world, about 40 give or take."

"That number seems surprisingly low."

"Oh it is. The Vampire court usually keeps count of how many vampires consummate and spawn children. Those vampires belong to a smaller group called a coven and even smaller more family oriented clans. Our clan has tried our very best to keep _____ away from the watchful eyes of the Vampire Court."

"But why?"

"Pure blooded females are stronger in every manner. They'd easily outnumber vampire males 7 to 1 just like human females. Except instead of oppressing them like you humans do the vampire court eliminates them the day after their birth." Yoongi visibly recoils at the thought of killing babies, babies whom haven't done a single bad thing in their lives.

"It seems extreme to most and many clans are trying to fix this issue but we're not a democracy. Our entire existence is thanks to the monarchy, but just because they are stronger doesn't mean that they come without faults. _____ was born during a time where most were afraid to find out that their child was a female. We'd had some incidents where pure blooded females rampaged destroying entire towns and cities; so the court declared all female pure blooded babies be eliminated thereafter."

"So then how is _____ alive." Yoongi asked as he followed Jimin around the house and towards the forested area out back.

"_____ and I are distant relatives, hence the surname Park. Her mother was actually related to mine by some way or form. When her parents conceived they felt her automatically. Strange thing at that to be able to feel your child when she's so little just barely forming; but her mother did. So she reached out, and Hoseok came to stay with _____’s original clan keeping Namjoon and I updated. ____’s mother feared her daughters well being that she couldn't even see a doctor. So Hoseok had one brought in, one he knew could be trusted. That's when we met Jin. He'd stayed until _____ was born, unfortunately her mother died during childbirth. Her father had already agreed that Hoseok would take her and raise her as his own just like he'd done for Namjoon and I. Except he made Hoseok promise to fulfill his final wish."

"I don't even want to ask what that was."

"He asked Hoseok to burn down her estate. The rest of the clan was fine dying in the fire if it meant that _____would live. Hoseok gave us all a choice, die with the rest of _____ clan, keep this secret and stay in his clan or run with the fear that he'd find us and kill us if we ever mentioned her true heritage. It was a simple answer for all three of us; we'd been so enamored with her that we couldn't leave."

"Still doesn't answer how she went on a rampage." Yoongi pointed out.

"Your a fool to think that your special, but more a fool am I to not understand just how special you are to her. She's had human lovers before, and is the reason why we've chosen to only feed off animals. I've seen her slaughter entire towns because of her hunger for human blood. We keep her off it for her own safety; and she's been pretty good about it for a long time now. It isn't until she met you that she's begun to degenerate."

"Why's that?"

"Because you are her mate. The universe put you out in the world to be with her or be the end of her. All beings have a mate, human senses just aren't as fine tuned as the supernaturals. The day you met she knew, Hoseok made it so that she never went unescorted anywhere. We knew she snuck out just not where to, or who to. We knew she was feeding off something just not what exactly. She was always freshly cleansed smelling of fruits. Yet recently there was a stench that clung to her. Something foul and so pungent it would linger festering until the day she came home. Blood staining her clothes, tears clinging to her lashes and that crazed look in her eyes we'd all recognized."

"And that's why you locked her up."

"No, she asked us to. She begged us to do it, clung to Hoseok until he agreed. She's been here ever since."

"She chose this?"

"She did this for you, you are her mate just as she is yours. She'd do anything to keep you safe even from herself."

"Can I see her, I mean is it okay for me to see her?"

[glorifiedgpjfic]

Glorified G- Chapter 20

A/N please let me know if you are enjoying this, and feel free to send me asks about anything- myself, the story, or the characters and I’ll try to answer them as quick as I can :)

After the reconciliation with Eddie, the two made their way back to the bonfire. Joanne was the first to leave as she had an early start and she was exhausted,

“I’ll see you guys tomorrow!” She yelled over her shoulder as she unlocked her car,

“What’s tomorrow?” Stone called after her,

“I dunno!” She replied, she pretty much saw the guys every day there was rarely needed to be a reason, that's what she loved about them they were pretty easy going and you could always chat to them whether it be serious or not.

The following morning Joanne woke up an hour earlier, she had decided to get help. There was a therapist who worked for the FBI for the agents, it was a free service and it was at work so Joanne wouldn’t have a long journey to therapy before or after work. She had never really explored the office and when she was trying to find the therapist’s room she found herself getting lost in the labyrinth, as she was walking she tried to read the signs on the doors- she was so distracted by this that she didn’t see the tall, dark-haired agent walking her way, by the time she spotted the agent it was almost too late, she took a step to the left at the same time as the other agent they ended up walking into each other,

“Shit I’m sorry.” Joanne couldn’t help but laugh,

“No biggie, I’m Barry- I work in admin.” He offered his hand to shake, she took it his grip was firm and strong,

“Joanne, behavioural analysis.” He raised an eyebrow,

“You aren’t from round here are you?”

“Nope. I’m from London, but I’m adjusting to the rain- I thought England was bad for shitty weather.” Barry let out a laugh,

“You'll get used to it don’t worry. Sorry to cut this short but I’ve gotta dash. I’ll see you around?” He asked Joanne nodded,

“Yeah, I’ll see you.”

After aimlessly walking along the corridor she finally found the door that said, ‘Dr Isles, Therapy’ with a sigh of relief she knocked on the door,

“Come in.” A warm voice called, slowly Joanne opened the door, “Good morning, I’m Dr Isles, but you can call me Jane.” Joanne introduced herself, “So what brings you here?” Joanne paused for a moment,

“My best friend is worried about me because I have nightmares and he is trying to get me to get help, but honestly I think I just need sleeping pills then I’ll be too asleep to have nightmares.” Joanne’s logic made next to no sense and she knew that she just hated the thought of therapy,

“I’m afraid sleeping pills won’t cure this, you need to get to the root of it all- we can schedule your sessions around your work schedule if you see me once a week for a month we can see how if it works. I can see you’re sceptical about being here, I get that, but it won’t hurt to try will it?” Joanne nodded, “I an hour free now if you’d like to have a session?” Jane offered,

“Yeah okay.” Joanne reluctantly agreed to the session and almost instantly Jane began scribbling down notes. Joanne explained her childhood and the nightmares, Jane had written two pages of notes by the time Joanne was finished-  which filled her with anxiety, the session flew by really and Joanne couldn’t tell whether reliving her past was good or bad.

“So Joanne, from what you’ve shared today, I’d say you have some abandonment issues, first your parents leaving, and then your fiance and grandma- I’d like to schedule you in for this time next week and we can see what we can do to help you.”

‘Abandonment issues’ Joanne thought, ‘fan-fucking-tastic.’

She made her way back to the bullpen and she was actually just on time, there was a brown case file sat on her desk, she took a seat and opened the file. Three Hispanic teenage girls had been shot, execution style. The three girls had similar appearances, the same black hair, same age, same school, same neighbourhood. Eleanor appeared over Joanne’s shoulder,

“What do you think?” She asked,

“I think that these three are surrogates, for the real target of the unsub’s rage. I mean there is a clear ‘type’.” The question that Joanne was asking herself was ‘why?’ What had made the unsub begin killing now?

Joanne and Eleanor brainstormed the case on the large whiteboard, their day consisted of visiting the school and neighbourhood of the victims and asking around about the girls, they had turned up very few leads - but chased them nonetheless, they followed up each lead before heading back to the office to add the leads to their work. By the time they had finished they were calling it a night, the murders had at least a month in between so this killer wasn’t going to devolve.

After leaving work Joanne drove home and called Eddie over, she changed out of her work clothes into some black jeans and an old Bon Jovi t-shirt she had bought a few bottles of wine on the way home, so she grabbed the largest wine glass she owned and poured herself some, she sat on the sofa in a state of confusion- fucking abandonment issues, what the fuckety fuck - she was dragged back to reality by the sound of a knock on the door, she quickly opened it and let Eddie in she offered him some wine which he declined, she led him to the sofa and sat down,

“So I went to therapy today-” She started and Eddie grinned at her,

“And?” He prompted her to continue,

“I have ‘abandonment issues’” She said making air quotes with her hands, she found it quite hilarious really, “One fucking hour with me and she’s telling me I have abandonment issues.” Joanne tried to stifle a laugh and failed, Eddie, however, was taking it all very seriously, “Please tell me you can see that this is funny because I have been laughing at myself all fucking day-” Eddie frowned at her,

“Jo, at least it’s a step in the right direction, I know you probably didn’t want to hear that, but it means you are a little bit closer to getting help. And for what it’s worth I’m proud of you, I thought I’d have to push you more to go.” She took a sip of her wine,

“I just don’t want to rely on a bloody shrink.” She fired back, “I love that you give a shit, but is making me sit in a room and relive every shitty that has happened going to make me all better? I had one session and it made me distracted, I wasn’t thinking about the case I’m working I was thinking about how maybe if my grandma didn’t die or if my fiance didn’t leave me then I’d be fine and dandy.” It was true her head wasn’t in the game at all today,

“Look, Jo, I just want what is best for you- maybe it’s therapy, maybe it isn’t but you won’t know what works until you’ve tried.” Joanne smiled slightly at his words, nobody had ever cared for her this much since her grandma, yet she couldn’t help but want to fight him on it- maybe therapy will make things worse, sure it could get better- she knew what was coming from therapy, she knew what Jane would say and she just didn’t want to hear it because hearing it would make her had to deal with it.

“Why should I try? I can deal with my issues, I just have to stop sleeping in front of people.” She knew she needed to stop being so fucking stubborn, she let out a sigh, “I’m sorry Ed.” He nodded at her and offered her a hug, she rolled across the sofa to him which made him let out a quiet chuckle as he scooped her into his arms- she rested her head on his chest and felt overwhelmed with a cocktail of emotions, she was grateful that he cared, thankful he was there for her, and happy to be able to confide in him.

The two sat for a while in each other’s arms, Eddie twiddled Joanne’s hair and she traced patterns on his arm, once Joanne began to feel uncomfortable in the silence she pulled out of the hug and asked him what the guys were doing, he had told her they were going to the pub- so she’d suggested that they go and meet them. They walked to the pub relatively fast, Joanne only planned on staying for a quick drink but ended up having three, as she finished her final drink she decided to make her way home, she said her goodbyes. Eddie insisted on walking her home, as they walked Eddie draped an arm over Joanne’s shoulder and gently tugged her closer to him, she didn’t resist- instead she wrapped an arm around his waist, the height made it quite difficult and Joanne found herself kind of crouching so her shoulders were lower for Eddie, when he noticed he took one look at her and burst out laughing, which caused Jo to laugh, they ended up switching so Joanne had her arm over Eddie’s shoulder and he had his arm around her waist- it worked much easier for the final few minutes walking back.

They arrived at Joanne’s apartment and Joanne kind of wanted to invite Eddie in, but she didn’t want to come across as being needy,

“Well then, we made it all the way back- in one piece too!” She smirked, “so, goodnight- I guess.” Eddie smiled at her, in a way that was different to before she couldn’t quite tell what it was, his eyes seemed brighter and his smile seemed wider, which of course showed off his adorable dimples which Jo was so fond of- not that she could say anything about it without coming off as a creep.

“Yeah goodnight, Jo.” Eddie whispered before quickly pulling Jo into a bone-crushing hug when they had first met Jo didn’t peg him as the cuddly, affectionate type- but here he was hugging her at any chance he got. She’d changed too, she hated showing affection or whatever and would pull away from Theo when he hugged her or if he tried to hold her hand when they were walking- any display of affection was brutally rejected, yet with Eddie she was comfortable and his affection made her feel safe.

[renaroo]

Wednesday Roundups 7/6/17

Wow I had a lot to read and I still managed to turn it out faster than I turn out about 90% of these which I’m not sure if it’s a reflection on my reading and writing skills getting better or if I was stressing out over doing these way too much in the past. 

Regardless, we have quite a variety this week and still seem to be celebrating Wonder Joy so let’s just get into it~

DC’s Batman, Creator Owned CBLDF Defender, Marvel’s Spider-Man/Deadpool, DC’s Superman, IDW’s Transformers: Lost Light, DC’s Wonder Woman FCBD, DC’s Wonder Woman: Steve Trevor, Viz’s Yona of the Dawn

DC’s Batman (2016-present) #24 Tom King, David Finch, Danny Miki, Clay Mann, Seth Mann, Jordie Bellaire

Okay, so I follow Batman at a distance because I’ll be completely honest: Tom King absolutely lost me with the Gotham and Gotham Girl plot because I just could not get into it, and it annoyed me, so I’ve been hands off with the title for the most part, a decision I only double downed on with the Catwoman debacle and my correct assumption in King really relying too heavily on TWISTS. a

.... 

But I absolutely picked up this issue because even if nothing in my thinking brain believes, at all, that this will be allowed to change the status quo between Bruce and Selina...

I love BatCat so much you guys.

He proposed. And I bought it purely for those pages.

I have to emphasize it was for those pages alone because I could not have cared less about Claire and Bruce’s conversation because I’m just so tired of how many people there are in Gotham and how this conversation would have been so much more meaningful if it came from Kate or Dick or Tim or Cass or Duke or Harper or Damian or Julia or Luke or Jean Paul or Leslie or -- THERE ARE SO MANY BAT CHARACTERS THAT ARE NOT BEING USED TO THEIR FULL POTENTIAL RIGHT NOW DAMMIT.

The conversation itself is kinda stuff we’ve heard before, and while I like how it tied in thematically it just wasn’t in me to not criticize the fact that it’s coming from the current OC of the Day. 

Anyway. 

I came for the BatCat and I was happy for it even if it was basically only three issues and I had to deal with grown artists making Gotham GIrl’s skirt incredibly short while she was in weird positions for most of it. 

So. That’s my take on that.

Now I can write 3 million fics about how this could be wonderful and that Helena Wayne gets to grow up with all her siblings and be loved by the world. byyyyeeeeeeee

Creator Owned CBLDF Defender Vol. 2 #2 Marc Adreyko, Gene Luen Yang

So this is mostly just an addition at the last minute both because it’s free and because it’s, well, an information brochure about uniting to subscribe or pledge money to the Comic Book Legal Defense Fund for all those who have been encouraged into activism thanks to recent events and the collective consciousness surrounding events like last year’s Pulse nightclub shooting.

It’s a good idea and it’s pro-community messaging speaks to me. I’d like to spread awareness for people that these voices are out there and that if you’re interested in providing support you can check out this particular brochure on Comixology for free or google at your leisure.

Marvel’s Spider-Man/Deadpool Vol. 2: Side Pieces Scott Aukerman, Gerry Duggan, Penn Jillette, Nick Giovannetti, Paul Scheer, Joshua Corin, Reilly Brown, Scott Koblish, Todd Nauck, Tigh Walker

Okay, so... I like Spider-Man/Deadpool’s first arc... but it’s pretty much exactly like Trinity over at DC and it’s spiritual predecessors Batman/Superman and Superman/Batman in that, outside of what’s honestly a pretty stellar initial premise, there is not a whole lot of plan behind where the comic wants to go for the future. 

So you get a whole lot of different creative teams and no cohesive narrative or direction for the comic to go. 

But I guess that really brings into question what makes ongoing comics work and whether or not th idea of “hilarious monthly team ups of Spider-Man and Deadpool without a point, and assumedly without continuity consequences” is enough to work. 

And as someone who honestly really enjoys one-shot one-and-dones, that’s honestly a pass for me. 

But at the same tim... I mean there’s a reason I have both Spider-Man/Deadpool and Trinity on trade wait status now. 

The whole is not equivalent to the sum of its parts, but honestly it’s got some genuinely funny and worthwhile parts as it stands. And I appreciate that. 

DC’s Superman (2016-present) #24 Patrick Gleason, Peter J. Tomasi, Doug Mahnke, Jaime Mendoza, Mick Gray, Joe Prado, Wil Quintana, John Kalisz

You know, sometimes being a comic fan is kind of like reading the newspaper more than reading a narrative story. 

For me that’s kinda what this issue felt more like, I was getting information on where all the characters had moved since last time, the motivations, some backstories. Slight progress and movement in the form of an update on what happened to Lois and getting to see her still kicking Clark’s ass in gear despite his concern for her injury, which I liked, but overall this issue mostly felt like filler for the final moment where we see Jon fall completely into the control of Manchester Black. 

Who... is a big whooping plot hole I am stil waiting to be addressed. Clark remembers Manchester Black from the New Earth continuity still and the “What’s So Funny About Truth, Justice, and the American Way?” and knows about the Elite, but do they know about him? Or are they completely different from the Super Elite we knew? Are we going to get a Justice League Elite mention (which good god please spare me, though I’ll take Sister Superior). 

This is one of those cases where I feel like my overly extensive knowledge of things in continuity actually puts me at a disadvantage to actually like... reading and taken things for granted. 

I want things to make sense, or I want enjoyable Kent family shenanigans. 

But this issue did have Krypto so, I automatically add a star to it. Sorry, I don’t make the rules. 

IDW’s Transformers: Lost Light (2016-present) #6 James Roberts, Jack Lawrence, Joanna Lafuente

Look, sometimes I think it’s important for critics, reviewers, readers, what have you, to bea ble to say that they’re confused and don’t know what emotion to feel or whether or not the comic accomplished exactly what it wanted to and I’m just. Like. 

Yes that is my emotion at the moment.

A lot of stuff happened in this issue. Like lots of crazy, out there, amazing stuff was packed into a single issue and it’s like, there were panels where you’d blink and you’d miss important character development notes -- like Ratchet hugging their Rung once they got back. Like there’s so much good -- Rodimus had a lot of amazing moments throughout and I love the range of humor to anger to disappointment that he showed. Like his trust and faith in others is already pretty shattered at the moment and to feel Megatron’s apparent betrayal adding onto that is like a million times more stuff. I fear he’s nearing a very dangerous ledge, which is bad because this issue also tells us that Rodimus’ death wish and lowkey desire to put himself in dangerous positions to die heroically is still as prominent as ever. 

Someone hug my trash fire of a son, please.

And then magical girlfriend romance bringing back her girlfriend as a baby and it’s kinda weird like is it still going to be the same Lug? Does Anode acknowledge that it’s weird? Is anyone going to point out that they could feasibly use protoform matter now to resurrect anyone whose spark remnants are available now? Including Skids and Ravage?

what is going on

Anyway. 

There’s a lot packed into this issue which is why I am honestly kind of happy that next issue’s description is a “fallout” from this because holy shit, I need room to breathe and think through things.

Also. Dat smile when Megatron heard Optimus’ voice in the epilogue-ish finale. I like. Maybe had a fangirl moment. Just maybe. 

Anyway. I’m shrug emoji right now until I can get my emotional state sorted out because wow there’s a lot at the moment. Like a lot. A lot a lot.

DC’s Wonder Woman FCBD 2017 Special Edition (2017-present) #1 Greg Rucka, Nicola Scott, Romulo Fajarado Jr.

Like last week’s Wondy special, this is a reprint, but it’s a reprint of the first issue of “Year One” which still holds up as the far superior of the two starting Wonder Woman titles from Rucka last year and is amazingly well held up...

...save of course for the exact same criticisms as the last time I went over the issue which is Dead Bro Walking trope and a whole lot of Rucka Why???? that comes attached to the really bizarre treatment of race in the first arcs of the series. It’s just so bizarre.

But honestly, again, these moves are meant to attract the new, excited audience after the box office smash that has been the Wonder Woman movie -- an audience that has been largely female of all ages. And if there’s one free comic I’m glad will show up immediately on their google searches this Wednesday, I’m very glad it’s going to be the start of what has quickly become my favorite standard bearer of Wonder Woman’s origin story. 

Something I appreciate even more after having finally read the entirety of Azzarrello’s Wondy run which. Eck. Wash my mouth out. 

DC’s Wonder Woman: Steve Trevor (2017) #1 Tim Seeley, Christian Duce, Allen Passalaqua

So this addition to my pull was kind of unexpected in that I had no idea that it was coming out this week and thought “why not” because I’m literally still so Wonderfully Pumped Up a the moment and as far as I can see, the more proceeds DC and WB can see attributed to Wonder Woman the better.

That being said, Tim Seeley really dug into his Grayson roots in this one because that’s about the only thing I really got from this issue is that Steve Trevor’s a badass secret agent with secrets and a deep seeded guilt thing. Which kinda felt like a harsher toned take on his Dick Grayson more than anything else. Which is fine.

Part of the problem here is that I did not read the New52 short term published book that was A.R.G.U.S. or whatever where Steve starred during the weird interim where Steve was not allowed around Diana and Lois wasn’t allowed around Clark but DC still wants to make money from fans anyway.

idk. And since those kinds of spy books are rarely my cup of tea, I don’t think this issue sold me on renigging on that instinct.

Still it was cute and Diana and Steve’s interactions, while minimal, are really the driving portion of his narrative which I think is always good.

But, just like the Annual, I’m left just sitting here going “why don’t we use this opportunity to show off the upcoming Wonder Woman creative team, DC????”

And I get no answer bc DC actually doesn’t care about some weirdo random blogger on the internet constantly screaming at them.

Viz’s Yona of the Dawn (2009-present) Vol. 6 Mizuho Kusanagi

I have actually been very interested in Akatsuki no Yona since I saw its anime show up in my Crunchyroll feed, and as with most anime I can’t help but immediately try to find the manga instead because I am impatient and want Answers Now. As I understand it, the Viz official translations are far behind the current run of the manga (makes sense, as the manga series has been ongoing since 2009 in Japan), and is only catching up to where the anime left off so far, but that’s more than okay for me right now.

Because oh my gosh, it’s so amazing to read such a beautiful story about the growth, empowerment, and pure will of a female character as told by a female author and artist. I’m not the biggest fan of Shoujo as a style of art, but having Yona strike a balance between beautiful and cutesy visuals with what is ultimately a fairly action driven plot with intense moral posturing and constant detail put into the grayness of life’s choices makes Yona of the Dawn honestly unlike just about any Shoujo I’ve read before. 

Yona is one of the most compelling heroines I’ve ever seen, and her intensity of spirit and her meaningful examination of her kingdom makes this fairy tale story really unlike anything else out there. 

And while I’ve really enjoyed Yona to this point, I have to say it is an amazing relief to reach Volume 6 an finally get more female characters than just Yona. I like the reverse harem appeal of the cast as it has been so far, and I have affection for several of the boys, but man is it so much more meaningful to have a few more compelling female characters backing up Yona in the representation department.

Especially since some of Yona’s crew still feel... a little bland to me. It’s usually not a good sign in a massive cast when the traits that come immediately to mind for me are purely character design. 

I’m excited for what’s to come and to see how our Princess fully realizes her potential as the Crimson Dragon. 

Also I should note some skeevy parts of this. One I don’t mind but am sure other people might, there’s the fact that Yona’s current storyline is dealing with Yona taking down a ring of human traffickers and slavers, which brings up the question of autonomy both for Yona as a woman in this honestly pretty traditionally sexist kingdom but also for the Dragons themselves and how their “service” to Yona is framed as a question of their own will. But it’s still a story about human trafficking and that could bother a lot of people. Another thing in this volume, which has bothered me in the previous volumes but really came to a head this time around, is Hak’s... weirdly possessive outbursts toward Yona. I get that they are meant as... idk protective and romantic to some and that we’re supposed to be compelled by his struggle to not show his affection for Yona, but honestly I’m just kinda... naw hoss. Like Hak’s a fine character and I like his relationship and history with Yona most of the time, but like.. the weird pushing her against walls and... licking honey off of her wrists and just. idk. We’re lost in translation here or something bc I’m not a fan.

I’m also not a fan of Viz’s weird changes in the font randomly throughout the book? Like just stop. It’s bad when your translations look lazier than the fan translations I’ve seen floating around on tumblr.

I’ll be honest, as high quality as I consider almost all of these comics this week, I would say the good majority of them did not give me a fully emotional experience or really captivate me in a way that satisfied me from start to finish. And I’m sure in the follow up issues to come there’ll be a lot for me to question into why that might be for the majority of them, but that time is not now. So, as much as it may feel like cheating to pick a volumed book over single issues, I can’t help but say that Yona of the Dawn by far is my pick of the week. It delighted, it changed up its structure and storytelling, built out its world and has started spending more time on the titular characters where before it often felt like we were just taking for granted that there was a dragon gained every volume. And Yona herself is just one of the most satisfying characters to see grow into their own. 

But that’s just my opinion, I’d love to hear what you all think. Agree? Disagree? Think I missed a great comic this week? Please let me know!

[rizzizzsins-blog]

From the Ashes, Ch. 5

Wanna read this on Archive? Click here.

 It felt like an eternity before Dr. Dreemurr knocked.

 “Asher? May I come in? I am also bringing some other Royal Family members. You may accept or refuse to see them, and it will be completely alright.”

 “No, it’s okay,” he assented.

 The click of dress shoes let him know she was being followed. The door opened, and two very different looking goat monsters followed in behind Dr. Dreemurr.They were a couple, with rick dark hair and mahogany eyes that watched him with unreadable expressions.

 The woman introduced herself first, holding out a hand.

 “How do you do? My name is Fafriel Dreemurr, and I am the current queen of the Underfell Kingdom and its peoples. It is lovely to meet you, and to be sure that you’re alright… well, alright enough.” Her language and enunciation were a little stiff, but Asher could tell she wanted to be there. He shook her hand.

 “You’re meant to kiss it,” the male grumbled from back in his chair.

 “Gorey, he’s not one of our subjects. He’s not required to follow such outdated protocols.”

 “Hmph,” the male replied.

 “Come introduce yourself, you curmudgeon.”

 He sighed. “You’re right… I’m being unreasonable. Good afternoon, young dryad. I am King Fafgore of the Underfell Kingdom. I am pleased to see you talking and moving.”

 “Hehe, am I supposed to kiss your hand?” Asher joked, trying to loosen him up.

 There’s a beat of silence. Both women are frozen stiff.

 Then raucous laughter from the man. “Oh, goodness! You certainly know how to break the ice. In all my centuries of performing as King, not once has a male monster asked if he needed to kiss my hand, even those attracted to other males. No, you do not need to kiss my hand, but you may if you feel so inclined.”

 Asher elected to shake it. This seemed fine.

 “Excellent. Now, let’s get down to business…. Dr. Dreemurr, if you’d explain the technicalities.”

 The doctor took a deep breath, sighing with relief.

 “.... Mr. Asher, you have a serious, irreversible case of VCD I and II. Void contamination disease, and its mental counterpart, Void Contamination Disorder.”

 “What does that mean? I didn’t take past Intro To Monster Bio,” Asher admitted.

 “It means that the concentrated VOID that the Collider lets into reality to do its work has been completely absorbed into your body. It is now inseparable from you.”

 Dr. Dreemurr hands him a very outdated looking brochure.

 “I apologize for the datedness of the documentation, but this has not happened in a very long time. Anyways, VOID contamination on your level has enormous consequences on your mental stability and physical functions.”

 “Like what? You’re being pretty vague.”

 She winced. “I’m sorry…. I just really do not wish to see you suffer, child.”

 Asher swallowed. “I can take it.”

 She continued. “You have lost the ability to flower. You are infertile.”

 These weren’t really bad news, since Asher had never wanted children or flowers in the first place.

 “You are infertile both in the sense of reproduction and in a magical sense. You can no longer grow living plants with the touch of your hand, as far as we know, and your bullet patterns… I don’t know what they’re going to look like now, but please be exceedingly careful with using your magic.”

 He nodded.

 “You will experience symptoms of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, memory loss, nonsensical or garbled memories, memories belonging to other people or timelines, random facts or premonitions that turn out to be true, headaches, and you are no longer photoreceptive. You will have to eat much more food than you are likely used to.”

 He nodded, a little more weakly.

 “Thankfully, the DTC container did not burst or puncture during the Colliding process, or we would be looking at something much worse, but I understand that this is hard news to bear…. Other symptoms include chronic pain, partial molecular and magical instability, loss of ability to heal others unless they are also contaminated, difficulty exerting your body or magic, and tremors. Considering the severity of your contamination, any of these symptoms are possible at any time. There is little we can do to mitigate these issues other than physical and psychological therapy…. I’m sorry,” Dr. Dreemurr gulped. Tears sparkled in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall.

 “So… I’m guessing I can’t go back to work.”

 Dr. Dreemurr shook her head.

 “How am I supposed to make rent? Buy groceries?”

 “You cannot. Not reliably.”

 Asher’s breath picked up. Panic was rising through his roots.

 “What am I supposed to do? Am I gonna be put away in some nursing home with a lady spoon-feeding me?!”

 “Certainly not. That would be a waste of your remaining faculties, and maddening, I’m sure, for a man as young and alert as yourself,” Fafgore stopped him. “This is where my wife and I would like to come in. We have an alternative proposition for you. You can accept or revoke your consent at any time.”

 Asher took deep breaths and tried to listen.

 Dr. Dreemurr handed him a cup of tea, his bed manifesting a table to steady it. He couldn’t drink it. His hands almost knocked the cup over until he tucked them under his thighs.

 She handed him a silly straw with a strained smile. He took it with his mouth and drank the tea in slow sips.

 It did make him feel just a little better.

 “We would like to, as the Royal Families, with my wife and I at the helm, offer you a lifelong trust fund and assistance. You would not be wealthy, but you would want for nothing. You could live in any assisted living facility you liked, or with an attendant, but you would retain your independence.”

 “That doesn’t sound very independent.”

 “It is the best we can do,” Fafgore sighed. “I know how frustrating this must be for you. A close confidant of mine underwent this many years ago.”

 Asher’s lower lip trembled.

 The last things he’d used to cope with life had been taken away.

 “W-with all respect, your Highness…. You can’t.”

 Fafgore nodded sagely. “In any case, we would like to offer you our deepest apologies for what has happened, and our assistance. This phone number is a direct line to our house. Please avoid sharing it if possible. You may contact us at any time, no matter the hour, and we will respond.” He handed Asher… a business card, amusingly enough. Asher nodded his thanks.

 “Well… we would strongly recommend that you do not drive home. Do you have a ride, or would you like us to arrange for someone?” Dr. Dreemurr asked.

 “I-- I can f-find someone on my app.”

 “Alright. Your clothes and personal items that survived are in the cabinet over there. Please use the rails if you have difficulty walking to it, but you should have about 80% faculty in your legs or more.”

 The queen of Underfell approached Asher, a slightly softer look in her harsh expression.

 She took a knee on the ground, and clasped his hand tightly.

 “My deepest apologies…. This should never have happened. If you decide to accept our assistance, you will be like my own child. You will want for nothing.”

 Fafgore and Asher both bristled a bit at the mention of children.

 “Thank you…. I need some time to think, your Highness.”

 She shook her head. “Fafriel is fine, child.”

 He nodded. Fafgore approached next. He gave Asher a deep bow, then kissed Asher’s hand.

 “You do not need to be alone. My wife and I are not the most exciting company, but our assistance will always be available to you.”

 Asher nodded again. The royal couple departed, leaving only Dr. Dreemurr.

 “I apologize if they seemed a bit over-formal… that is the nature of their kingdom.”

 “It’s okay,” Asher tried to smile.

 “I recognize this is a bit unprofessional, but… may I hug you?”

 That broke Asher. Tears rushed down his face, and he managed a yes between hitched sobs. Her fur enveloped him, and he could feel the fire of her magic imbued in her warmth.

 “I c---can’t remember the last time I was held,” he whimpered. She pulled him in closer.

 “I imagined… you have no family or partner listed in your records. I heard a young man demanding to see you, but he doesn’t seem much of a partner, if you’ll forgive me for saying.”

 Asher just assented, trying to control his breathing.

 “I j-just want us to be happy again.”

 “Take on one issue at a time, my child. Just one issue, one day, one step at a time. You may want to take some time to focus on your own happiness.”

 He stared up at her, terror and pain in his eyes.

 “.... How?”

 Dr. Dreemurr held him longer still, trying not to cry herself, before letting go.

 “Here is my number as well. There is a temporary walking stick by your clothes for you to use as you need it. I hope to hear from you, but you are not obligated to an old lady like me. Please… take care of yourself.” With that, she left.

 Asher wiped his tears up. They looked like muddy water in his hands. Disgusting. Every part of him was disgusting.

 Even so, someone probably needed this hospital room, so he took his first shaky steps off the bed, reaching for the walking stick. It was a sickly pink. He hated it, but whenever he loosened his grip on it, his knees started to buckle, so he was stuck with it for now.

 Even putting on his clothes or opening his app required several attempts, his hands spasming every time he tried to do a button or press a letter on his keyboard.

 Eventually, he managed to send a message to Scamp to pick him up.

 SCAMP: OFFLINE

 Shit. He really didn’t want anyone else to see him like this. To pick him up and wrinkle their nose.

 There was a second knock on the door.

 “Hey, princey, you still in there?”

 Asher hurriedly zipped up his jeans and buttoned his polo.

 “Y-yeah, come inside.”

 There was a snort, before the door opened. “Jesus, princey…. Let’s get you home, okay?” Cinn sighed, gently helping Asher up. It was hard to get used to the kind of tenderness that people were treating him with lately. Hopefully, gods he hoped it wasn’t pity.

 Cinn moves him into the elevator, and they head down to the parking lot.

 “Normally you could gimme an address and I’d port ya home, but I don’t wanna move you through spacetime in your state, so driving it is.”

 He walked Asher to an ‘86 Grand Prix in nearly perfect condition, a stark contrast to the walking wreck of a Lada that Scamp drove around.

 “This is certainly an upgrade.”

 “From what?” Cinn sees his phone. “Aww, please don’t tell me you’ve gotten in the walkin’ spontaneous combustion hazard that is Scamp’s car.”

 “I have. He’s actually my favorite driver on the app. Law-breaking as fuck, but he gives a smooth ride…. Uh, in the car! As a driver” Asher quickly corrected himself.

 “So ya know about Scamp’s side gig too, huh… I highly recommend. His aftercare’s the shit.”

 If Asher had been drinking anything, he would have spit it out.

 “Anyways, let’s get ya nice and comfy in there.” He scooped Asher up and placed him in the front passenger seat, bundling him up with a nice blanket.

 “I’m not an old lady, Cinn.”

 “Believe me. Yer gonna be a lot more sensitive to the temperature from now on.”

 They slowly backed out of the parking lot, and Asher gave him the address. Cinn seemed to know where he was going, until he took a wrong turn and missed an exit.

 “Whoops,” he chuckled, continuing to drive.

 After his fifth mistake, Asher caught on.

 “You’re stalling.”

 “I--err----”

 “Nope. That’s all the answer I need,” Asher chuckled dryly. “What I do wanna know is why.”

 Cinn sighed, then found a nice stretch of road to pull over in. The car came to a stop.

 “Look, I…. I’m not tryin’ ta kidnap you or anything like that. I just…. I know it’s none of my business, but I don’t really wanna take you back to that piece of shit you live with. I know his type. He’s not gonna support you in the slightest. I know you handle his bull all the time, but if he disrespects ya again in front of me like that… I don’t know if I can handle myself.”

 Asher pinched his forehead.

 “Look, Cinn. You don’t know me or him that well, and even if you’re right, we can’t avoid reality forever. So stop taking the scenic infinity route and just get me to where I need to go.”

 Cinn’s shoulders drooped a bit, but he agreed. The Grand Prix started up again, and they were at Asher’s apartment complex in five minutes.

 “Jesus fuckin’ Christ, this place is a walkin’ ADA violation. Is there a fuckin’ elevator in there?”

 Asher shrugged.

 “What floor do ya live on?”

 “9th.”

 “Please. I know I’m meddlin’ too much for your taste, but let me walk you up the stairs. I don’t trust that flimsy fuckin’ cane.”

 Asher finally smiled a bit. “Hehe, me neither. Maybe next paycheck I can….” he went silent. Cinn accepted the quiet, and they slowly worked their way up the stairs.

 As they got on the ninth floor, no thanks to the lack of handrails, Asher’s soul started to pick up. He was finally home. His bed and coffee maker were waiting for him.

 He knocked to let his partner know ahead of time that he was home. “Theo? I’m back!”

 No answer.

 “You wanna open the door? My keys got destroyed.”

 B̴̲̙͉̂ȕ̵̞̠t̴̹͆͑͆ ̴̨͋͘n̶͇̮̹̑̒o̷̲̚b̵̨͍̲̌͋̂ȯ̸̡̯̻d̷̜̳̊̇͜y̶̞̻͊ ̷̟̫̭̑c̶̟̫̠̋a̴̩̐m̵̺͚͗͛ȩ̵̢̮͆.̵̮̋̔͠

 “Theo? Theo! Look, I know you’re mad, but I really don’t have any keys.”

 n̶̹̬͇̅̔o̷̗̐̄̚b̴̢̮̈́̆̚ò̶̬d̵͎̠͆̄̚y̴̖͙̝̍͝ ̷̘̈́̾͊c̵̮͂̄ͅä̸̱͍̪̚m̷̼͋e̶͍̓͝

 ̸̮̹̫̈͛̎ṉ̶̯ȍ̶̮̔b̶̢̪͛̃͘ȏ̸̺̞̾d̷̗̼̓̂͐y̸̢̖̒͊̋ ̴͇͒c̸̞̹̑̈́a̷̮͖͊m̸̬̮͇̐̃̈́e̵̫͗

 ̶̠͝n̷̪̪͌̊ō̴̱b̴̻͌ō̶̖͝d̸͍̩̔͊͝y̶̮̞̓͐̋ ̸͔c̴̳͆a̵̖̟̓̚m̵̥̻̻̃̿̈́ę̵̪̹̉͝

 “I’m bustin’ the door down. This bastard has some fuckin’ nerve!” Cinn growled. “Can you stand on yer own for a minute?” Asher tested it, and nodded.

 “Stand back.”

 The big skeleton threw his shoulder into the door hard, busting it right off its hinges.

 Air dust flew everywhere, as if it had been settling for…

 Days.

 “... I don’t hear anything…” Asher’s voice cracked.

 “Maybe the cunt’s asleep. Let’s check it out ‘fore assuming anything.” Cinn carefully helped Asher down a couple of steps into his apartment.

 It was almost completely empty.

 His bed, his CRT television, his vintage coffee maker, his teapot, their minifridge, everything. Everything but dirty dishes, a note, and something crumpled up under one of the closets.

     “I tell you to come home at 10 PM.  

     You decide my word’s worth shit to you and go to work without even stopping by.  

     A whole week goes by and neither you nor the hospital could be bothered to contact me.  

     You’re never at home, you’re never in bed, and I’m sick of you neglecting me and acting like I don’t exist, just because I tell you things that you don’t wanna hear.  

     Sorry, but the fire’s just not there anymore.  

     Theo.”  

[infinitywartorn]

International Incident Part 2

Part 1

In the past, a group known as the Illuminati was formed by King T’Challa of Wakanda. He gathered leaders and figureheads from all over the planet in order to better protect it from ever-evolving dangers. The Wakandan King initially recruited Susan Richards, Charles Xavier, Stephen Strange, Namor of Atlantis, and Medusa of Attilan. Over time, they would add and subtract members to account for the changing world. Though the ominous name would eventually change, the group did a lot of good for the planet. They now call themselves the Infinity Watch. The current incarnation is the largest it has ever been. And it is about to become a little bigger.

Sam Alexander. Super Nova. Field Leader of Alpha Flight. Superpowered Space Cop.

Ava Ayala. The White Tiger. Member of the Defenders. An ancient tiger spirit lives around her neck.

Sam and Ava have been friends for a long time, way before they were invited to be part of this gathering of lords and leaders. Sometimes they long for their teenage days when things were simpler. However, their responsibilities have significantly grown. Sam spends his time running around Earth space, making sure the skies are clear of alien invaders. Ava, on the other hand, does the same basic thing but with magical threats.

But right now, they get a break from fighting looming threats. They each have a coffee in hand, sitting in a dining area next to a large conference room.  While they are sure everyone will be coming in super regalia, Sam and Ava are currently in civilian wear. Sam is in jeans and a canary yellow hoody, while Ava is in a white pantsuit. However, if needed their uniforms are just a watch button press or amulet touch away. Sam and Ava turn off the multiple screens with various news channels.

Sam: Sooo, what’s the over-under on Johnson being pissed?

Ava: She was mentored by Maria Hill. But Kate says she has a level head. I am inclined to believe Kate. You?

Sam: I think she’s going to be pissed. Director Rambeau and her butt heads all the time.

Ava: I can see why though. SHIELD is supposed to be Earth’s police force. Meanwhile, you space cowboys-

Sam: Hey I resent that! Remember, Alpha Flight was started by Canadians.

Ava: But you answer to SWORD, the companion organization to SHIELD. How many times has SHIELD demanded something of SWORD and they complied?

Sam: Well-

Ava: Zero. Because it is built into the UN charter that SWORD overrides SHIELD.

Sam: Alright, alright I get it. I wish you could turn off work mode sometimes. *laughs*

Ava: Sorry, just being in this place works me up. We are literally a stone’s throw away from royalty half the time. You and me? We’re just lucky to be invited.

Sam: We have been part of the group for years, you need to drop the imposter syndrome.

Ava: Easy for you to say. You are the Nova corpsman for this sector of space. Who am I? Just a girl who just so happens to be on a team that these people were interested in. If I was part of some other team, or going solo? I wouldn’t be here.

Luna: I think you earned your place here.

Princess Luna, Daughter of Crystal the Queen of Attilan. Nuhuman. Empath. Really good at sneaking up on people.

She wears an elegant green dress befitting royalty as well a black circlet made of a translucent material in her platinum blonde hair. There are intricate black patterns accented in silver that wrap around the dress, most likely Nuhuman symbols.

Ava: Your Highness, I-

Luna: I am an empath my dear. I know. No need to be stressed out. Not until Director Johnson gets here anyway.

Sam: See Ava? Nothing to worry about.

The familiar hiss of teleportation energy rings in the room.

Sam: Maybe I spoke too soon.

Daisy and Kate appear at the edge of a large conference room. Daisy keels over, holding in a retch. Teleportation can really mess up one’s senses.

Kate: You okay there?

Daisy: I hate magic.

Shortly after, Megan also appears through her own portal.

Megan: I’m going to grab some tea, anyone else?

Sam, Ava, and Luna pass Megan on the way to the kitchen, exchanging quick hellos. The former reach Daisy and Kate.

Sam: Director.

Daisy: You’re here too?

Sam: That doesn’t sound like she’s happy to see me.

Ava: Ignore him. Welcome to Symkaria Director Johnson.

Daisy: Symkaria, interesting. I am guessing you-

Kate: Have permission to be here? Don’t worry, we do.

Luna: Symkaria has been a gracious host to these gathering for many years. We are glad you have accepted our invitation.

Daisy: Your Highness… um, I’m sorry to say I am not entirely sure why I am here. Or why you are here for that matter.

Luna: Oh, I see you have not been fully briefed.

Megan returns with tea for Daisy as well.

Megan: Drink up, you’ll feel better.

Daisy: Thanks… I think. So who else are we expecting? I doubt it is just us.

Luna: That is an accurate deduction. We are awaiting quite a few of our compatriots.

Daisy: How many is a few?

  Somewhere in Latveria.

Azari: Come on Valeria. We’re going to be late.

Azari. Prince of Wakanda. His Aunt Shuri rules as the Black Panther.

Valeria: I just need to make sure these data sets are triple checked.

Valeria. CEO of the Future Foundation. Also Lord of Latveria… long story.

Neena: The sooner we get out of here, the better.

Neena. Daughter of Namor and Emma Frost. Possibly in line for the throne of Atlantis and not thrilled about it.

Valeria: Almost done.

Azari: So how does it feel?

Neena: I’m not Empress yet.

Valeria: Actually, Atlantis has a Queen. Lemuria has an Empress.

Neena: Whatever.

Azari: But you have to be excited! You’re about to become one of the most important rulers on Earth.

Neena: You know they won’t accept me.

Azari: They can’t argue with science.

Neena: I can’t even breathe underwater Azari. How am I supposed to run an underwater kingdom?

Valeria: Unfortunately the alternative is not acceptable.

Neena: I know my cousin. She won’t be a threat.

Valeria: Surface nations will not feel safe if Atlantis and Lemuria merge. Regardless of how the surface world will react, Lemurians and Atlanteans are just too culturally different. Atlanteans may not react well with a Lemurian Queen. Atlantean Civil Wars can be very bloody.

Azari: You will have the full support of Wakanda, Genosha, Latveria, Attilan, and Asgard.

Neena: But the support we need the most is Atlantis itself.

Valeria: She has a point. But the good news is that you are 40 percent Atlantean.

Neena: How is that possible?

Valeria: Well when it comes to DNA-

Azari: Short version Valeria, tick tock.

Valeria: Ugh, fine. DNA doesn’t always perfectly split. Some genetic material may activate while others won’t. It was possible for you to have zero or even half. So lucky you.

Neena: Lucky me…

Neena never thought she would be called up to lead a nation. Emma Frost was never one to be tied down, so she never really got to know her father. It is not surprising that Azari is living vicariously through Neena. Azari is eager to become the Black Panther, but Shuri believes he is still too young to take over. Ironically many people are rooting for someone that young to lead Atlantis, as long as they have a favorable outlook to the surface world.

Azari: Now can we go Valeria?

Valeria: Fiiine. HERBIE, finish up here please. If there are any issues contact Chase. I am going to be busy for the next few hours.

A floating robot takes over the console and quickly switches between watching several screens filled with data. Valeria walks onto a platform and several pieces of armor form around her almost out of nowhere.

Azari: I will never understand why you always come to meetings geared up.

Valeria: Unlike many of you, my brain is the only thing extraordinary about me.

Neena: I thought we met up so we don’t fight each other.

Valeria: Don’t be naïve. With a gathering so powerful, we open ourselves up to all manner of attack. Our homes are left vulnerable. Our teams incomplete. Striking us when we least expect it would be a brilliant opening move toward a favorable endgame.

Azari: Jeez Valeria, I think you have been thinking about this too much.

Valeria: I think you have been thinking about it too little.

Azari: Um... Neena, can you get the door?

Neena: Teleporter, access Symkaria Base Echo.

A gate-like structure before the group turns on and brings the group into the large boardroom.

Valeria: Oh look, we are still early.

Azari: Fine Val, you were right.

Neena: Director Johnson, it’s good to see you.

Author’s Note

Just some notes on the characters introduced here.

I am basing Sam and Ava’s friendship a little on the Ultimate Spider-Man animated show. Probably an early version of the Champions had Nova and White Tiger on it. Even back then, Ava would have been a workaholic while Sam was the easy going guy. Even with their responsibilities completely changed, their attitudes haven’t changed. However, don’t mistake Sam’s easygoing nature for a lack of skill. He is really good at his job even if he acts like he doesn’t take things seriously.

While none of these characters are mine, I want to specifically shout out to comic artist Kris Anka for Neena. Neena is not an official Marvel character, which is a real shame. I was a really big fan of the idea of Namor and Emma together, so I have included Neena in everything I have come up with that deals with a future Marvel Universe.

Also Azari is based on the character of the same name in the animated movie, Next Avengers. I like the idea that Azari is pumped for Neena to ascend to a throne. I imagine they are of similar ages and the irony that everyone, including Shuri, is rooting for Neena to become Queen of Atlantis while Azari has to wait until he is of age. Also, don’t worry more characters from Next Avengers will show up :)