#donation

Gentle reminder here that there are elder queers out there. Real elders, people in their 80s and 90s who survived, who are here. You can get there, old age does exist for us.

I know an old lesbian couple who have been married since the moment they legalized it. One woman can hardly walk anymore but she loves Hallmark ornaments, so her wife supports her against her walker during Christmas so she can look at them more easily.

I know a transgender man who started transitioning only 10 years ago at 60, and he's brilliant and funny and brings his grandchildren by to get sweets.

I know an asexual woman who, beamed and told me she absolutely loved not having a husband, and that she "never once regretted not getting married. I never felt that way about anybody! Why force it?" She lives with her parrot and loves salsa dancing.

Our elders exist. So many of us have been wiped out and erased on purpose, but we're here. And that means you can get there. When you're old and grey, when you're retired and done, there will be people who will love you and will care for you.

The way I still love you [2/2]

CW: obsession, kidnapping, angst, delusional love, manipulation, implied mentions of nsfw, but you can imagine it yourself idk, and a lot of switching between povs which I don’t make note of whose point of view it is.

Yandere Kamisato Ayato x GN!Reader

[The way I still love you by Reynard Silva]

UNEDITED, I apologize if there are any mistakes or typos of pronouns. 

Word count; 4300||10 pages||

Minors do not interact.

You are warned.

Keep reading

This is what colorism in media looks like.

K.C. Undercover: dark skinned men, light skinned women. the one dark skinned girl is portrayed as mean, apathetic, sadistic, and cruel.

The Proud Family: dark skinned men, light skinned women. dijonay, the only dark skinned girl, is portrayed as "ghetto" and "rachet" alongside her entire family. and suga mama, who can be argued is dark skinned, is portrayed as mean, cruel, and abusive. additionally, trudy, the mother, comes from an entire family of dark skinned people. yet she herself is portrayed as very much light skinned.

trudy proud's family (left) vs trudy proud (right).

The Hate U Give: the dark skinned main character starr on the cover of the book (left), vs. in the movie, where she is played by amandla stenberg (right); a light skinned biracial actor.

nina simone (singer, left) vs zoe saldana (actress, right), who played her in the 2016 biopic "nina".

stagecoach mary (right) vs zazi beetz (left), who played her in "the harder they fall".

ororo munroe (storm, center) vs the actresses that played her in the x-men movies (alexandra shipp - left, halle berry - right).

monster high: clawdeen wolf (right), vs. the actress that plays her in the upcoming monster high live action movie (miia harris, left). it also appears that they artificially darkened the actress' skin for the role.

strawberry shortcake franchise: orange blossom, who was lightened between her 2003 design (left) and 2009 design (right).

The problem is there. You see it. This whole "we're all black at the end of the day" bullshit is the exact mindset hollywood uses to justify the erasure of dark skinned women. None of this will EVER be okay. And the fact that y'all consistently find the same goddamn excuses to justify shit like this is exactly why dark skinned people don't fucking trust y'all.

I'm not really up to date so I didn't know you could identify as someone with a disability. Is this real?

06/24/22

CW Gun violence, death/

My friend is a trans woman who is currently homeless. Last night she witnessed her friend being shot and killed at a homeless encampment. She had to run away to avoid being shot herself. She is completely broke, out of gas, sick and traumatized, and still homeless. She just arrived in the city, but she needs to leave again after this terrifying night. Please please help. It's pride month, and I'm tired of begging every day for a trans woman to have what little she needs to survive.

Venm0 @ ruby_arnone - $charlotterose86

PayPal.me/ruby11a

The way kim k was allowed to wear Marilyn Monroe’s dress to the met gala is so infuriating both from a fashion conservation standpoint and a historical standpoint. Marilyn Monroe came from absolutely nothing and was super smart and was an advocate for minority rights and was on the fucking government’s communist watchlist and kim k thinks she has the right to wear her dress? And not only that but rich people shouldn’t just be allowed to wear historical garments whenever they want. It damages a garment that should be preserved by experts in a museum instead. Fuck off get hit by a car dumb bitch

DELETE THIS POST

Myosotis Pt.1 (ao3)

HawksxPersonal Assistant Reader. Multichap. Heroes sacrificed every part of themselves to keep civilians like you safe. But, when they lay alone in the quiet of the night, who would be there to save them? For Hawks, it would be you.

Nsfw in future chapters. Hurt/comfort and depictions of PTSD. Codependency and a little forbidden love between a hero and his PA.

Prologue

The hallway door was cracked slightly open to allow a long band of light to lay across your bedside. It was a comfort to you then. It's funny to remember your innocence. If only imaginary monsters and the absence of light could be your worst fears again. In those days, though, you’d yet to know the sting of the real world. You were ten, and safe in your childhood bedroom.

The stripe of light broke across your blanket and your door creaked gently open. Your father's voice called your name in a whisper, and you perked your head up to see his face in the crack of your door. This was a ritual you both cherished. Your father was a florist, and he often worked late into the afternoons. It was usual he got home after dark. He’d often wake you in the middle of the night to watch hero news with him, to make up for missing your day.

"Your boyfriend is on TV," he teased, and you jolted up in bed with reddened cheeks. 

"Hawks?" You blurted. It was embarrassing you knew exactly who he meant. Even more so when he laughed at your pinkined face. 

"Hurry up if you wanna see him, that kid's gone in the blink of an eye-" 

You already stumbled out of your bed. Your father stepped back into the light of the hall. His shimmering white wings dragged on the floor behind him as he followed you to the living room. 

Hawks was only eighteen then, and he’d been on the scene for only a few months. Still, he quickly became you and your father's favorite face to see in a battle. For your father, it had everything to do with Hawks being a bird, just like him. And just like you. You didn’t meet others with wings on their backs often, so it was nice to see a hero with a similar mutation. Hawks was a talented young man filled with promise, and your father loved to live vicariously through the kid's endeavors.

For you, Hawks was your favorite simply because he was cute. 

A fact your father loved to pick on you for.

"Remember to be quiet, your mother will pluck my wings if she knew I let you out of bed so late again," your father quipped as you sat beside each other on the living room couch. 

You tucked your feathered limbs against your back and nodded, but your eyes were trained on the television. You didn't miss him this time! The live camera had a hard time keeping up with him as he darted between buildings. Especially in the dark of night. The villain this time appeared to be made of liquid, so Hawks was opting to lure the enemy away from civilians as he formulated a plan. 

He didn't look bothered in the least when the camera caught a glimpse of his face. The guy almost looked bored, even, as the villain tried desperately to snag him out of the sky. He was definitely a force to be reckoned with, but you couldn't help but wonder if Hawks ever got scared out there. 

"You know, you could be a hero, too… If you really wanted to,” your dad said as he nudged you with his wing. “I mean, with that replication quirk of yours, you’d be a hard one to beat.”

Ah, your dad brought that up a lot. You loved talking heroes. Keeping up with their exciting careers was your favorite shared pastime. He seemed to like the idea of seeing you on the television one day, but every kid you knew wanted to be a hero. To follow in the footsteps of the people who sacrificed everything to look out for the community did sound exciting and glamorous. You couldn’t help but wonder, though, who looked out for them?

"There are already lots of strong heroes," you said, rubbing your upper arm in thought. "I want to be something else.”

“Oh, yeah? Like what?”

“I wanna be a PA.”

“A what now?”

“You know… a personal assistant, the people who work with heroes to make their jobs easier and stuff. I wanna get into the business course at U.A. and learn to do that,” you said as you ran your fingers over your white feathers. Those were some pretty ambitious dreams for a child to have. “I know it’s not as cool as being a hero, but I think I’d be good at it.”

The television flicked faint light across your father’s face as he smiled at you. That little cockeyed grin of his was always enough to put your heart at ease. Whether it be monsters in the closet or anxiety over an exciting and mysterious future, your father’s gentle kindness kept your heart whole. 

“Sounds pretty cool to me,” he assured you, his voice almost a whisper to keep from waking your mother in the next room. “You’re gonna do great things, Chickadee. I can feel it.”

...

The air was crisp on your lips that night. You buried your face a little deeper into your scarf to battle the cold. The setting sun cast shadows over the darkening city streets. Dusk cast the world in its beautiful blue hues. It was a weeknight, so few people were out. It was only you, your mother on one side of you, and your father who was on the other. One of his wings lay lazily over your shoulder to keep you warm against the bitter chill.

You were suffering through your awkward teen years at that point, but life was going as planned. You were fifteen and working on your first year of the UA business course. Getting in wasn’t easy, and getting your Personal Assistant license by eighteen was an even greater endeavor, but you were on your way.

Your folks took you around town that night to celebrate your grade average, and, of course, your florist father congratulated you with a surprise bouquet of lilies. The white arrangement was complemented by the powdery blue of your favorite flower, forget-me-nots. Your nose was in them half the night to savor their smell, likely a habit of the bird in you.

All was usual, and you believed that night would be like most others. Pleasant, but forgettable.

That couldn’t have been farther from the truth. It became the most vivid memory you had of life before the war.

Your father slowed his steps, his wing gripped your shoulder just a little to get you to match his new pace. He leaned down and mumbled low enough for just you to hear. 

“Do you see who I see?” he asked as he gestured his head up the street. You looked up from your phone to peer forward, and you stiffened to a stop. Up the street, no more than thirty feet, perhaps, the color red stood out against the gray blues of the city. A brilliant set of wings attached to a familiar man you’d never met before that night. At least not outside of your daydreams.

He leaned against a light pole and tapped at his phone, but he noticed your family before you were close enough for him to hear your footsteps. 

Your mouth went dry as he caught you in his sights, and your wings instinctively wrapped around you to hide yourself from his view. Your dad laughed at you, because of course he would, before giving you a little tap to try and nudge you forward. 

“He doesn’t look busy, we should say hi,” he suggested, and you shook your head no. That was HAWKS. Your favorite hero since you were like ten. You couldn’t just walk up to him and start blathering like a lunatic. 

“No, what if I embarrass myself or- dad, I- dad, come back!-”

You yanked your mom’s sleeve as if asking her to back you up, but she just gave you a stupid little grin before she muttered, “You know I can’t stop him when he gets something in his head.”

Your heart pounded against your rib cage like a wild animal. He was not gonna just prance up to the number two hero. Oh god. Your face flushed as red as Hawks’ wings. The hero lowered said feathered appendages until they touched the sidewalk beneath him. He then stood up straight to greet your father, a polite smile on his face. Go figure your dad would be the person to just walk up to a celebrity and start talking as if they were old buddies. You cringed in embarrassment at first, but it melted away when you realized Hawks kindly returned the sentiment. 

You couldn’t hear them, but your dad’s wings puffed up and fluttered behind him as he spoke. He was always bad about talking with his wingspan. Hawks tipped his head back and laughed, which made your heart thump a little in a different kind of way. He was twenty-two, then, which was a bit too old for you at only fifteen. That didn’t stop your innocent little crush from fluffing up your wings. 

Your dad turned around to gesture towards you and your mother, and then… Jesus, they walked your way. You were jealous of your father’s courage. You could hardly handle Hawks even looking at you, obvious from your puffed feathers, and there your father was making friends with the guy. Their voices echoed against the buildings lining the street, and the approaching murmur of Hawks’ voice made goosebumps raise on your arms. Your wings clenched tighter around your torso the closer they got, so your mother placed her hand gently on your shoulder to keep you from flying away. 

Which you very likely would have. 

“That was wild, seeing you and Endeavor up against that freakish hood guy. We were scared for you guys there for a minute!” you heard your father’s deep voice reverberate as they approached. Hawks replied with something or another. He was practically right in front of you. Your ears rang as blood rushed to them. You couldn’t have imagined how big his wings really were in person. Those brilliant crimson limbs of his made even your father’s look pitiful in comparison. 

“Here she is,” your dad said as his hands gestured out to you. That dumb look of pride was plastered on his face. Oh, great, he probably gushed about you through most of their conversation. 

“Hey, kid,” Hawks said as he lifted his visor to his forehead. He looked right at you. Those amber eyes were unobstructed and soft. White haze ghosted from his mouth from the chill in the air, and his nose and cheeks were dusted a faint pink from the cold. Jeeze, he was pretty. "It's not every day I meet other birds- nice to meetcha!" 

You could hardly will yourself to reply. God, how did your dad keep such a cool head with those angular eyes staring at him? You surely weren't capable of it.

"You're my favorite hero,” you squeezed out of your throat, though it came out like a whisper. Surely it was something he heard every day. That made a part of you feel better about being bashful, but there was another part that was disappointed you didn’t say something more memorable. You spent years daydreaming about what words to put together for him if you had the chance, but when he was there in front of you those pre-planned phrases slipped away.

“Ah, me, really?” he chuckled as a gloved hand scratched the back of his neck. 

His sweet, relaxed demeanor calmed you a little. Though the bottom of your face was buried beneath your wings to hide the redness in your cheeks. Your feathers stood on end, too, giving your nerves away. Surely a fellow bird would be able to pick up on your pitiful body language.

White specks fluttered down from the darkening sky as you yanked the straps of your backpack out from under your wings. This moment wouldn’t last much longer. Even if he didn’t remember you the next day, you wanted a memento of your meeting.

“Could you… sign my backpack?” you asked. Your wings finally unfurled to reveal all of yourself to him. But they fluffed right back up when he glanced at all the pins and charms that adorned your bag. Of course, they were modeled after his likeness. Your admiration was presented to him in a pitiful display. God, all of the regret! The humiliation! The poor thing made a sound in your fist as you squeezed it with whitening knuckles. 

“‘Course I can,” he replied, and his gloved hand grazed yours as you begrudgingly handed the bag over. 

His gaze dusted over the thing. As he lingered over your charms his joyful expression faltered. He still smiled, but a hint of a different emotion settled in his eyes. Your flustered disposition faded when you recognized what it was: a solemn, bittersweet sadness.

You were the only one who noticed, it seemed, as your family talked amongst each other behind you. The concern you felt for Hawks outweighed your anxiety. Why did a look at your bag bring out such emotions for him?

"Hawks, are you okay?" you pondered, and he blinked at you. “You look… sad.”

For a moment his smile failed him. The emotion he tried to hide broke through in all its glory. His mouth went slack, and his eyes lowered. But only for one vulnerable moment.

"Sad?" He said, and then his head tipped back as he let out a laugh. "How could I be sad in the presence of an angel?" 

It wasn’t the first time someone called you that, on account of your wings. But hearing those words from the mouth of your favorite hero, of Hawks. It left your heart stinging in the most beautiful way. Again, you hid behind your wings with red cheeks. 

Jesus Christ, you were gonna cry. If his goal was to distract you, he did a damn fine job.

He popped open the cap of a sharpie he pulled from his pocket and scribbled his name across the cloth. A hint of that expression returned to him, as if he was unworthy of your admiration. What exactly gave you that impression was unclear, but that look of his lingered like a bad taste. You wished there was something you could do or say to alleviate whatever was hurting him, but you knew you didn't have that kind of power. 

"Here ya go, Feather," he chimed as he returned your newly signed backpack. Really, no charm or pin could mean as much as those black sharpie stains. HAWKS, they read in messy, thick letters. You smiled faintly. It was nice to know he was just as laid back and kind in person as he was on television. 

And that little nickname. Feather, god it made your young heart swoon.

"I hate to run, but I'm afraid I have some business to attend to. It was wonderful talking with you folks," Hawks said, and your heart rattled again.

"W-wait!" you said as your fingers fumbled with the bouquet that'd been aloft in your hands. You pulled some of the arrangement free from the plastic, a lilly and several forget-me-nots clutched in your hand. "Take these."

Graciously, he extended his hand. To lay the stems of your father's flowers in Hawks' gloved palm felt like a dream, but a genuine smile returned to his face as he looked them over.

"Oh, they're so pretty," he said.

"T-they're my favorite. Forget-me-nots," you replied, cheeks pinked with the realization of how on the nose the flower choice was. "My dad grew them at his shop."

He tucked the small bundle of flowers into his jacket pocket, and then gave it a pat. 

"Sounds like a good luck charm if I ever heard of one," he said, grinning. "Thank you. I'll see you guys around!"

With That, his visor fell back down over his face and his wings stretched outwards, reaching high above you and your parents. His wingspan alone was intimidating. To be in their shadow made you feel vulnerable and small. 

"Hey, thanks for taking the time!" Your dad replied. Hawks waved before vanishing into the darkness of the evening sky.

You were completely ecstatic about the chance meeting, naturally, but that broken look on his face haunted you with unanswered questions. Little did you know your life would one day revolve solely around finding the answers. 

…

Chapter 1

Life goes on, they say. Many parts of the city remained in ruins as reconstruction efforts heaved on for years after the war, but things slowly began to look the same again. You could walk down the street without being reminded of that terrible time, which was good, because today was supposed to be one of the best in your life. 

You were an adult, well, sort of, finally having turned eighteen and graduated from school. You were the top of your class at UA, a goal you worked tirelessly to achieve. 

That’s what earned you the right to take the PA certification exam the week before. Hundreds of hopefuls went in for testing. Only a fraction left with a license. And, honestly, you weren't surprised you were the only one to achieve a perfect score. It could be no other way if your dream was to be realized. To become the most saught after personal assistant in Japan.

Looking after someone in the hero field isn’t a job for the faint of heart, and there’s a lot more to the title than most people realize. To keep heroes on task and handle their business dealings was only a small part of the job. The other chunk of the was what got you interested to begin with. The human part. Every PA is required to act as psychological support as well. You took four years of psychology through school to even be allowed to take the certification exam. 

At the end of the day, heroes sacrificed every part of themselves to keep civilians like you safe. They got hurt. Their loved ones died. A heroes' job was to do the saving. But, after so much had been lost and they lay alone in the quiet of the night, who would be there to save them?

For some hero out there, you would be by the end of the afternoon.

The Safety Commission administered your exam and that day they’d be assigning you to a hero. Anxiety coursed through you, of course. This was your first PA assignment, so you’d probably be placed with a lesser known hero who just needed some extra help around the office. At least until you proved yourself worthy of handling more serious cases. A rookie like you won’t be placed with the likes of a top ten or anything, but that thought helped ease the anxiety. 

You hummed pleasantly to yourself as your dress shoes clicked against the pavement, daydreaming about who you could end up assigned to. But the daydreaming halted when you realized the footsteps behind you got persistently closer. Your head turned to glance around your wings, but your steps got faster. A man lingered behind your stride, and it seemed he was following you. He could've had bad intentions, or he could've just been in a hurry. Your side of the street is rather sparsely populated, however, and he never walked past you. 

You made eye contact, but his legs moved in tandem with yours, inching closer and closer with each step. He would've stepped on your tail feathers if his dirty sneakers got any closer. Your wings puffed in preparation to take off in flight if the guy tried anything. As he got close enough for your wings to pump in warning, a large, dark shadow glided over you. Your eyes shot upward, and your heart settled comfortably when you saw a pair of red wings block out the sun. It was a hero. The number two hero, Hawks, specifically.

His wings pumped before his boots slammed into a utility pole not far ahead. He squatted and lifted his visor for a better view as the footsteps behind you slowed. You never stopped walking, even as you watched the hero land. Your flight instincts were too strong to stop even for a good look at Hawks. With one more glance between your feathers, though, you noticed the man who’d been on your tail turned onto another street. 

Whether that stranger actually had any ill will or not you couldn’t be sure, but you were happy to accept you’d never know. Thanks to Hawks’ keen eye keeping watch over you. 

You stopped.

You looked at Hawks.

He looked at you.

He was probably thirty feet above you. His scars were easily seen when you were so close to him. Remnants of the war that still lingered on his flesh. The left side of his face was framed with thick, damaged tissue. The state of his left wing looked about the same. Much of the red plumage never grew back, so the poor thing looked gimpy compared to its twin. Somehow he still managed to retain his charming looks despite those things, you noticed.

He smiled, and you tried to scan his face for any hint of recognition. Though his eyes lingered for a long moment on the shape of your face he didn't seem to remember you. 

You hesitated, but raised a hand to wave a silent thank you.

You wished he was close enough to hear your voice. To see your vaguely familiar face. You’d be able to speak with more confidence than the younger version of yourself had all those years ago, but your words wouldn’t reach him.

His visor fell back over his face as he stood. And, just as quickly as he swooped in, his crimson wings lifted him back up. And he was gone. 

It took several moments for you to collect yourself. Despite not knowing him personally, Hawks felt like an old friend in a way. The connection you lost with your father was mirrored in your feelings of the number two hero. Having seen those red wings brought you a cocktail of bittersweet sadness and gentle relief that was hard to swallow. Hopefully he didn’t notice your old backpack that'd been repurposed as a work bag.

You tucked the thing against your side to hide his faded signature on the front, then continued on your way. 

...

The commission was bustling, as always. It was one of the first facilities rebuilt after the war, and the new management was determined to be at the forefront of restoring peace. Thanks to government funding it became a hub of cooperation and progress. Thankfully, the PA program received a lot of that investment.

When you stepped into the lobby your senses were assaulted with sight and sound. People in suits scrambled about and the sounds of ringing telephones and keyboards being furiously typed upon echoed against the walls. You were told over the phone to go upstairs into a meeting room to be briefed. You didn’t have to check in or wait in the lobby, they told you. So it was a surprise to see the other newly licensed PAs doing exactly what you were told not to. 

Nine PA newbies sat in a circle around a table as they waited to be called back for their assignments. You recognized them all from the exam. This was your first clue something was off about your briefing. Especially when the other PAs watched you walk towards the elevators in confused silence. Somehow this was even more nerve wracking than taking the exam was. 

Tenth floor, third door on the right, you were told. When you slipped into the little meeting room your palms began to sweat. You were expecting only the man who scored your exam results to be present for your assignment. Instead, you stood in a claustrophobic room surrounded by him, the acting president of the commission, and three other people you don’t know. 

The president, a man named Mera, greeted you by your full name. Your hair stood on end. Why the hell was he here? You were just getting placed with a hero today, right? Right? 

“Thank you for coming, could you close the door behind you?” the president requested. You leaned back against it until it clicked shut. Your cheeks tinted a slight pink in your anxiety and your palm sweat felt gross in your hands. Was this an interrogation or something? The air of the room was so thick it was hard to breathe in. 

You willed yourself to take the seat across from the group. Questions ran through your head. One hundred thousand questions, but you were too intimidated to ask any of them. Your wings curled up tight to your back as one of the men cleared his throat. 

“I know this is a lot you didn’t expect. We don’t mean to be intimidating, so take a breath,” he said, and you quickly expelled the one you were holding. “We have a hero to assign to you, but this is an unorthodox case. A meeting with the president is a requirement before we can place you together.”

Jesus christ, were they asking you to pull All Might out of retirement or something?

“You’re talking like you’re placing me with number one,” you managed to quip with a nervous laugh, but you regretted speaking out of turn when the group of suits sat in serious silence. 

“Number two,” the president corrected, and it was suddenly hard to swallow.

“Come... again?” you said as your wings slumped to the tile floor.

“We’re assigning you to number two- Hawks,” he repeated himself. 

Of course. How could it have been anything else?

It took everything you had not to bite hard into your bottom lip. To keep composure was your first lesson in your PA coursework, so your face remained soft despite your pounding heart. It made no sense why you would be their pick to look after a hero like Hawks. He’d been in the game since you were in grade school. The man spearheaded a war for god’s sake. What help could a newbie PA be to someone like him?

Even the universe was making fun of you for your childlike attachment to him. 

“I’m honored you’d consider me for such a position, of course,” you began cautiously. Should you tell them this wasn't the job for you? It'd be impossible to properly council someone you spent the better part of your life being invested in. From an ethical standpoint, anyway. And this would be your first ever assignment. “I just passed my certifications last week, though. I have no field experience yet. With all due respect, why me?” 

"You're a bird," the president said. Again, you released a small laugh. And, again, he didn't reciprocate. Was he being serious? You sat up a little and held your tongue as he continued. "You also accomplished a perfect score on your exam. Of this year's new PA batch you seem the most promising fit… Not to undermine your skills, but, if I’m being transparent, placing you together is a last resort. We’ve assigned several experienced PAs to him, but it’s done no good.”

Your brow furrowed at that bit of information. From the outside Hawks seemed like a PAs dream with his squeaky clean reputation and friendly demeanor. You couldn’t imagine why he’d have issues getting along with anyone. But that only proved how little you really knew him. 

"It sounds like he doesn't want the help you're giving him."

The president sighed.

“As you probably know, he took a year hiatus after his involvement in the war,” he continued, and you nodded.

Of course you knew. What kind of superfan would you be otherwise? Still, it was his reintroduction you remember moreso. Purely because of the excitement and relief you felt to see him back in action. There was no announcement of his return. One day, he was gone. The next, his agency doors were back open and his silhouette once again graced the streets below him. 

Despite all the buzz around him the year he was down and out, his condition was kept an illusive secret. Even now, after two years back on the job, no one really knew the specifics around his hiatus. An impressive feat, considering his wiki article alone was ten miles long. 

"Yes, I remember when he took time off."

"It wasn't of his own volition, I'm afraid. We suspended his license that year."

The confession floored you into shocked silence, and again you battled your heart to stop drumming so hard. This was something no one knew. Not the media, his fan pages, and not even other heroes if their interviews were genuine.

"Why?" you managed.

"This is strictly private information and considered a confidential part of your briefing, whether or not you accept the position."

What the hell were you getting into?

"I understand."

The president leaned into the table with his elbow and pinched the bridge of his nose. You'd seen many of his television appearances. He was portrayed as a strong-willed man who never faltered. The only one with enough guts to rebuild the HPSC despite the damning rumors circulating about it's previous administration and their dealings. If only you knew back then how deep that rabbit hole went.

"Hawks wanted to jump back into the thick of hero work once the war was over," he began, "but he developed psychological burdens that hindered his ability to perform, hence the revoking of his license. We tried to admit him to our recovery program, like we did for every hero who fought in the war, but his turbulent relationship with the previous HPSC administration made it difficult for us to help. He doesn't trust us, and I can't blame him."

"He had personal issues with the HPSC?"

"There's a lot the public doesn't know about his story. Unfortunately, most of it is tragic."

Your eyes became a bit misty. You knew everything there was to know about Hawks, or so you thought. Every confession from the president made you realize you really knew nothing at all.  

“He recovered better than we anticipated in that year. He passed our exams and his license was reinstated, but his performance is suffering again. We fear it’s only a matter of time before he slips up in the wrong moment. We don’t want to lose him, you understand?”

You did, somehow. He spoke so vaguely it was hard to form a big picture. But a memory invaded your thoughts. It was an old one you often found yourself reliving in quiet moments. When you met him in the chill of winter all those years ago, and he signed your backpack with that empty sadness that plagued your thoughts. Looking back now, you realize that moment took place not long before the war. Was that the cause of his grief? He knew it was coming? Did he never escape from that sadness?

You thought back to only an hour or so before this tense meeting. What a wild coincidence it was you saw him that day. Though the predicament you were in that morning could have easily been overlooked, he stopped for you. He made sure you were safe. It only felt right to do the same for him in return.

Thinking of this assignment as returning favors to him made it easier to swallow.

“So, my assignment is to correct behavioral issues?” you asked. Your voice had more confidence now, as if this was something you’d done a hundred times before. Internally, you were quaking. “Can you give me some specifics to work with? Having a plan before we meet for the first time is detrimental if I'm going to get anywhere with him.” 

The group looked at the president, who let a sigh slip from his aged lips. Frustration was on his face, but it wasn’t aimed towards you. His mind seemed elsewhere as he reached into his work bag and extracted a manilla folder. Hawks' case file. Seems your cool head and straightforward demeanor paid off with the president.

"His judgement is impaired," he informed you as he held the case file out for you. "He was at one time our most reliable hero. But now… well, he can be a liability even to himself at times. He uses excessive force against targets when not necessary, and other times he's unable to engage at all. He often can't keep up in life or death situations- he's lucky he's squeaked by the last couple years relatively unscathed. Because he's been so resistant to his past assistants we aren't sure how to best help him… hopefully you'll make him comfortable enough to find out. Everything we know is in that file."

He trailed off as his eyes narrowed with an emotion you couldn't decipher. His expression teetered between uncertainty and hope when he watched you crack open the folder handed to you. Despite the long list of previous PAs detailed on the first page, the stack of paper was rather thin. Apparently they only lasted long enough to report back a handful of times.

What the hell was he doing to those very experienced assistants to make them flake out in just a few weeks? These files were going to be an interesting read. It peeked your interest as a dutiful PA as well as a curious long time fan.

Another suited man you'd yet to hear speak piped up. "This is a lot to ask of you, we understand. Don't feel pressured to accept the placement if you don't think it will suit you."

"I'm still reeling from the suddenness of all of this," you confess. And, honestly, there was nothing you could offer Hawks that his previous PAs couldn't. "But I wanted this job so I could help heroes, so I'll do the best I can." 

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