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the-kr8tor · 5 months ago

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Once More to See You

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Word count: 8.4k

Synopsis: Like Alice in wonderland, you accidentally fall to another universe where everything is different from your universe, including your best friend, Hobie Brown. Will you be able to come home to your best friend before you get ripped apart molecule by molecule? Or will you fail and leave the love of your life wondering where you are for the rest of his life?

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, No specific physical description of the reader, CW Blood, CW violence, TW death, CW injury, CW vomit mention. Bestfriends to lovers (speedrun edition), established relationship, Hurt/comfort, Angst.

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Masterlist

Eyes almost crossed, back hunched and aching, you tinker at the tiny components of the inter dimensional watch Hobie started putting together. He brought it to you last night with a paper bag filled with your favourite takeout to bribe you in helping him. “It's for emergencies,” he said, “I don't trust that vampire from the future,” he grumbled in between bites of chips.

The soft music from your record player filters through the dimly lit room, save for your work lamp, the sun is just about setting in the horizon. You have the perfect view of the expansive London skyline just outside your window. It's a foggy day, clouds hanging above like cotton balls, fluffy and grey— rain's coming, you surmise from the unmistakable smell of petrichor. It's already raining somewhere, you think. And you worry immediately for him since he's still on patrol. Did he bring a raincoat with him at least? But knowing him, he'd just swing around while there's a downpour. And when you scold him while he's dripping wet, soaking your carpet, he'd just shrug and say, ‘I looked bloody good at it though’ to which you'd scoff, but secretly agree.

Distracted, you poke at the wrong wire with your metal pliers, a spark from the main power source shocks you, flinching and yelping, you check for any damages on your fingertips.

“Should've worn rubber gloves, love.” Hobie's sudden whisper in your ear makes you jump out of the stool, goosebumps appearing on your arms as he catches you before you land harshly on your back. “Got you. Maybe you should invent seatbelts on barstools, hm? You'd make a fortune from pubs alone. No more drunkards falling face first.” He jokes, arm snaked along your back, hand splayed over your ribs, and face dangerously close to your own.

You decide to quip back as revenge for making you almost fall. “I would invent it if you weren't dropping so many projects on my lap.” Still floating above the floors with the help from his hold, he fakes letting you go. You squeak, hands instinctively flying to his shoulders for support. Maybe you shouldn't have teased him when he's the only one standing between you and a bump on your head. “You little—”

He raises a pierced brow, “what'd you say again, love?” His mischievous smirk tells you that he's about to do it again, so you surrender. How could you fight him when he looks at you like you're the only person in the world that's worthy of his touch?

Lips clamping down, you still glare at him despite the overwhelming fondness for the man holding you in place.

“That's what I thought.” Chuckling, he sits you upright back on the stool, he even fixes your shirt for you. “There, lookin' mighty fit today, why are you all dressed up?”

It's your turn to quirk an eyebrow, “dressed up? Hobs I basically live in this shirt.” He unabashedly roams his eyes over to the old band shirt that he made himself once upon a time. “Bold of you to assume I have some place to go.” You say even with the searing heat from your cheeks, and clammy hands.

“We could go,” Hobie shrugs, hiding his sudden shyness, you have that effect on him. “There's a new building we could swing to, if we go now we could still catch the sunset.” He inches closer, hand smoothing down the goosebumps on your arms.

“It's gonna rain, Hobs.”

“How'd you know? You a weather girl now?”

“I can smell it, and also my knees feel it.”

“What are you eighty?” He says with a laugh. “Does that make you a cradle snatcher?” Half joking, he really wishes that you'd get the hint.

Eleven years of friendship and counting, you still haven't crossed that invisible line between friendship and something more. It's not from the lack of trying from Hobie's end, no, he has told you a few times that he fancied you, more than a best friend would. But you're too afraid to say it back, to say or even scream that you fancy him, or love him is the better way to put it. But you're afraid that it might not work out, that friendship is the best thing for the both of you, that all the longing looks thrown between you, and all the lingering touches were all just attraction because you've known each other for basically forever; and the feeling wouldn't last once you do get together.

You don't want to risk your friendship only for it to end in tears and heartache. No, you love him too much to hurt him like that, and he knows it too.

He was more bold with his feelings for you a few years before, years before he was bitten and was given the heavy responsibilities. But now that he bears the title of Spider-man, he's starting to think having a romantic relationship with you while he's tangled up in all the danger he faces everyday, isn't such a great idea. So his advances are much less now, Hobie just misses you, he suppose, that's probably why he asked for your help with his own batch of watches even though he can handle it on his own while he's blindfolded. An excuse to just see you, an excuse to be in your presence. Because if you can't be together, he'd settle for staying like this forever, just best friends.

Best friends who unequivocally love each other, best friends who are waiting for the right time. Even if it means waiting for forever.

You smile softly, knowing that his joke is a half wish. “That means you're a coffin snatcher then.”

Hobie leans closer, hands on top of your table that's behind you, arms caging you in. You can smell the leather on him, and the usual scent he sports when he's particularly in a good mood. You'd know, you gifted the cologne to him. He thinks you're uncomfortable because of the position, he was about to move away but you remedy that with a smile, and with your hand placed on the back of his elbow. He can feel how your pulse hammers against your skin.

“C’mon, love, the view's pretty up there.” His view right now can't compare though.

“I can see the view from here, besides, I still have work to do.”

He tilts his head, an act he knows you can't resist. “I’ll swing you back home quicker than you can say ‘cougar’” you laugh, eyes crinkling in the corners, and he thinks your smile is better than any sunset he has ever seen. “You've been cooped up in here for too long. When was the last time you've seen the sun—?” You open your mouth for a quip but he beats you to it, “not including seeing it from your windows.” Nodding, he raises both eyebrows, looking at you through his long lashes.

For a moment he thought you'd agree, that you bought into his charms. But you clear your throat, moving away, lips tightly closed like you refuse to spill any secrets. Or spill out a confession. I don't want to ruin this, you think, if I go, what would happen up there? Your mind runs through a thousand scenarios, a consequence of your genius mind. It's not all good, you suppose, and you're sure that whatever happens on top of that skyscraper, you'll never come back from it.

You love him, you really do, but he has a heavy burden to carry. You don't want to add to it. Leaning to the side, still sitting on the stool, he instinctively hovers his hand close to your side, just in case you fall off again.

“I fixed the problem on your watch by the way.” Changing the subject is good, changing the subject means you don't have to face reality.

“Yeah?” He acts nonchalant, yet, there's a lump in his throat that threatens to choke him. It's not all your fault, he thinks. All the tiptoeing around each other, all the heavy side glances aren't all your fault, it's his too. He might've faced a hundred or so dangers but he can't seem to find the courage to finally say those three magic words. Jaw tightening, he's not mad at you, he's mad at himself.

“Your initial power source didn't have enough juice. Hence why it can't generate the right particles for inter dimensional travel.”

Hobie leans on the table, hand still close to your waist, eyes roaming intently at your handiwork. You're good, too good at making these watches, even better than Miguel could be. Or he's just biased. You made it look good too, even with the hodgepodge of materials he gave you.

“You figured that out in less than twenty four hours?” He's in awe of you, he could've thought of that, but it would've taken him a tad longer. “Fuckin' brilliant,” he says under his breath.

You raise your chin proudly, “I did, it was easy-peasy.” It was not, you barely slept because you couldn't sleep not while this huge glaring problem sits at your work table. If it needs fixing, you're gonna get it fixed within the day or you think you'll crumble into dust. Especially if it's Hobie asking for help.

Hobie beams, he's incredibly proud of you, but, “you crossed your lines, love. If you want me to catch on fire then you did it brilliantly.”

“What?” Your smug smile melts, eyes scanning the colourful wires. Shoulders sagging, you glare at him. “No, it's not.”

“Yes it is,” chuckling, he takes your hand to guide and point it out for you. “Right there. Between the cooling system and the red wires.”

Eyes narrowed, nose wrinkling, he smiles at your cute expression. “I can't see— oh.” You see it, the mess of wires lies just under the new power source that you were so proud of. “Fuck.”

“You owe me,” Hobie pokes your side.

“No, I don't. Not all of us have super eyesight.”

“Really? Blamin’ my poor eyes?” Hobie widens his hazel eyes, brilliant swirls of colours mesmerize you.

“Your eyes are far from poor.” You shove his face away from you gently, smiling, you laugh at his fake glare. “Don't you have to patrol, spiderman?”

He surrenders, huffing, he takes his mask from his back pocket to put it back on his head. “Fine, just make sure to fix your wires, I don't want to come back to a crater the next time I visit.”

“I'll uncross them, don't worry. I'm not an amateur, y'know.”

Hobie pats your shoulder for now, maybe he'll pay you a visit again tonight just to make sure your flat didn't turn into ashes. You call him back before he could exit through your fire escape.

“Be careful, please?” Your worried tone makes him turn back around to face you. You imagine that he's at least smiling under his mask. “Just…I have no idea what to do with your watch if you suddenly croak.”

“Always so bloody sweet,” walking back towards you, he grins even though you can't see it. Your worries make you reach towards him. Holding him by the lapels of his leather jacket, you trace the little stitches he made. His spider senses tingle, and he hears how your heart quickens. “I'll be fine, yeah? Don't worry ‘bout me.”

“You know I'll always worry.” You whisper.

“I know, I'm like that too when it comes to you.” Your breath hitches in your throat. He shuts his senses down so he can't hear how fast your pulse thumps, or how you weakly swallow down your nerves. “Why don't I come back here tonight, ease that genius mind of yours.” He pokes your forehead, you nod. “Good, I'll bring takeout, that isn't instant ramen. Seriously, love, that shit ain't good for you.”

“It's tasty though.”

“You'll get kidney stones.” He begins to walk backwards, so he could still see your face as he goes. For some reason, he doesn't want to go. But he suppose that he always has this feeling whenever he visits.

“I've got a clean kidney,” you softly smile, waving goodbye, hoping that he comes back to you in one piece just like always.

“Sure you do,” one leg after the other, he exits from the window until you're staring into your open window and until his lingering scent fades.

“Right,” you sigh, slapping your cheeks to stay in the present, then turning around to continue your work.

For an hour you painstakingly untangle the wires with your tweezers, minutes turn into hours, and your empty stomach grumbles. Lower back aching once again. For a second you're just about finishing it, then a spark lights up, then a blinding explosion of colours.

You should've worn rubber gloves.

—

Hobie swings casually towards your flat, it's a lot harder to swing with one hand while the other holds onto the plastic bag filled with your favourite. Smiling under his mask, wind blowing towards him, buildings whizz past as he increases his speed.

The smell of smoke hits his nose. Then puffs of black tar greets him where your flat used to be.

Heart in his stomach. He lands on the pavement less gracefully, the bag slipping through his trembling fingers.

A crowd watches on at the burning building, pieces of glass lay under his boots, crunching as he stands frozen on the spot. His eyes roam for your familiar face, around the people that watch the blaze, grief curls around his throat when he doesn't find you amidst the throng of strangers. It slowly suffocates him.

Your name spills out of his lips, hoping with every utterance of your name you'll emerge unscathed. He feels dizzy.

A firefighter notices him. Hope blossoms in his chest when Hobie turns towards the uniformed man. But the forlorn face the man sports under the soot covering his skin says it all. “There's no survivors!” He yells above the sirens, Hobie crumbles to his feet. “There's no survivors. You're too late, Spiderman.”

He's too late. His ears ring, he could only hear the crackling of the fire whilst it eats away at you. Charred wood collapses, nose stinging from the smoke, vision blurry as tears silently fall.

You're gone. And all that's left of you are ashes that float down towards him like grotesque snowflakes. Sticking to his suit, heat clinging to his skin.

It's too soon, he had a lifetime with you. A sudden burst of rain pelts at him. You were right, rain was coming.

He should've tried harder to convince you to go out.

—

A swirl of neon colours whizz past as you fall into the kaleidoscope depths. Scream stuck in your throat, hand stinging from how you grip the watch, or what's left of it. It's now in your hand, jagged metal pieces piercing your skin. There's a light at the end of the tunnel, bracing yourself, you fall on the harsh concrete. The portal spits you out feet first, skidding across, body tumbling on the ground. You're otherwise unharmed despite the harsh landing.

Eyes adjusting in the light, you blink rapidly, shielding your eyesight from the intense sun.

Wait, the sun? Wasn't it sunset a few minutes ago?

Sitting up, you roam your eyes around where you landed. The familiar London skyline is to your right, while on your left are buildings you can't seem to recognize no matter how you try to remember.

“I don't think I'm in Kansas anymore.” You say, full of bewilderment. The watch worked, but in the way you wanted it to.

The roof where you landed on is dirty, full of abandoned broken furniture. Pots upon pots of dead plants stacked on top of the other. Good thing there isn't any broken glass or you'd be bleeding.

Propping yourself up, you stand up on two wobbly feet. Stomach churning, vision warbling, you think you're about to be sick. You can't believe Hobie does this on a daily basis.

You inhale sharply, trying to compose yourself and the instant ramen in your stomach. “Oh fuck.” Exhaling, you calm yourself down. Heart finally steadying to a normal rhythm, you sigh before you check the remains of the cracked watch in your hand. “Shit!” The broken pieces fall off from your palm as you look at it. “I'm fucked!”

Like a child throwing a tantrum, you kick a cardboard box, it soars across the roof. Groaning loudly, you stomp on the ground as if it was its fault that you're in another dimension.

You felt it before it happened. Something spreads inside you, like a bolt of lightning has struck you. The sensation starts from the crown of your head to your fingertips, goosebumps appearing on your skin, you glitch for only a second but it's enough to give you motion sickness.

“Oh my fuck—!” A blast from behind you reverberates, wind rushing around you, whipping your searing skin. “What the—?”

If being stuck in an alternative universe wasn't enough, a guy wearing huge mechanical wings is approaching you quickly. Too quickly.

Before you could duck, the cackling vulture grabs you from the roof. Lifting you up, the whiplash from his momentum almost breaks your neck.

“Got you!” He laughs in your ears, metallic claws digging into your biceps. A black slithering blob weaves around his bicep, crawling up to your own like a slimy worm.

“What the hell, old man!” You scream above the noisy exhaust of his wings. “Let me go! I was literally just standing there!”

He clicks his tongue, like he's chastising a child. “No, no, no, not until he gives me what I want. Then I'll think about letting you go, but it's a long drop.”

“Who—?” As he says the word ‘drop’ you look down, vertigo making you nauseous. You must be a hundred feet above the streets. You wish Hobie was here to save you. Tears in your eyes, panic sets in, making your hands tremble and your chest desperately heave in air.

A flash of red and black, a harsh crack of bone, and a splash of something warm on your cheek, you fall from the vulture’s hold.

Gasping, reaching for something, anything to hold onto, you get snatched up before you turn into a bloody street pancake.

A strong arm envelops you as you hug tighter, face hiding away from the harsh winds. Clinging onto the stranger, they seem oddly familiar under your touch. They smell familiar too, like your nose is so used to it that you can recognize it above anything else. Leather and bergamot, the scent he wears when he's in a good mood.

You raise your head to take a peek at your savior. The spikes on his head are dark and swirly, like an evil unicorn's horn. They don't shine in the sunlight anymore, it's the same deep shade as his mask. He no longer bears the resemblance of your Hobie. He feels like him, smells like him, even the warmth spreading to you is the same. There's a deep familiarity, yet, there's something amiss.

“Hobie?” You call, and when he shifts his head to gaze at you, his grip loosens.

Craning his neck down, the eyes of his mask widens. “Y/N?” He breathlessly asks, arm sliding off from shock. “Shit!”

“Hobie!” Briefly falling, he catches you immediately. You both land on a roof, his arms are around you, hand shielding your head from the collision as you both slide across the terracotta roof. Eyes closed, you hide your face on his chest as he bears the impact for you.

Hobie groans, glad that he's wearing leather that helped with lessening his injuries from the awkward fall. Opening his eyes, he thinks he has died when he sees your face look back at him.

Expression etched into worry, you check for any injuries on his body. You get a good look at his suit, it's different, way different than you saw him last. The only thing that stayed the same is his old leather vest, but it looks like it's more well worn than the last time you've seen it. There's marks on the leather, and holes where it's not supposed to be in. You'd mend it for him like always, but there's more pressing matters.

Hobie reaches for you, black cloth enveloping and swirling around his toned arms, showing a bit of his scarred skin. You don't miss how his hands tremble as he holds your face in his calloused hands. It's all familiar to you, yet, his hands are more rugged, rougher, but you know it's him. You could recognize his touch anywhere.

“Did the vulture finally get me?” You raise an eyebrow at his question. The heaviness in his chest slowly fades for the first time in years, he wants to tell you everything, to hold you forever in his arms until all the holes in his heart are filled by you once more. His thumbs wipe the crimson off of your cheek, an instinct of his.

“W-what?” You shake your head, and he relishes at the sound of your voice. The same voice he has only heard in your old voicemails that he plays before going to bed. “I think you have a concussion, Hobs.” Gently, you reach for his mask, he stops you before you could lift it away.

“Hobs,” he chuckles weakly, “I haven't heard of that name in years.”

You know this isn't your Hobie but you can't help but sympathize with him, you can hear the sadness and hurt laced with his deeper tone. You'd ask, but it isn't your place. Literally.

Hobie sits up with a groan, back cracking, the sound making you wince. “Sounds like you need to stretch more.” You joke.

He laughs, his mind tricks him, making him think of all the teasing you've said to him once upon a time.

“I think my back is beyond saving by just stretching.” Head leaning on his elbow, arm propped up by his knee, he still can't wrap his mind around your existence. “Which dimension did you come from?”

You straighten your back, lips curling into a smile. “How'd you know I'm not from here?”

Hobie reaches for his mask, for a moment he pauses. Still, with an apprehensive tug, he takes off his mask. Shock and confusion is evident in your expression. Reminding him of the time when he told you he was Spider-Man all those years ago.

“You're…old.” A hundred questions flood your mind at the sight of his crow’s feet that decorates his eyes. He has smile lines around his mouth, he still has piercings but there's less of them now. His hair is graying, patches of grey that weave around his locs. Under the wear of time on his face, you could recognize that face amidst a thousand faces. It's Hobie, but not your Hobie. “Definitely not in Kansas anymore.”

He chuckles deeply, he misses that humour of yours. “You look how I remember.” he whispers, you could barely hear his words.

You knit your eyebrows together. “Did I travel to the future instead of a different dimension?” The same sensation passes through you, rattling your bones and wracking your senses. You glitch once again. Stomach churning, you cough out harshly.

Shaking his head, Hobie stands up then he gives you a hand. “Not time travel,” you take his hand weakly, lifting you up, he worries for you. “Definitely from another universe. Come with me to the safehouse and we'll fix your watch, yeah?”

Nodding, you trust him completely. “Okay, just to remind you though, don't jostle me around too much—”

“You get motion sick from web swingin’, I know, I remember.” His heart aches, and you can see it hidden behind his hazel eyes.

—

After swinging across the city, and with you fighting the bile rising to your throat, you two finally make it to his safehouse that's masquerading as an old laundromat. You and older Hobie enter from the back door, and another door greets you, all thick steel and seemingly bullet proof.

He enters a set of codes on the numpad that you didn't notice until he was pressing numbers in. You don't bring out the fact that the passcode was your birthday.

The door beeps, an indication that it's unlocked. He looks at you over his shoulder, smiling softly at your nervous eyes.

“Stay behind me, yeah? Don't mind the lads. Or the whispers.”

“Whispers? Why would they gossip about me?”

“Nothin'” he turns back around. “Just stay close to me.”

“Okay, I wasn't planning to wander anyway, it looks like a small house so—” just as you say it, a long staircase leading down to what looks like the abyss makes you think otherwise. “Are you evil Hobie? You planning on bringing me to your little house of horrors to kill me?”

“Are you part of the sinister six?” He asks flatly, slightly enjoying the banter.

“No—”

“Then you've got nothin’ to worry ‘bout.” Hobie continues to walk down the stairs, heavy boots thudding against the concrete with every footstep. Darkness surrounds him quickly, you could only see the outline of him under the dark. He notices the way you stay on top of the stairs, hands wringing together. “I've got a torch if you're scared—”

“Yes!” You exclaim too fast. “I mean, sure, yeah.” He doesn't tease, for that you silently thank him. You hear a click, and then a torch coming from a gadget on his arm lights the way. “Thanks,” you whisper, finally catching up with him.

The stairs lead you down further, with only Hobie's torch guiding the way, you subtly hold the hem of his vest. If he minded, he never said anything. Ears popping, another door greets you at the end.

Hobie knocks, a rhythm that you can't quite place. A panel on the door slides open, a pair of eyes roams over to Hobie's face and then to yours. Brown eyes widening at the sight of you, they close the panel, then they open the metal door with a creak. Light escapes from the opening, and you shield your eyes from the sudden brightness.

“Holy fucking shit,” a female voice exclaims. Their cadence is full of surprise, and somewhat breathless. “W-what— how?”

“She's not from here,” Hobie explains, almost sounding forlorn at his own words.

Your eyes finally adjust, and you see an older Yuri gawking at you. She has aged well and gracefully, you think, as she sports the lighter hair with confidence and wrinkles barely noticeable.

“Yuri?” You still ask even though you're ninety nine percent sure that it's her.

“The one and only, gorgeous.” Without thinking, she drags you inside, pulling you in for a hug. You heard her sniffle, and you felt how her shoulders relaxed just from the hug alone. So you let her embrace you, with your hand awkwardly rubbing in an attempt to soothe her. Pulling away, she holds you at arm's length. She pats your shoulder, smoothing your sleeves, “still gorgeous, and still unfair.” Snorting, she lets you go, turning towards your companion. “Gwen's been waiting for you.”

Hobie gets flung back to the present, the simple sight of Yuri hugging you has brought him to the past, back when everything was better.

You stare at him, and he knows there's a lot of questions swimming in that genius mind of yours. He nods once wordlessly, not trusting his own mouth to form coherent words right now.

You follow him just as he instructed, Yuri reluctantly lets you go. Your nails dig into your sweaty palms, and eyes restlessly looking around the safe house. The place is expansive, walls high up, and when you look down, you see weathered tiles that have cracked from time. There's a train track in the middle, and you realize it's an old metro station. Instead of advertisements and train schedules on the walls, you see several monitors hanging on it, thousands of wires running through all of them, beeping and buzzing coming out of the computers. There's also weapon racks littered around the place, large and something that looks like it came from a sci-fi film.

There's a lot of people running around, all clad in the same style as Hobie. Leather, chains and metal spikes all adorning their forms. You quickly look away whenever you pass a stranger who widens their eyes at the sight of you.

Tugging at Hobie's vest, you peer at him. “Why does everyone give me that same look? And who's Gwen?”

He doesn't stop his strides, “Gwen's a friend, she knows you, kind of.” He decides to tease you. Maybe it's his brain trying to compensate for the time he hasn't done it. “Why? You jealous? Green eyed monster rearing its ugly mug?”

You scoff with a playful smile. “Technically, I don't know you, so…” his smile wavers, “there's no way I'd be jealous. Also you're…old.” His smile returns, there's a question that suddenly pops in your mind. “Are we a thing here?” You suppose you should ask just to get it away, and this isn't even the same Hobie back home so you don't lose anything by asking.

His face flattens, something passes by his eyes and he turns away. “Don't worry ‘bout it.”

“That's not answering my question, or any of my questions—”

“Gwen.” Hobie passes by you without sparing you a glance.

He enters a large open space that is full of computers and screens that blink and beep. There's a dozen or so people that walk around the area, all looking frazzled and tired. It looks like a command center of some sorts. A stranger bumps into you, accidentally shoving you by your shoulder.

“Sorry, I—” The man stops in his tracks, it's Ned, or at least this universe's version of Ned. The wrinkles around his eyes and white hair says that he must've been the same age as this Hobie. The clipboard in his hand falls from his grasp, eyes wide and watery, he gasps. “Y/N—”

Hobie appears next to you, “yeah it's her, Ned.”

“B-but…she's—”

Hobie shakes his head, wordlessly having a conversation with his best friend. “We'll talk later, I promise.” He softens his voice. The interaction has you more confused. They have a stare down with you caught in the middle.

You give Ned an apologetic smile. Crouching, you take the fallen clipboard, giving it back to him. “Here, sorry for bumping into you.”

His hand trembles as he takes it. “It's okay, I gotta go.” Rushing, he leaves you and Hobie.

“Is he okay? Please don't tell me you're working him to the bone.” You scold him.

“No, you know I'll never do that.”

“Just like I said, I technically don't know you.” Exasperated from all the dodging Hobie has done, you walk away and towards the command center where a large table sits in the middle and in-between a huge screen.

Hobie has forgotten has stubborn you can be, following behind you, he can already see Gwen looking furious just standing next to the table, all menacing like.

“Hobie, what the fuck did you do?” The sudden angry tone makes your skin jump, kind of reminding you of your days back in school. “Have you finally lost your damn mind?” The blond woman gestures towards you.

There's red streaks in her braided hair, clothes perfectly suited to her form. She stands out from the rest, she looks sporty in her varsity jacket and white trainers. But of course she wears a pair of leather pants and an old band shirt that says ‘fuck getting fridged!’ You have no idea what that means.

Before she could blow a gasket, you explain yourself. “It's not time travel actually,” you say, voice faltering once you notice all eyes are on you. “It's interdimensional travel— on accident! I didn't mean to.”

Gwen crosses her arms over her chest, “you a spiderperson? Do you answer to Miguel?”

“No, not a spiderperson, just some idiot who made a huge mistake by trying to make her own watch because my best friend asked me to.” You take the broken watch from your pocket to place it on the table. “See? I broke it.”

“Your Hobie asked you to help him?” Older Hobie asks, you nod, his eyes flick over to you and then the bracelet. “Sounds like something I would do.” He whispers to himself.

“Wait, you don't have a watch on you anymore? Then—” Gwen starts but your glitching interrupts her.

It was only two seconds but you felt like your insides were being ripped apart, and your eyeballs were getting scooped out by a spoon. Heaving, hands gripping on the table for balance, you cough loudly as Hobie pats your back.

“Motherfucker—! That one was worse than the last one.” You almost choke on your own spit. “Goddamnit.”

“I was about to ask why you're not glitching, I guess I got my answer.” Gwen hands you a water bottle. “Here.” Turning towards Hobie, who's already picking apart the bracelet, she sternly calls for his attention. “What do you plan with her?”

“Fix her watch then let her stay because she's Y/N.” He nonchalantly says, lying through his teeth to rile up his already mad right hand woman.

“Your real plan, Hobie.” She taps her foot impatiently, you still wonder what his words meant. “We don't have the time or the resources to help her right now. Especially when our little machine still hasn't turned on.”

“Would you rather have her molecules ripped apart or spare a few parts so she could go home?” Hobie places his hands on top of the table, eyes narrowed, challenging Gwen. Whilst you take in his words. “Our main focus still hasn't changed, she's a guest and if we don't help her she will die.” Inhaling, he continues, “you heard her, she has someone to go back too. Someone who's lookin' for her. Do you really want him to experience that kind of—” he stops after feeling your eyes on him. He clears his throat. “We'll help her fix the watch, it'll take me a few hours to finish it and we'll still be on schedule for the attack.”

You set aside your oncoming demise to ask him about ‘the attack’. “Schedule for what?”

Gwen visibly relaxes from your gaze, you surmise that this universe’s you has history with her. “We're gonna take down Osborn once and for all.”

You knit your brows together. “You haven't done that yet?”

Gwen and Hobie blinks in surprise, intrigued, everyone else who wasn't already eavesdropping looks at you expectantly.

“What do you mean ‘haven't?’” Gwen asks, eyebrow raised.

“We already did that in our dimension a few years ago. I still have a few scars from it.”

Hobie cranes his neck towards Gwen, hazel eyes suddenly forlorn, shoulders heavy, and jaw tightening. “You succeeded?”

It all hits you, they've failed in where you and your friends have succeeded. You gained where they've lost, and you feel for their pain, you for*his suffering. You now know why he gave you that look the first time he saw you.

Composing yourself, even though your chest feels heavy, you still act as if their revelation doesn't bother you, when it has impacted you like you're the one who lost. “Y-yeah, I mean everyone helped a lot. I just did the best I can.” You scratch the back of your neck, “we had this thing that can cripple the symbiote inside his men—”

Gwen takes out a small circular device from her pocket. “Like this?”

You shake your head, “no, we just hooked a bunch of amplifiers around the area and Hobie and his band played really fucking loud. My ears ring just thinking about it.”

“Yeah we all know about them hating loud sounds but that didn't work for us before.” Gwen and Hobie's hopes are dashed. “And after all the tries, we stopped trying that method.”

“Why don't you guys ask for help with spider society? I'm sure—”

Hobie cuts you off, scowling at his feet. “I did, I asked for help. And what did that vampire from 2099 say?” He grows frustrated, knuckles shaking, eyes looking away from you. “He refused, saying that no one could intervene. That this was my canon event, and if anybody helped that it'll put the multiverse into dangerous territory.” Shaking his head, the man before shows up, and Hobie turns away from him. “It's bullshit, that's why I left.”

“We did find out why sound doesn't disable the symbiotes. Osborn made some kind of shield around them.” Gwen pipes up, shifting the conversation before Hobie gets angrier from the mere mention of Miguel.

“Like armor?” You ask.

“Yes, it's invisible to the naked eye. Thanks to Hobie, we finally found their Achilles heel. If only we could get this damn device to work then we'll be free of him and his regime.” She continues.

“Maybe I can help—”

“No,” Hobie quickly says, hurt in his eyes, he avoids yours. “No, I'll get your watch fixed up and you can go.”

“But I may be able to help—”

“No,” he emphasizes, with a shaky breath, he calls for Yuri. “Take her to the extra room,” instructing Yuri, she smiles at you apologetically. “Stay there until your watch is fixed.”

“She might be right—” Gwen starts but Hobie ignores her.

You glitch once again, stomach turning inside out, this time you feel like your skin is being ripped away. Eyes rolling on the back of your head, head spiralling. The next thing you know, you're laying on top of a hard mattress. Groaning, vision adjusting, you sit up carefully.

Your eyes adjust to the dim light hanging above, a single light bulb that swings from a draft seeping out of a crack in the wall. The room is small, barely even fitting the single bed. Walls of grey concrete surround you on all sides, there's a few posters on the walls that are tacked lopsidedly. They're all worn down, like they're older than you from the looks of the fading ink. A singular guitar sits at the corner, black and cherry red, hundreds of stickers are placed on it, adding to the roses that are painted all over it. It screams Hobie, but not your Hobie. Just sitting on his bed makes you miss him, even though you know they are not the same.

Stretching your aching neck from awkward angles it was put through because of the glitching, you spot a polaroid picture sticking out from under the pillow. You don't want to be nosy, but seeing your own face smile at you has you reaching for the photograph.

It's you, but not you exactly. Your face is the same, clothes you can't recognize. The only thing you can recognize is the way you hold onto Hobie. This universe's Hobie. Cheek pressed on his own, mirrored smiles on both your lips, his arm around your waist, pulling you close as if you'd fade away. And your arms enveloping around him like you're shielding him from harm. There's one detail that jumps at you with how yellowed the paper is and how crumpled the corners are, you're both incredibly young.

“Oh,” There had been signs, and this now confirms it.

You look at the steel door as if you had x-ray vision, as if you can see through it and see the Hobie that this version of you had loved once upon a dimly lit pub where the polaroid was taken.

Placing the picture back where you found it, you test your shaky legs. You make it two steps before you start glitching out, tumbling towards the door, forehead pressed on the cold steel, you heave dryly.

There's tears in your eyes when you open the door. Silence greets you, the air is cold and stagnant, the lights that were blinking at you earlier are now dim enough that you have to feel your way towards the concrete hallway and out into the warm light. Your hands glide along the almost frozen walls, rough sandy concrete hitting your palms like sandpaper. Footsteps quiet to not rouse the sleeping crew.

Finally making it out, lungs cool, and teeth chattering, you feel sicker by the minute. Hobie stands next to the large console, back towards you. Metals clicking and grinding against each other, Hobie doesn't look over his shoulder from your presence.

You knock on the wall to not startle him and ruin his work. Hobie finally cranes his neck to look at you, shoulders tensed and eyebrows knitted together in either frustration or concentration.

“You okay?” You ask, voice echoing in the vast room.

“I should be askin’ you that.” He goes back to the table, immediately tinkering.

“Well, are you?”

“You're stubborn.”

“My best quality.”

You hear him softly chuckle thanks to the silence hanging in the air. Walking closer, you smile at the sight of his rubber gloves that protect his hands.

“So?” You ask again.

“Never better.” He flatly says, eyes focused on putting your watch together.

“Why'd you leave the society?”

“Thought you were smart?”

“I am, and a consequence of that is being utterly curious.”

Hobie sighs but doesn't stop working. “Creative differences.”

“Ah, I knew it. You and my Hobie would get along well.” Your words trail off when you see the same spherical tech sitting next to him. “Is that the thing you can't figure out?”

He spares it a glance. “Yeah, the bane of my existence.”

You go around him to look at it closely. Eyes narrowed, arms tucked, you lean closer. “I think—” you grab it before Hobie could stop you. The glitching must've taken a toll in your critical thinking because you crack it open like an egg in your hands. “That's your problem.”

“What the fuck?” He says breathlessly, almost yelling, eyes wide, hands already grabbing the tech to fix it. “What is wrong with you?”

“Thin shell.”

“We've established that you have a thin skull—”

“Rude, but I'm talking about that.” You point at the sphere while Hobie's cradling it like a baby. “the shell is too thin,” you take half of it, pointing out its faults. “See? You need to make the shell a bit thicker, put a pressure plate so that—”

Hobie has a growing smile. “When it's thrown it automatically turns on. With the thicker shell it can withstand it and with it helps distribute the energy more evenly. Shutting all the shields down around its vicinity without needing to push a button.” His eyes widen with realization with every word he says that you already know of. “That way we can arm every rebel with a hundred of these and take down Osborn's venoms without risking close combat. Fuckin' brilliant.” He looks at you in wonder. Embarrassment flickers in his eyes, he should've thought of that, yet, he didn't. You might not be his Y/N but you're worthy of her name.

“Sometimes the easier solution is the best.” Your next sentence has your hands shaking, he notices. “Was your Y/N as brilliant as me?” You finally ask.

Hobie's cheery face falls, “She was smart, but not that brilliant. Her bravery makes up for it.”

“I'm sorry.” Tears stick to your lashes, heart aching for the man before you.

“You are curious.” After years without you, he still has no idea how to respond to those exact words. “How you feelin’?”

“Me?”

“Finding out a version of you is dead must be fuckin' weird.”

You shake your head. “I first thought that I'd see an old wrinkly me.” A half joke. You smile at him to make him feel better, but with how forlorn those hazel eyes are, you might've made it all worse. You weren't lying, you wanted to see a glimpse of your future, but finding out the version of you here is long dead doesn't compare to the feeling of losing someone you've known for years, loved even. “It's terrifying, but it doesn't compare to how hurt you must be. Losing her, I mean.”

He didn't see you grow old. He didn't experience growing old with you.

Hobie clears his throat, “I know you're not her.”

“And I know you're not him. But it looks like we both share the same feelings for them respectively.”

“That obvious?”

“Hobie once told me that in every universe there's always someone for Spider-Man. So yes, it's obvious.” You give him an empathetic smile. “How'd you know it's the same for me?” For us?

“You talk about him like how I talk about her. Takes one to know one, love.” He holds your hand briefly, like it was acting on an old instinct. “Have you told him? How much you're bloody smitten? I have a feelin’ you haven't.”

You nervously chuckle, hands fiddling with a loose screw on the table. “Nope.”

“Let me guess, waitin’ for the right time? Scared of what would happen in the long run?” He says knowingly.

You don't look him in the eyes. “Yeah.”

Something flashes behind Hobie's eyes, after a beat of silence, he finally speaks. “She died protectin’ my crew, did you know that? She died protectin' me, and how do I thank her? Years of failing, years of fighting and we've only come close but never winning in the end.” Hobie sniffs, head raised to look at the graffiti painted on the ceiling. “If i just told her that I loved her, I would've had more time with her. Instead, I was a coward, all those years wasted because I'm a coward.” Hobie finally looks at you, the warm light from the lamp lights the trapped tears in his eyes. “Don't wait for the right time.”

You shake your head, heart clenching at the sight. “I don't think all those years were wasted. You loved her quietly, and I think she did too. Time spent together isn't wasted, just like your silent love. Love is never wasted.”

He smiles softly, the resemblance of a younger Hobie is etched under the small smile. “You would know.”

“I would know,” you smile back. Trepidation hangs around your neck like a two ton steel necklace. “How would I know that he feels the same way? What if it doesn't work out? Or worse, reject me?”

“His loss,” Hobie grins, a genuine one that you haven't seen this version of him sport. It's the only thing you need for reassurance. “But I highly doubt that will happen.”

Nodding, you feel determination where the heaviness once resided. “I'll tell him when I get back. I promise.” You say wholeheartedly.

“You better, don't make the same choices I did.” Hobie holds your hands like how someone holds a feather, gentle and kind. “At least I got to see her one last time, eh, love? A bit younger but beggars can't be choosers.” You feel something heavy on your wrist. Looking down, you see a working watch. Hobie slyly put it on you, it even has your dimension already keyed in on the screen. You look back at him, mouth slightly agape. “Too much power, that was the problem. Sometimes the easier solution is the best.” You laugh at him using your own words against you.

“Thank you, do me a favour?”

“Tit for tat, huh?”

You giggle, then you face him seriously. “Crush Osborne. Fucking decimate him. Or I'll come back and bring the cavalry.”

Hobie's finger ghosts above the button. “You know where to find me, love.”

“And you know where I am.” You smile as the portal opens behind you. A gust of air breezes past you, eyelashes fluttering in the wind, a kaleidoscope of colors dancing on Hobie's face, illuminating his hopeful eyes. “I'm serious, if you need help—”

He slides his hands away from yours. “Go home, Y/N, your Hobie is lookin' for you.” With the mention of him, you give him one last smile for him to remember. You take a step back and fall back into the portal.

—

You fall unceremoniously on the wet pavement, body crashing on a pile of discarded boxes and metal trash cans. The crashing sound would've startled anybody and would have their attention, but no one seems to pay you mind as everyone stares at the ashy remnants of your flat. Groaning, you slap your forehead because of your stupidity. You feel relieved because you seem to be home. Everything seems to be in place, and everything seems to be normal.

“Fucking idiot.” You whisper breathlessly at the sight of your charred flat. Your relief gets washed away when you see Hobie in his suit kneeling down in agony whilst bystanders watch on in grief. Your eyes flick over to him and back to your flat, then back to him.

His shoulders are shaking, head in his hands, nails digging into his mask. You'd yell his name if not for the crowd. Instead, you walk to him, legs still wobbly but getting steady with every step. Soon enough, before you could make your presence known with your hand reaching for his shoulder, he moves his head so fast that you're afraid that his neck would snap. The eyes of his mask widens, standing up, he grabs you lightning quick.

Arms holding you close, you feel his warmth as he slides his hand to your pulse. Hobie sighs in relief, even laughing as he slots his face in the crook of your neck.

You mirror him, hands kneading on his back, telling him you're back and you're not going anywhere with the simple touch.

“I thought— where—?” he starts, but you press your lips on his cheek. He practically freezes in place even with his mask acting as a barrier.

“I love you,” you confess, just as promised, and truthfully. “I love you—!” In a half second after the words are uttered, he swings you both effortlessly on a rooftop, away from prying eyes.

Hobie steadies you on your feet, mask discarded in a heartbeat. “You mean it?”

“Of course I do.” You don't miss the sight of his tear stained cheeks. Your hands reach for him, thumbs rubbing softly on each cheek. “I love you, Hobie.”

“Good, then you don't mind me doin' this?” The warmth of his hand seeps through his gloves, that won't do, so he takes his gloves off to feel you. His bare hand is on your nape, the other is placed on your waist, fingers tapping on your skin lovingly.

You already know what he's asking. “Nope, not at all—”

With an inhale, he closes the distance, kissing you, taking your breath away.

You've fulfilled your promise.

Support banner by @/cafekitsune

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generalllimaginesss · 10 months ago

Text

Here’s a little piece based on Megan Moroney’s song Reasons to Stay.

Warnings: angsty bf! Jack, toxic relationship (you can usually tell if I’m depressed or not based on what I post lmao), but like this is really really toxic so don’t read if that’s a trigger for you. I think I made myself go crazy while rereading it.

Reasons to Stay

I asked Jesus for a sign

And today I haven’t cried

It’s only 2 p.m. but that beats yesterday

So I guess that’s a reason to stay

The status of having an NHL boyfriend was alluring to a lot of girls. The fame was something that always felt new, thousands of people, strangers, screaming the name that you hold near and dear to your heart. The money eased the fear of bills and gave a freedom the average person would never experience in their lifetime. The influence that you hold as a WAG always playing in the back of your mind anytime your finger hovered over a button to post a picture, wondering if the caption was classy enough to hold your status.

The truth is that looks can be deceiving. The girls that threw themselves at Jack made for a constant state of insecurities to pool in your brain, sloshing around anytime Jack was home late or turned his location off. The money bought things that made you smile, a Louis Vuitton here, a Mercedes there, but the feeling of being in debt to the man that let hate spew from his mouth anytime you accidentally stepped out of line pulled at your being, anxiety grasping at the freedom, one not capable of being present without the other.

Was it really freedom?

Was it the price of freedom?

Maybe.

Maybe the price was the amount of tears that flowed when he rejected an outfit for you to wear.

“You’re not leaving in that. I don’t date sluts and that makes you look like one,” his reasoning rang, slicing through your ears and bouncing around anytime you bought clothes.

Today was a good day, though.

He had kissed you goodbye, asking if you would be making dinner tonight.

He’d be home tonight, you thought, willing yourself to think positive and fighting against the urge to dwell on the fact that he had come home with a hickey the night prior. He insisted it was a hickey, but you weren’t too sure about that.

But he’s yours tonight, that’s all that matters. That keeps you going; the possibility that tomorrow he will be yours is your driving thought. So you went about your day as if the life you were living were a dream and that you were living the life as the girlfriend of a famous hockey player who made millions.

Maybe it’s normal to have to be small. Maybe you just have to compensate for the huge platform that he had. He had earned it after all.

Seriously, what did you do other than keep the house tidy and go to his games? That’s normal….right?

You just had to tell yourself that it would be ok. It would be harder and messier to leave than try to push through.

And when you’re drunk at 3 a.m.

You don’t call your ex-girlfriend

It’s been a couple months since you

Brought up her name.

So I guess that’s a reason to stay.

The guys had gone out after a win, guys only. No girlfriends or wives. That’s what Jack said, at least. They were celebrating the guys achievements, some records broken, and it was just for them.

That was fine with you. He had an amazing game: his second hatty of his career. He needed a night to let off some steam and just be a boy.

The picture of him and Nico with Jack’s ex looming in the background was just a coincidence, yeah? Jack said she was a puck bunny, so she’s probably just going from guy to guy.

As soon as he walked through the door, the smell of bourbon wafted through the air, attaching itself to every air molecule in the apartment and meeting you like a familiar friend. This wasn’t the first time he had come home in this state. It wasn’t even the 5th or 6th.

“You’re up,” Jack’s words were slower than normal, the effort to produce the words coherently proving to be more tasking than normal. He took in the view of you curled up in an Ugg blanket on the plush cushions of the couch, noticing the lines that the tears had been drawing for the past hour. He took note, but not responsibility. He told you where he was and what he was doing, no harm no foul.

“Just couldn’t go to sleep,” Your voice was weakened, something you despised about yourself. You used to view yourself as strong and independent. Sticking up for what was right was was something you took pride in, but being in a relationship with Jack had slowly chipped away at that, so nonchalantly that you were the skeleton of who you once were before you could do anything about it.

Jack’s balance teetered from the left to the right, making a ship at sea during a storm look like a walk through the park. He stumbled as he tried to take his shoes off, a cue that you learned meant you needed to help him.

He did so much for you, so would it really be awful to just help him out?

As you slipped one AirForce off, you took notice of the bruises that feathered his legs, probably from the intense game tonight.

You could feel courage bubble, coming to a boil before you made your next statement, “I noticed your ex in a picture that Nico posted…what’s that about?”

“Baby,” He slurred, attempting to tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear but pulling it instead, kissing your forehead after you winced at the tension. “You’re the only one that matters,” And with that he sucked you right back into his intoxicating blue eyes. They held a secret confession of his love for you. One that only you could see and he could feel.

But you don’t try like you used to

You don’t look at me the same

You used to say you’re sorry, now

Whiskey’s what you blame

How much can a heart take

‘Til it’s really your last chance

I’m a giver, but I’ve given all I can

We both know that I ain’t one to walk away

But I’m runnin’ out of reasons to stay

Things hadn’t always been like this.

Jack hadn’t always been like this.

He used to surprise you at work with two dozen roses, or wrote sweet love notes on sticky notes and stuck them to your vanity. He used to put in effort.

He used to want you.

What were you thinking, of course he still wanted you. He wouldn’t be in a relationship with you for the whole world to see if he didn’t want you, right?

He hadn’t bought flowers in a long time, though, and the sticky notes had slowly made their way to a drawer for safekeeping, none there to replace them. The vanity was bare, loneliness radiating from it every time you passed it, the feeling resonating in your soul.

It was as lonely as you.

Jack had come home drunk again last night, the smell of the liquor laced the words he shot at you with a poison that made them burn when they hit you. Everything that came out of his mouth felt like lashes against your skin.

“You’re so fucking boring, Y/N! You think you’re so perfect and you’re not! You think you’re better than everybody around you, but you’re not! You’re a fucking bitch, you cunt!”

He went on like that for at least an hour, going on and on about how he deserved better, how he could have anybody he wanted but settled for you.

It hurt even worse because it was so untrue. You battled with yourself for years because you compared yourself to those around you constantly. Jack knew this. He had been there for your breakdowns when your family had made you feel like a disappointment, or when you never thought you would be as pretty or talented as the other girls in the hockey scene.

Did he just forget this?

How were you going to smooth this over with him?

It felt like all you did was make excuses for him just to be able to live with him.

Why?

How did he completely change you? Wreck you? He had gutted out who you once were and left the bare beams that held you up. He had conditioned you to allow him chance after chance, no matter how bad he had fucked up.

And you just let him.

As the sun played a game of peekaboo through the curtains, you had made up your mind that you couldn’t justify the way he was treating you anymore. It was wrong.

The smell of bacon and eggs lured you into the kitchen to see him shirtless, standing over the stove as he busied himself with making breakfast. His back muscles flexed as he maneuvered about the stove. He looked perfect, as if he hadn’t verbally assaulted you and your character last night.

Before you could say anything, he had sensed that he was being watched, catching a glimpse of you as he turned his head slightly to the left.

“Morning. Didn’t wake you up, did I?” His voice was raspy, probably from partying for most of the night, but it sounded like he cared. It was refreshing.

“N-no. Um, I just felt like I should get up,” Reassuring him felt like an attempt to just keep the peace. Don’t say anything to set him off, don’t be combative. He’s cooking breakfast for you, so everything’s ok.

“Good. Hey, about last night…I’ll be honest I don’t remember what I said, but if it was bad it was just from me drinking too much. The boys may have gotten me to drink more than I normally do…” he trailed off as he plated the breakfast he had made for you, placing it on a placemat at the bar and pouring a cup of coffee for you, 3 creams and 2 sugars.

He remembered.

“Yeah, don’t worry about it,” You walked to the bar taking a seat.

The morning consisted of the two of you genuinely enjoying the presence of the other, catching up on what’s going on in each other’s lives and promising to not let it get this way anymore.

Before Jack left for practice, he had placed a kiss to your lips ever so gently, “I love you,” he whispered, his voice soft and sweet.

How was this the same Jack from last night?

You were sure that you had to be going crazy.

If I go find somebody new

I’d lose your mom and sister too

You know me and how much I hate change

So I guess that’s a reason to stay

And I ain’t perfect either, we all make mistakes

But that don’t change

The Michigan sunset was absolutely breathtaking. The orange and purple hues painting a picture so perfect that it could never be replicated on a canvas. The distant sounds of the guys on the lake could be heard in the distance, the chill of the wind carrying the hoots and hollers from the water to you and Ellen, sitting on the deck attached to the back of the house.

The smell of the deck and the sound of the hundreds of frogs from the water felt like a dream, one that you never wanted to wake up from.

“Jack would probably kill me if he heard me say this, but I really hope you two get married soon. I’d love to have you as my daughter, you know? These boys are a lot sometimes…” Ellen chuckled as she nodded to the boys in the distance.

The comment caught you off guard, a response in favor felt forced, but how were you supposed to tell her that her son was making your life a living hell?

“You’d have to take that up with him,” You smiled at her, not revealing the relationship that was slowly eating away at you.

“I promised to never pressure them to do something that they weren’t ready for, so I’ll let him choose the right time. I just know we all love you. Anytime the other two call home they always ask how you’re doing. I know they talk to Jack about you, too. We didn’t think he’d ever be ready to settle down with a girlfriend, much less one as amazing as you,” She went on, pulling her jacket tighter around her as the absence of the sun left goosebumps on her skin.

“It’s getting cold out here, let’s head inside and you can help me make dinner. I believe we have some wine if you’d like some,” She stood up and headed to the kitchen, waiting for you to follow suite, you smiled.

It was almost a sad smile, grateful that even though Jack wasn’t the man he should’ve been for you, his family loved you. They made you feel safe and loved. They were a safe haven from the toxic tendencies that Jack had taken up when the two of you were in New Jersey.

“I’d love that, Ellen.”

The sound of bare feet padding rapidly against the blades of grass that ran from the dock to the deck made you and Ellen turn your heads towards the window, watching on as Quinn, Luke, and Jack were racing towards the house.

Luke won, his long legs giving him an unfair advantage against his shorter counterparts. Quinn came in second as Jack has tripped over himself.

“What’s for dinner?” Luke panted, reaching for a water bottle out of the fridge and attempting to sit on the couch.

“You’ll find out after you change out of your wet swim trunks,” Ellen gave him a stern look, him raising his arms in defense as he left to go to his room for dry clothes.

You felt an arm snake around your waist, the smell of lake water and sunscreen following behind it. At first you jumped, worried that you had done something wrong.

He chuckled at the sudden movement, not realizing that he was the problem.

“Jumpy, are we?”

You smiled, trying to not cause an issue with him.

“Sorry. Wasn’t expecting you to be so cold,” You felt nasty as you lied through your teeth.

After a few minutes, he finally decided to retreat to the shower to wash the day off of him. You took in your surroundings while he was away.

Quinn and Luke played the Xbox while Ellen prepared the vegetables for dinner and Jim smoked the meat outside. You had been loving this family for years now. You and Ellen had become so close, easily somebody you loved as if she were your own mother.

Jack wouldn’t be the only person that you would have to let go of if you were to leave. As much as you loved his family, it was only natural for them to take his side, something that you understood and admired. You could only wish somebody would take up for you no matter what, and he had 4 people willing to do that for him.

You couldn’t imagine the thought of having to start over with somebody new, having to meet their parents for the first time and being disappointed that they weren’t Ellen and Jim. Being disappointed that their siblings wouldn’t pay the extra money when they accidentally forgot to keep your Snapchat streak going since it was almost 4 years long. Quinn and Luke texted you almost as often as they texted Jack. You were like their sister.

The thought of starting over was enough to have tears stinging at the corner of your eyes. Whatever Jack had done, you couldn’t expect him to be perfect. He’s human, after all. You’d stay if it meant you could keep the Hughes in your life.

I'm runnin' out of patience

Damn, I hate to say it

I'm runnin' out of patience and grace and at the end of the day

Findin' last resort reasons we're okay

Ain't a good reason to stay

“Jack you have purple bruises all on your fucking neck! How stupid do you think I am?!” You barked at him as he sat on the couch facing you.

“Stupid enough to think this is the first time this has happened,” His smug smirk and body language made you want to hurt him. You wanted to hurt him as bad as he’s hurt you for so long now.

“I hate you. I fucking hate you, Jack Hughes. You are the most disgusting person I have ever met and I hope your life becomes a living hell that you can never get out of,” The words came out calmly despite their harsh meaning. It was eerie, making the hairs on Jack’s neck stand up.

“Where do you think you’re going,” He watched as you made your way to the shared bedroom, hearing the sound of a suitcase zipper open.

He jumped up, heading straight for you, but froze as he watched you throw clothes into the suitcase. When that one became full you found another one to shove your clothes into, until the only things left were things you didn’t normally wear.

“What are you doing?” He spat, realizing that the grip he had on you was being relinquished.

“What does it fucking look like? I’m done. I’ve gone crazy trying to love you and I want out. I can’t do this anymore!” You tried to yell, but your throat constricted as it tried its best to sob. You refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing you like that, though. He had put you in this state of survival long enough.

“You’re going to regret this…” He trailed off, following you as you threw everything into your car.

“Maybe so, Jack. But I will never regret it as much as I regret falling in love with you. You are an awful person, and I hope everybody will see that one day,” You slammed the door shut and put the car in reverse.

As you made your way down the driveway and street, Jack’s figure became smaller and smaller. Nobody would ever make you feel this way ever again, and you felt sorry for whoever fell into the trap that is Jack Hughes after you.

HAHA IM SO SORRY!! Also this in no way reflects who Jack is in real life because I, obviously, don’t know him personally. This was so bad though, so I’m actually really sorry.

#nhl imagine #nhl fic #jack hughes #nhl fanfiction #quinn hughes #trevor zegras #alex turcotte #cole caufield #jack hughes imagines #nico hischier #jh86 #toxic relationship #jack hughes blurb #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes imagine #megan moroney

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callmedaleelah · 2 months ago

Text

— Pinnacle [ tsukishima kei university au series ]

— so i pay the price of what i lost ; yes it is right that you can handle anything, but you can’t handle everything all at once

author’s notes : no mention of (y/n), written in second person pov, alternative universe, timeskip!tsukishima, college life, not proofread, english is not my first language, long written chapter

[ masterlist ] | [ ask daleelah go to box box 🐭 ]

Winter break felt like a blur of constant assignments, stress, and messages from your mother. You found yourself buried in work, avoiding the outside world—especially your phone, which you knew was filled only with your mom’s relentless reminders to study harder, do better, and aim higher. Tsukishima and Yamaguchi’s contacts had been pushed to the bottom of your recent conversations, untouched since that day in the gym.

You haven’t seen Yamaguchi or Tsukishima since that winter class you skipped to watch their game. That day feels like it happened in a different life—before the semester started to suffocate you, before your every waking moment was consumed by endless biochemistry coursework. You don’t have time to think about anything else anymore, not when every day feels like a battle to keep up with the expectations of your professors and the relentless academic pace.

Classes in the second semester are intense, perhaps even more than you expected. One of your courses, Organic Chemistry II, is particularly demanding. The subject matter dives deep into reaction mechanisms, synthesis pathways, and the stereochemistry of complex molecules. There’s also Molecular Biology, where you’re expected to learn and apply the intricate processes of DNA replication, transcription, and translation. Your third major course, Biophysical Chemistry, focuses on the thermodynamics of biological systems—another subject that stretches your mind to its limit.

It’s only the second week of your new semester in biochemistry, but it feels like you’ve been dragging yourself through months. Everything seems heavier this time—every lecture, every lab session, every assignment. The moment you open your textbooks and class notes, you can feel your brain protesting. There’s an exhaustion that hangs in the air, a feeling like you’re constantly one step behind even when you manage to complete your work on time.

Now, standing outside the lecture hall for Organic Chemistry II, you realized nothing much had changed. The same heavy textbooks, the same tight deadlines, the same competition between your classmates as they all tried to one-up each other. The new semester had brought a new intensity. You were still trying to keep up with your classmates—some of them seemed almost unnaturally gifted, answering the professors’ most complex questions with ease, while you constantly second-guessed yourself, even when you knew the answer.

Professor Saito, a man with a greying beard and an air of calm authority, strode into the room with his usual collected demeanor. His reputation preceded him—tough, no-nonsense, and known for pushing his students to think critically. Today was no different. He picked up a piece of chalk and began scribbling a chemical equation across the board.

Without glancing back, he posed his first question to the room. “Can anyone explain the significance of this reaction in the context of anaerobic respiration in yeast?”

The classroom, filled with second-year students, was eerily silent. Your eyes traced the chemical formula on the board—glucose breaking down into ethanol and carbon dioxide. The answer floated on the surface of your mind, but your heart pounded in your chest as self-doubt crept in. You scanned the room, hoping that one of the top students would break the silence and offer the answer instead. But they remained still, unfazed, as if this question was beneath them.

You bit your lip, feeling the weight of the quiet hanging over you. It was a simple question, one you knew the answer to, but something held you back. You hated this feeling—knowing, yet hesitating, paralyzed by the fear of saying something wrong. The silence stretched on, and finally, despite the knots of anxiety in your stomach, you slowly raised your hand.

Professor Saito turned to face you, his gaze resting on you with a slight lift of his eyebrows. “Yes?”

Your voice wavered as you spoke. “It’s… the fermentation of glucose into ethanol and carbon dioxide,” you said quietly, swallowing back the stammer in your throat. “Yeast uses this anaerobic process to generate energy in the form of ATP when oxygen isn’t available.”

Professor Saito nodded slightly, his expression unreadable. “Correct. And why is this process significant in industrial applications?”

You took a deep breath. “It’s used in brewing to produce alcohol and in baking for the carbon dioxide that helps dough rise.”

He considered your answer for a moment before nodding again. “Yes. Good. Remember, however, that the ATP yield here is significantly lower than in aerobic respiration. That’s the key difference.”

Relief washed over you, and you allowed yourself to relax—just a little. But before you could even savor that small victory, another voice broke the quiet.

“Professor, could you explain the exact mechanism for the stereoselective alkylation of an enolate in asymmetric synthesis?” The voice belonged to Renji, one of the top students in the class. His question was sharp and cutting, a deliberate challenge. “And maybe elaborate on the difference between kinetic and thermodynamic control in that context?”

A ripple of murmurs spread through the room, punctuated by a few suppressed giggles. You stiffened in your seat. The question was far beyond the scope of what you’d covered in class, meant to impress—or worse, embarrass—the professor. Renji’s tone dripped with arrogance, and the way he leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, told you he already knew the answer.

Professor Saito regarded him for a moment, his gaze steady. He began to respond calmly, “In asymmetric synthesis, the stereoselectivity of the alkylation depends on—”

Before he could finish, another voice interrupted. “What about stereoelectronic effects when using Evans' oxazolidinone in highly hindered substrates?” Yumi, another top-tier student, chimed in with a smirk playing at the corner of her lips. She leaned forward slightly, her question laden with the same smug intent—to derail the lesson, to show off her own knowledge.

The air in the room became stifling. You could feel it—the discomfort rippling through the other students, the growing tension as Renji and Yumi sought to outwit the professor rather than learn from him. They weren’t asking to deepen their understanding. No, they were playing a different game, one of one-upmanship and arrogance.

Your stomach twisted with unease as you watched the scene unfold. Professor Saito, usually unflappable, seemed to falter for just a moment. You caught a glimpse of weariness in his eyes as he straightened up, preparing to answer yet another convoluted question. He had always been patient with his students, no matter how difficult the questions, but there was something in the way his shoulders sagged ever so slightly that made your heart ache for him.

You glanced around the room. Some students were fidgeting uncomfortably, others quietly whispering to their neighbors. The whole room had been hijacked by these few who cared more about showing off than learning, and the rest of you were left feeling small, inconsequential. You clenched your fists under the desk, wishing you could say something, do something to stop it, but the words stayed lodged in your throat. What could you say? What could you do?

Professor Saito began explaining the stereoelectronic effects, his voice steady, but you could sense his weariness growing. The air felt oppressive, like the weight of these students’ arrogance had smothered any genuine learning atmosphere. You shifted in your seat, feeling anxiety gnawing at your insides, hating the smug smiles that played on Renji and Yumi’s lips.

Before you could think further, you raised your hand signaling to interrupt the class. Professor Saito caught your motion and stop his explanation. “I’m sorry, Professor, may i speak?” Your voice came out a little shaky but louder than you expected, you can’t stop yourself right now. Every eyes are on you when the professor nodded. You land your gaze to Yumi—her smug faltered as she turned toward your seat. “I don’t see any stereoselective alkylation of enolates in asymmetric synthesis in our syllabus for this entire semester. So, if you’re going to interrupt the class with questions, at least stick to the topic we’re actually supposed to be learning.”

And now you turned to Renji’s seat, his face hardening as the room went deathly quiet. You could feel the eyes of the other students on you, and though your heart pounded in your ears, you pressed on. “And if you’re feeling that generously smart, maybe you should come up there and be the professor yourself. But what do you actually get from trying to make others—let alone the professor—feel small by throwing out questions just to outsmart them?”

Yumi’s smirk vanished, replaced by a look of shock. Renji shifted in his seat, his face hardening, but he remained silent. You could feel the tension swirling in the room, but it wasn’t directed at you anymore—it was directed at the arrogance that had poisoned the air.

Professor Saito stood there for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips. He cleared his throat, and the room snapped back to attention.

The room goes quiet, tension crackling in the air. You don’t usually speak up like this, but something about the arrogance in the room pushed you past your breaking point. The student sneers at you, but you don’t flinch. You’ve had enough of people trying to make others feel small just to inflate their own egos.

Professor Saito gives you a small nod of appreciation before continuing his lecture, the class quiet now except for the sound of his chalk against the board.

That evening, you’re back at your desk, struggling to finish another assignment. The words blur together on the screen, and despite your best efforts, you keep having to re-read the same paragraph over and over. You’re exhausted. There’s no other word for it. Even though you’ve tried to catch up on sleep, it never feels like enough. And there’s always another deadline looming, another mountain of work to climb.

Your phone buzzes next to you, but you don’t pick it up. It’s probably your mom again, asking why you haven’t called or berating you for not keeping up with her expectations. You’ve been avoiding her texts and calls lately because you can’t deal with the added pressure. She doesn’t understand how hard this is, how much you’re trying to juggle. Or maybe she does, and just doesn’t care. Either way, you don’t have the energy to explain yourself to her right now.

By the time you finish the assignment and hit submit, it’s nearly 2 AM. You slump back in your chair, staring at the ceiling. Every muscle in your body aches, and there’s a tightness in your chest that hasn’t gone away for days. You feel like you’re sinking deeper into a hole you can’t climb out of.

The thought of opening your phone again fills you with dread, but you do it anyway, more out of habit than anything else. When you do, you see an email from Professor Saito.

Subject: Checking In

I hope this message finds you well. I noticed that you submitted your most recent assignment late last night. While I am aware of the pressures you and many other students are under, I wanted to reach out personally.

Over the past few weeks, I’ve noticed how diligently you’ve participated in my class. I’ve seen how you’ve quietly answered questions, even when you seemed uncertain of yourself. I also noticed how you stepped in during that difficult class discussion the other day and helped refocus the conversation. You have a sharp mind, and I hope you know that.

That said, I am concerned about you. I can tell that you’re pushing yourself hard, and while I appreciate your effort, I also want to remind you that your well-being comes first. I know what it’s like to feel the weight of academic pressure, and I want to encourage you to take care of yourself, too.

If you ever feel overwhelmed or need to talk, please know that my office door is always open to you. You are a valued member of my class, and I believe in your potential.

Take care of yourself, and don’t hesitate to reach out if you need anything.

Warm regards, Professor Saito

As you read the email, you feel a lump form in your throat. You hadn’t realized how much you needed to hear those words until now. For so long, you’ve felt like you were just going through the motions, never sure if you were really doing anything right. But here, someone was telling you that you mattered—that your efforts weren’t invisible.

You close the email and stare at the screen for a long moment. Then, without thinking, you bury your face in your hands. The tears come quickly, a mix of exhaustion, relief, and gratitude. You hadn’t expected this—this kindness, this small bit of recognition in a sea of doubt.

tagslist (free to mention) ; @theweirdfloatything @snowthatareblack @ilovemymomscooking @nayiiryun @knightofmidnight @kozumesphone @scxrcherr

sorry for posting this late, i’ve been super busy with karate practice all weekend—i’ve got a belt test coming up soon, so the training’s been extra intense. i’m exhausted, and my legs hurt so bad i can barely walk, but gotta stay strong and push through! 😣

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dairy-farmer · 7 months ago

Note

Saw some NICE Reverse Robins Art? And just? Eldest Blood Son Damian Wayne? All the gorgeous of BOTH his parents? A man who never felt his position threatened by these younger children? But still had that oldest sibling "they're talking my Father's love and attention AWAY from me" drama? Grew up. Lost his Tim.

Was BETRAYED by his maternal family, when they brought Tim BACK, mad from the pits, and never told him. The whole alt-timeline. Edgy Red Hood Tim. Red Bird Jason. Robin Dick.

But!

Multiverse shenanigans? Who is THIS?! It's a Cannon-adjacent Tim! He's HEROICALLY sacrificed himself by tackling the megalomaniac of the decade, into the Multiverse Destroying Portal BEFORE it could fully charge! While he, said maniac, held the control panel. Thereby shutting it down.

There had been no other way.

He had expected to be ripped to molecules.

But here he is, on the sort of Shitty Roofing that can only be Gotham infrastructure. So? No time to tremble in the face of near oblivion. Gotta beat this fuckers ass so hard his ANCESTORS rethink their life choices. Tim drags himself up. And makes Gotham proud.

Which is how Darkwing (Damian's edgy self chosen name he's now stuck with until his Father retires.) Finds him. Half dead and beating up a clear Supervillian, wearing Bat gear. Good enough for Damian. He'll get answers AFTER the scoundrel in imprisoned.

Only Tim passes the fuck out.

Wakes up, in the cave, to his own? But slightly different? Face. Two things jump out. One, that God awful skunk strip Jason was permanently stuck with after the pits (that he refuses to admit, is kinda sexy). And Two, either this Tim started Testosterone WAY earlier, somehow managed to keep to all his scheduled shots dispite Superhero Craziness, OR... this lucky bastard is Cis Gendered.

Unless maybe not?

Hey, Me, pronouns. (He/Him.) Nevermind! Bastard it is! Fuck you! Why do YOU get all the luck? I have to take shots! (I DIED.) OH, boo hoo, WE'VE ALL DIED! Ya'aint special! *Tim on Tim verbal violence intensifies*

No one can tell if... they are? Bonding? Or hate each other. Someone should stop them. Unfortunately, it has to be Bruce. Which is how they learn: No, actually, he DOESN'T know what universe he's from. It's never come up before and they don't have the technology. He expected to die.

It was a one way trip.

Now they have a New/Extra Tim. There are Tim Twins. One is An Angry Bad Boy. And the other? Strangely sexy. The competence kinks are developing by the minute.

Worse, for Damian? This Tim seems... almost? Baffled? By his politeness? Seems to expect violence and aggression? And become utterly FACINATED by him, once he realizes its not coming. Damian has never been the center of someone's attention like this. Had someone hang off his every word like this. It's breeding... Thoughts he shouldn't be having.

And RR!Tim is getting jealous. That's HIM. He should be interested in HIM. THEIR shared lives. Not Mr "ooooh look at meee, the Perfect Soooon". Other Tim should be... be like his TWIN. His BROTHER. HIS other half. His!

Bruce? Hates that he sees what could have been, in this Tim. Calm and collected. Not raging and destructive. A good Detective. A perfect Robin. Dedicated to The Mission. Not the unhealing, raging, wounded animal his son has become. He wants to protect this Tim. Hold him close. Cherish him. But he also loves HIS Tim. He feels so greedy.

And Jason? It's like the Red Bird he looked up to is BACK. Not the raging monster that swings between hating him and ignoring him. Even better! This Tim looks at HIM like he's some sort of miracle! So he plays up the spunky, the cute. Crawls into his lap and chats. Gets to hang out. Be the center of his world. He... he's in LOVE. Already formulating a long term plan. Gonna marry this Tim and have a house and kids and a dog! It'll be perfect.

Baby Dick? Robin? Was EXHAUSTED trying to hold everything together. Trying to pretend he didn't notice the tensions. Play the performance of "cute baby brother" to distract and defuse. Then this Timmy came! And FIXED everything. Took Dicks job like he'd been doing it for YEARS. Smiled so pretty and perfect. Told him he didn't have to pretend.

Like he KNEW Dick. Better then anyone else.

So maybe Dick goes... a little crazy. Follows him. Smells his stuff. Wants to crawl into his bed and DO things. But! He's not the only one! Everyone is going crazy! Timmy does that to people, he's decided. But it's okay. They're TIM'S people. So it's okay if they go crazy for him.

And really? It's just a matter of who's control breaks first. Because Tim adores them but doesn't think they'd be interested. Tim is situationally dense as bricks. They love him anyway.

-🐼🐼🐼

all of them intent on this tim not realizing the tim of their universe will never let them get dibs 😩

#answered asks #asks #anonymous

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kiddbegins · 11 months ago

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I Can’t Lose You. - Brian ‘Otis’ Zvonecek

Requested: yes

Word count: 810

Warnings: arguing but it ends happy so 🤸🏻✨

A/n: I couldn’t get the linking a gif to work but this is @winchesterszvonecek ‘s gif from this post.. actually i got it (thank you laptop) but bff this is still for you

Masterlist

“I can’t lose you.”

You and Otis didn’t fight a lot. In fact it was super rare and usually not even a fight. Just an argument . The difference being the arguments were always silly. What flavor skittle was the best (the green one.), your favorite Star Wars movie (Revenge of the Sith), which kind of soda was superior (Dr. Pepper.)

But this was a fight. Like actual yelling, crying and all. Your obliviousness was your achilles heel. You weren’t used to, well, people most of the time. Growing up you didn’t have many friends, you didn’t go out places most of college.

The only examples of the social life had been since you started seeing Brian a couple years ago and he basically swallowed you into his friend group who were truthfully always together.

Not that you complained because you loved them but still, everything was new to you. How were you supposed to know the guy that came up to you at the bar was flirting? “Bri, you know I don’t pick up on stuff like that!”

He wanted to believe you, but his own insecurities in himself more than anything picked at his rational, shoving it out the door. “You picked up on it when I was the one doing the flirting. When I was the one passing you drinks ‘on the house’ which you knew meant I was buying for you.”

“Yeah because I liked you! I wanted you to be flirting with me. I didn’t pick up on it, I just gave you my own googly eyes back.” You ran a hand down your face. “Look I’m not arguing with you over this, Brian. Either you believe me or you don’t. Pick.”

Your eyes darted over his, the anger and honestly, the fear, fighting against one another inside of you. You weren’t a liar. And you wanted to yell that at him. Force him to believe you. Because you hated this. All of this. But the other part of you was worried if you pushed him too much he just wouldn’t forgive you at all.

Otis wasn’t like that but truthfully this was also your first real fight. How did you actually know what he was like in them if you never got into one before? “Please believe me.” You couldn’t bear it in yourself to keep up the shield of anger. Not when the one thing you hated most was not being believed.

Instead, your previous emotion was fully replaced with fear. Undoubtful fear. “Please believe me because I can not lose you.” By now there were tears actively sliding down your face. You loved him. God did you love him. Every little molecule that made him had you swooning, always.

He had your attention the second you ran into one another at a cafe, literally. Your coffee down the front of his work shirt and everything. One of the most stereotypical meetcutes you could ever have but with how sweet he was when it happened? How could you not agree to hang out more?

Were you meant to turn him down? “You swear you didn’t notice?” Otis asked, his voice softer than before, the anger seeping out when he saw how your face twisted with sadness. You were his soft spot just as much as he was yours.

“I swear, Bri. I love you. Nobody else could even get me to pull my eyes away from you.” Hesitantly you stepped closer to him, grabbing his hands in yours. “You’re the love of my life, okay? If that guy was flirting, I didn’t realize because I didn’t care enough to. I care about you. Only ever you.”

Your words admittedly brought tears to the man’s eyes, nobody had ever been as sweet and caring as you were with him. Most of the time he was the second, even third choice. Half of him expected you to drop your attention from him to one of the ‘more attractive’ first responders the first night he brought you to Molly’s.

But you didn’t. Your body was glued to the edge of the bar, talking to him for the entire night. You were his before he even knew it. “Alright,” He let out a sigh, pulling you into a big bear hug. “I’m sorry. I really am. I just couldn’t bear the thought of losing you to some guy.”

“You won’t lose me. Ever. I’m here for the long run.” You took a pause, “And I’m hoping that you’ll figure that out soon enough and get moving.” Otis pulled away with a look of confusion on his face.

With a soft laugh you lifted your left hand, wiggling the fingers on it. “By the end of the year I’m really hoping this finger won’t be bare anymore.” You teased, leaning up to kiss his cheek, just happy that that crisis was easily averted.

JOIN BRIAN'S TAGLIST HERE!

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d1ana-m0nd · 2 years ago

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╭─► ❝The Servant: Umbrella Academy's Servant❞

Five Hargreeves × Female! Reader || Written by Diana (d1ana-m0nd)

➢ Description : It's a well known fact that Sir. Reginald Hargreeves adopted 7 children to save the world from it's impending doom. Though, the number of children will change from 7 to 8 once a close friend of his, Rita Rossweisse was on her death bed and requested him to take in her child, who fortunately was born on October 1st 1989.

➢ Word Count : 9,850

➢ Links : Masterlist && Character Profile

Chapter 1: We Only See Each Other at Weddings and Funerals

Under the eccentric billionaire's order, Pogo gathered the remaining people of the Umbrella Academy to Mr. Reginald Hargreeves office. All three of them stood in front of his desk: The robot nanny, The advanced chimpanzee, and the ever youthful servant named Y/N. The three of them were standing stiffly on their spot, patiently awaiting for the head of the Hargreeves household to speak.

As they awaited, silence became the norm. Although silence has always been the norm in the Hargreeves household, it was rarely tense, rather, this type of silence only occured when the others were still around, especially during their missions. Though you would suppose it was reasonable, after all, their lives were at stake when trying to save the world, and they wouldn't want to repeat "their" mistake back in 2006.

But it doesn't answer the question, why was it so tense now?

Was the Monocle planning something?

You breathed through your nostrils as though knowing that the assumption would make sense since, lately, you have noticed Pogo and Grace talking amongst themselves about something you were not aware of, though you did recall Grace looking dejected every time it was brought up.

"Mr. Monocle, may I have the permission to raise a query?" You broke the silence, making the scribbling noise abruptly stop. The cold eyes his children criticized him for were now gazing into your very soul, thus casting a spell upon your skin to shiver in a rippling manner. Despite knowing how he acts as a person, you will never get used to his actions.

"I have encouraged your lot to raise questions for a reason, so do not hold back when it comes to your curiosity." He encouraged his utmost attention to you, which made you more nervous than usual.

"Ms. Grace and Mr. Pogo have been mumbling to themselves about a plan to bring the Umbrella Academy back. I recall them periodically mentioning someone's death. I'm assuming they are referring to an important figure in their life, someone who will make them come back to where they came from…" You paused breathing through your teeth then continued. "So, they must be referring to you, yes?"

The Monocle looked satisfied with your answer then resumed scribbling on his priceless notebook. "I specifically told them to leave you breadcrumbs so I expect no less of you to catch onto our scheme."

The man who was deemed by his children to be a monster praised you in his own way but for some reason you felt dumbfounded by the confirmation. It even felt like your body was refusing to accept it. As the Monocle laid out the plan he had in mind, you tried to listen intently, keyword, tried.

"Is this necessary?" You blurted out. Their eyes darted to you, which made you want to shrink to the size of a molecule.

"I just don't think taking your life is worth exchanging to assemble the Umbrella Academy… Why don't you try calling them over? Like inviting them over for family dinner?" You suggested awkwardly rubbing the back of your nape.

"As much as we understand where you are going Ms. Y/N, I'm afraid that won't work with how…" The formal chimpanzee paused, trying to look for the right word. "Strained their relationship with their father is."

This whole thing began a cataclysm in your head, questions erupted left and right, your rationale losing its grip with reality because of how much it starts questioning the how's, the why's and what's of the situation you were in. However there was one thing for sure, the eccentric billionaire wants to assemble the academy and there has to be an objective behind it and what could it possibly be?

What could be the danger that made him gamble his life for the Umbrella Academy's return?

As you tried to rationalize, an intrusive thought disrupted your line of thinking.

"Master Five, your father is requesting for you to finish your breakfast. Now isn't the time for you to experiment with your abilities. You will have more time to explore them after the meal." You repeated the head of Hargreeves household's words, though they weren't the exact wording since you paraphrased it because you believed his original phrasing was harsh.

The boy in school shorts slowly turned to you with a familiar scowl on his face, almost mirroring his father's signature look. "You infuriate me."

He took slow steps towards your direction, his eyes not leaving your figure. It felt like you were a deer in headlights willingly awaiting for your death to come. Oddly enough, you kept your composure, externally unbothered but internally dreading what will happen next.

"All you ever do is follow that old man like a puppet, you can't even think for yourself and you speak as though you are following a script." He spat, his words seething with anger but for what?

"I have no use for you, so go back to your box." Five ended with a glare and walked away as though he was satisfied with the damage he had done to you.

"What about Number Five?" You suddenly uttered out, the intrusive thought bringing back his existence into both your mind and the room you were present in at the moment. "How will you know he will come back?"

"I know he will come back but, you are free to call my statement a hunch if it helps you sleep at night." The Monocle stated with a discernible look on his face followed by him quickly dismissing you three for the night.

The news of Mr. Reginald Hargreeves flooded throughout the streets of America: the televisions, the radios, and the people talked of it like it was the only thing worth talking about. Though it was understandable considering how impactful he was in today's society though some were rejoicing in his death for obvious reasons… However, what they didn't know was that this was all part of the plan.

You waited at the front of the door, in your best Victorian maid outfit, your hair was arranged how you wanted to be and you wore special shoes for the occasion. The others will probably say that you looked the same as usual and you will admit you looked the same, but it made you feel and look the part, the part of a servant.

The door creaked, which caught your attention. Your gaze was then directed to the humongous ape hybrid man of the Umbrella Academy, who was now struggling to not break the door handle while trying to maintain his balance. You presume he is still getting used to the Earth's gravity that's why he was struggling.

"Early as always Master Luther." You commended the larger male with a smile on your face.

"I'm sorry if I break something by accident, you know how long I've been on the moon and all." He muttered with a charming awkward smile on his face.

"It's fine, I don't think your father would really mind especially with how hard you've been working on the moon for years now." You reassured the male. You guys had a small chat until he left to take a short nap.

As you stood there waiting for the others, you decided that you were going to get some water for yourself and a chair so you could rest while waiting for the others. Out of nowhere, someone slammed the front double doors. You quickly went into a fighting stance, the portable staff ready to be equipped into the fight but, instead of facing danger, you were facing a man who was a danger to himself.

"ROSEYYY!" Klaus yelled out that terrible nickname he gave you since you guys were children. You weren't primarily fond of it because of how crappy it was but you forced yourself to tolerate it.

Your once wary self relaxed at the sight of him. "Master Klaus, I'm glad you are still in good condition but, it would have been preferable if you entered in a less heart-attack inducing way."

"You and I both know that I'm the light of the party!" The seance declared then circled around you, his arm hanging around your neck. "Which means, I have the responsibility to make this party fun for everyone. And~ just because it's a funeral doesn't mean it shouldn't be fun~ "

"I suppose that would make grieving a lot easier." You said rather uncertain about your response though Klaus didn't catch onto it.

"That's the spirit! Oh, by the way, have you seen Pogo?"

"I haven't, last time I checked he was in the basement…"

"Great! I'll just take a trip down memory lane while waiting for the others." He said then walked off as though he didn't make a big scene, though you doubt that he was planning to take a trip down to "memory lane".

You sat on a nearby chair and waited for the others to show up for the next 2 hours, though the interactions weren't that interesting.

"Good Morning Master Diego." You greeted the kraken with a smile just like the others though he didn't reciprocate your gesture. He just acknowledged your greeting with a nod, then went straight for the living room to loiter. As you waited for the others, you could hear knives being thrown at random directions, most likely his remedy for his boredom.

An hour later, the rumor arrived with her luggage in hand. You both exchanged pleasantries as you assisted her to her room with her luggage though she kept insisting she can carry it. But, you managed to talk her out of it, though you can tell she only felt bad because of how young you looked, despite your mental age.

ㅤㅤㅤ❲ T H E ☕ S E R V A N T ❳

Just outside the Umbrella Academy, a certain petite lady had arrived. She stared at the building before her but it felt like it was menacingly staring her down, as if warning her that it was her last chance to run away. Vanya was hesitant to enter and scared to be reunited with her siblings - adoptive siblings - who were most likely not on good terms with her after her book. However, she knew that she couldn't keep running away from them, so she took a deep breath then entered her childhood home.

Despite the fear that lingered, it subsided once she saw the interior of the house. Everything looked the same; the house felt untouched even after all the years that had passed, it was oddly comforting. Though it was most likely in Grace's programming to keep things in order that would please her father, the same could be applied to Y/N but she's mostly responsible for cleaning the yard though.

It was rather comforting that things haven't changed though it felt odd not being able to see Y/N be at the entrance to greet her. It was usually her job to greet everyone and congratulate them over the littlest of things like surviving a mission or mastering a certain skill.

Was she out to get groceries?

Vanya looked for signs of Y/N but found none. She decided to approach someone else who might know where you were. Luckily, she saw Grace by the fireplace, her attention enamored by how the fire danced and flickered.

"Hey Mom," Vanya greeted, but she didn't acknowledge the violinist's presence.

"Mom?" She repeated yet received no response.

"Vanya?" A new voice called out.

The petite girl awkwardly turned to where the voice came from and was met with her sister, Allison Hargreeves. The actress who recently got a divorce but is starring in a lot of movies like romcoms.

"You're actually here." She said in disbelief though there was a small smile present.

"Hey Allison."

"Hey Sis."

In spite of how awkward it was, both of the girls hugged it out. However, a man clad in black leather had other plans. Said man came out of where he was loitering then walked past his sisters.

"What is she doing here? You don't belong here. Not after what you did." Diego sneered at the violinist.

"You're seriously gonna do this today?" The actress asked, it was evident on her facial features that she did not want to deal with Diego's whining.

The brown-haired male didn't give her a piece of his mind but Allison was having none of it. "Way to dress for the occasion by the way."

"At least, I'm wearing black." The male in black snarked back at her and continued on with wherever he was planning to go.

"You know what, maybe he's right. I shouldn't-" Vanya muttered, as she was about to retreat back to her apartment but a familiar voice stopped her in her tracks.

"Miss Vanya, you may think that Diego is right but not all of us share the same sentiment as him. For now, let's put the feud past us and gather as a family to mourn for your father's loss." You said. Your words were comforting the uneasiness she felt, at least now she knew that two people - besides Pogo and Grace - wanted her to stay.

Once Diego's sour words were dissolved by you and Allison's overwhelming sweetness. You and the violinist were left by yourselves to explore the eccentric billionaire's house, what Vanya used to deem as her home. But, now it's a house filled with bitter memories for her.

"Miss Vanya, is it alright that I follow you around for a while?" You questioned her, the smile you wore around her over the years seemed like had no intention of being wiped off.

"Y/N, I told you to stop using honorifics around me." The petite girl reminded you, as she reciprocated your smile.

You giggle at the reminder. "It can't be helped, with how much I've been around Pogo, I just couldn't help but pick up the habit."

The brown-haired girl entered the living room with you. Her eyes wandered trying to identify if some changes were made, though she couldn't see any big difference. Unless you and Grace decided to move a decorative piece a few centimeters to the right, then she definitely would not have noticed that detail. As she surveyed the room, she couldn't help but, drift to the section of the bookshelf where her autobiography was nestled in between.

Suddenly, the advanced chimpanzee walked into the living room. A smile adorned his face when his eyes landed on the violinist whilst he adjusted his glasses.

"Welcome home Miss Vanya"

"Pogo." The brunette muttered then went to his side and hugged him.

"So good to see you." Pogo greeted but then his gaze shifted at the book that was in Vanya's hands. "Ah yes, your autobiography."

"Do you know, um…" Vanya glances down at the book hesitating to bring up the question but goes along with it anyway. "Did he ever read it?"

"Not that I am aware of."

Based on Vanya's lack of response, you could tell that she was both not surprised and disappointed. All those years of being by her side made reading her so easier. Just like the others, she was hell-bent on being recognized by their father, the only difference was that she wanted to be treated like an equal.

The petite woman then diverted her attention to the painting above the fireplace. "How long has it been since Five disappeared?"

"It's been 16 years, 4 months, and 14 days." You and Pogo said in unison, both of you shared a small smile not expecting to say it at the same time.

"Your father insisted we keep track," You stated, though you had a different reason for keeping track. You promise to yourself that once he comes back, you will redeem yourself for your past failure.

"You wanna know something stupid? I always used to leave the lights on for him. I was scared he would come back. It would be late, the house would be dark and he wouldn't be able to find us, so he'd leave again."

"So, every night me and Y/N make a little snack and make sure all the lights are on." The violinist recalled, a small smile on her face as she reminisced how you helped her at night making sandwiches and turning on all the lights at night though, Pogo did nag you both at one point for wasting electricity, so you guys had to revert to using lanterns.

"Oh, I remember your snacks. I'm pretty sure I stepped on half those peanut butter and marshmallow sandwiches." The formal chimpanzee chuckled. While you tried your best to suppress your laughter, as you remembered the night you witnessed Pogo slipped on one of the marshmallow sandwiches.

"Your father always believed that Number Five was still out there somewhere. He never lost hope." The advanced chimpanzee reassured Vanya that the day of his return would come.

"And look where that got him." The brunette pessimistically said.

Spaceboy ordered you, Pogo, and Grace to gather the others in the living room. You and Pogo didn't waste any time and made sure everyone was in the place where Luther requested them all to be. Grace even hastened her usual pace to make snacks for everyone to munch on.

The numbers of the Umbrella Academy were all gathered in the living room. Although there were only a handful of people in the room, no words were exchanged. The only thing that was audible was the fire crackling, and the sound of Klaus concocting himself's special poison - an alcoholic beverage - from the bar.

"I guess we should get this started," The ape-hybrid-man stood up then suggested. "So, I figured we could have a sort of memorial service in the courtyard at sundown. Say a few words, just at Dad's favorite spot."

"Dad had a favorite spot?" Allison raised the question, surprised that this never went under her radar.

"You know, under the oak tree. We used to sit out there all the time. None of you ever did that?" Luther added but everyone else was dumbfounded by the new information.

"Will there be refreshments?" Klaus asked as he brought his drink to where everyone else was at. "Tea? Scones? Cucumber sandwiches are always a winner."

"What? No. And put that out. Dad didn't allow smoking in here."

"I agree with Master Luther, please put that out Mr. Klaus, the smell is unpleasant and it takes a while to ventilate the house. I recommend you smoke outside if you're hell-bent on letting off steam though." You suggested to the seance as you stood behind his slouching figure, which made him jump, have you been behind him since the very beginning? He didn't see nor hear your footsteps.

"Is that my skirt?" Allison raised a brow at her brother's fashion choice.

"What?" The brown-haired male looked down at the bottom part of his outfit then smiled. "Oh, yeah, this. I found it in your room. It's a little dated, I know, but it's very breathey on the bits."

"Listen up. Still some important things that we need to discuss, all right?" The ape-man said calmly, gaining everyone's attention simultaneously because they knew something was about to implode.

"Like what?"

"Like the way he died."

"And here we go." Diego muttered as he rolled his eyes at Luther.

Based on his words, you knew that Diego thought that Luther was being overdramatic but you thought otherwise, after all you were an accomplice. You knew where this was going, you can only hope they would go for the bait but, you highly doubt it knowing how they are not coordinated with one another. Though, there was a slim chance they would work together, it was slim but it was better than holding onto nothing.

Vanya's brows were knitted together in confusion. "I don't understand. I thought they said it was a heart attack."

"Yeah, according to the coroner." Spaceboy emphasizes 'the coroner' as though they weren't reliable. If anything, they were more reliable than the paparazzi.

"Well, wouldn't they know?"

"Theoretically."

"Theoretically?" Vanya repeated, not following through with where Luther was going with. To be fair, she was not alone, everyone was as confused as her.

"I'm just saying, at the very least, something happened. The last time that I talked to Dad, he sounded strange."

" Kudos to Mr. Hargreeves for tricking Luther into believing him. Though, I shouldn't be surprised considering how he becomes gullible when it comes to Mr. Monocle." You mused as you played with the ends of your hair, giving away to the others that you were deep in thought.

Diego will not say it but he's had his eye on you since this meeting has started. He didn't understand why you were taking everything to heart. You were never the type to be serious unless told to be. This 'meeting' wasn't even serious, it was all bullshit. Which made him think, what were you thinking?

"Oh, quelle surprise!" Klaus gurgled through his drink.

"Strange how?"

"He sounded on edge. Told me I should be careful who to trust." The dark blonde-haired male reasoned but no one was buying his words.

"Luther, he was a paranoid, bitter old man who was starting to lose what was left of his marbles." The Kraken angrily retorted.

"No, He must have known something was going to happen." Luther turned his attention to Klaus "Look, I know you don't like to do it, but I need you to talk to Dad."

"I can't just call Dad in the afterlife and be like, 'Dad, could you just… stop playing tennis with Hitler for a moment and take a quick call?'. " The Seance exclaimed with jazz hands.

"Plus, I'm not in the right… frame of mind." The brown-haired male added.

"You're high?" Allison said in disbelief.

"Yeah! Yeah!" Klaus laughed as he confirmed her statement.

"I mean, how are you not? Listening to this nonsense?"

"Well, sober up, this is important." Luther ordered him, to which Klaus reluctantly sighed, knowing he didn't have much of a choice.

"Then there's the issue of the missing monocle." The ape hybrid added to his conspiracy. Even though it was silent, you could hear the others internally groaning as more words came out of his mouth.

"Y/N, while you were cleaning up Dad's room, was the monocle still there?"

"Last night I wasn't assigned to give him medicine, it was Mrs. Grace's turn. So I can't be too sure if he wore the monocle. Though the crime scene cleaners and investigators did let me know that they made sure to keep everything in the same spot." You reported, as your thinking pose shifted into your default one.

"Make sure to check the cameras around the time they were cleaning." He commanded, you bowed in return to confirm you will do as he says.

"Who gives a shit about a stupid monocle?" Diego barked as he stood up, nearing Luther's figure.

This was only an assumption but you could tell that Diego was catching onto where Luther was going with. If a fight were to break out, you had to make sure to pin down Diego first before any damage could be done.

"Exactly," Spaceboy agreed then added. "It's worthless. So whoever took it, I think it was personal. Someone close to him. Someone with a grudge."

"Where are you going with this?"

"Oh isn't it obvious, Klaus? He thinks one of us killed Dad." Diego hissed followed by him glaring at the person who was supposed to lead the Umbrella Academy, instead of retorting back his’ brother’s accusation, Luther went silent.

"You do?!" Klaus exclaimed in disbelief.

"How could you think that?" Vanya questioned.

"Great job, Luther. Way to lead." The Kraken angrily stated as he started to walk away from Luther's shit show - his words not yours.

"That's not what I'm saying." The dark blond-haired male tried to explain but he was cut off.

"You're crazy, man. You're crazy. Crazy."

"I'm not finished!"

"Ok well, sorry, I'm just gonna go murder Mom, I'll be right back."

"That's not what Mr. Luther was saying." You tried to butt in only to be ignored.

"I didn't-" Luther sighed, finally reading into the idea that it was pointless to reason anymore.

"Allison," Luther called out "The Rumor" but she walked away from him. "Jeez…"

"That went well…" He muttered to himself, not realizing there was still another person left behind.

"Master Luther, might I suggest something regarding your endeavor to uncover this mysterious monocle thief?"

"Y/N I appreciate the help but, I think I need time for myself now…" Spaceboy breathed through his nose.

"I understand, I will let you be after this but, you have to keep in mind that whilst investigating you must broaden your scope, especially your list of suspects." You dropped a huge hint, just like the Monocle told you to do so.

"Au revoir." You said, leaving Number 1 by himself, like the lonely number he was.

��ㅤㅤ❲ T H E ☕ S E R V A N T ❳

16 years ago is the day Umbrella Academy debuted. There's a robbery at Capital West Bank at Main and Sixth, this was Umbrella Academy's first mission so the numbers were dispatched to resolve the issue however, you and Vanya were exempted from it so you were both forced to stay by Mr. Reginald Hargreeves' side.

The eccentric billionaire brought out his small hand held telescope and pointed it to where the mission was taking place. From a distance, you could barely tell what was going on but, you weren't worried for them. The thieves can't compare to the umbrella academy's strength, so you knew you had nothing to worry about because they could handle themselves. However, someone else was bothered by the thought of being left out.

"Why can't I go play with the others?" The young violinist questioned, her eyes longingly staring at her family who were having 'fun' without her.

"We've been through this before, Number Seven," Mr. Hargreeves paused as he lowered his telescope. "I'm afraid there's just nothing special about you."

"Oh."

Silence reigned the atmosphere even after the Monocle left you both to your own devices. At the moment, he was being interviewed by the press. With plenty of time and privacy in your hands, you try to cheer up Vanya but she is still looking over at the others.

"Personally, I think your special Vanya. Mr. Monocle has kept you by his side for a long time now, despite having no powers, so there has to be a reason behind it." You tried comforting her.

Vanya exhaled as her gaze descended down to her feet. "He only keeps me by his side because he knows he can't throw me away."

ㅤㅤㅤ❲ T H E ☕ S E R V A N T ❳

The song 'I think we're alone now' played, Luther usually played that song whenever the Monocle left the house. As the song's lyrics went from one ear to another, you couldn't help but recall the days of the other numbers dancing to the song with their own dance moves that each expressed themselves as a person. The thought of it made you smile as you busied yourself helping Miss Grace around the house.

As you were smiling and humming to yourself the song that Luther played, your attention was suddenly taken away by the sound of thunder rumbling, followed by blue light flashing from the outside, and the sound of all the metal objects being thrown towards the wall. Just like everyone else, you went outside to check what was going on, only to find a blue ball of energy appearing in the middle of the backyard, accompanied by the wind howling in its presence.

"What is it?" The violinist questioned, increasing her volume a little so everyone could hear her.

"Don't get too close!" Allison said worried for both of your safety, with a hand on both you and Vanya's shoulder to stop you guys from doing anything stupid.

"Yeah, no shit." The Kraken shot back.

"Looks like some sort of temporal anomaly." Luther paused as he tried to analyze it again then added. "Either that or a miniature black hole. One of the two."

"Pretty big difference there, Paul Bunyan."

"Out of the way!" Klaus shoved the bigger man with a fire extinguisher in hand.

"What are you-"

The seance sprayed the fire extinguisher towards the strange blue ball but, his attempt didn't work so he decided to throw it towards the hole thinking it would work yet, nothing happened.

"What is that gonna do?" The rumor gave her brother - the rarely sober one - a questioning look.

Klaus shrugged. "I don't know! Do you have a better idea?"

Electricity around the blue ball crackled as the wind howling became stronger, as an image of a person in the blue ball became more visible. It seemed like the person was attempting to cross through the portal, which alarmed Luther and Diego.

"Who, whoa, whoa. Everyone, get behind me." The ape hybrid man stepped up and used his larger frame as a shield for everyone.

"Yeah, get behind us." Diego added as his smaller but well built frame shield you and Klaus.

"Well, I vote for running, c'mon!" The lanky man shouted trying to drag you back into the house but you stood your ground and swatted his hand away.

Everyone is rooted to the ground, their eyes staring right at the portal. As the mysterious person started to become younger and smaller - though you felt like your eyes were deceiving you - then said person fell out. As the portal faded, everyone began to approach the person that came from the portal. The young brown haired male gathered his footing, his clothes larger than his frame, his mere presence left everyone flabbergasted.

"Does anyone else see little Number Five, or is that just me?" Klaus asked out loud.

Klaus' question prompted Five to look down and realize he was back to his 15nth year old self, "Shit."

ㅤㅤㅤ❲ T H E ☕ S E R V A N T ❳

At the moment, everyone was trying to process the bizarre specimen before them. Said specimen was not doing anything weird, if anything Five was just prepping his ingredients and materials to make marshmallow sandwiches. Though the others were staring at him as though he was an apparition that the seance had successfully resurrected in one go.

The younger male could feel their inquisitive stares, instead he chose to sigh and raise a question. "What's the date? The exact date."

"The 24th," The petite woman replied, her confusion still apparent on her facial features.

"Of what?"

"March."

"Good." He said and continued on like nothing happened.

Everyone stared at the younger male as though he was out of place. Truth be told, he is out of place among them but from an outside perspective he would easily be deemed as the younger brother. Whilst you, on the other hand, had stopped functioning. You refused to believe that Mr. Hargreeves knew that Five would return the moment he would die.

"So, are we gonna talk about what just happened?" Luther asked yet he was ignored by the boy silently making his marshmallow sandwiches.

Noticing his “younger” brother’s neglect, the larger male abruptly stands up. "It's been 16 years."

Five scoffed at the other male's statement, then teleported to the shelf behind Luther. "It's been a lot longer than that."

"I haven't missed that." Spaceboy murmured though you couldn’t tell if he was referring to Five’s attitude or how he loosely uses his powers.

"Where'd you go?" Diego questioned.

"The future. It's shit, by the way." The younger male teleported back to the table once he got what he was looking for.

"Called it!" Klaus exclaimed happily.

"I should've listened to the old man," Five grumbled as he teleported to the fridge and opened it. "You know, jumping through space is one thing, jumping through time is a toss of the dice."

The brown-haired male blinked back to the table and paused, then examined Klaus' outfit. "Nice dress."

"Oh, well, danke !" The seance accepted his - physically - younger brother's compliment.

"Wait, how did you get back?" The violinist inquired.

"In the end, I had to project my consciousness forward into a suspended quantum state version of myself that exists across every possible instance of time." Five explained but his answer left them with more questions and more confusion.

"That makes no sense." Diego replied, which he will grow to regret later.

"Well, it would if you were smarter." The younger male retorted. To which the kraken took offense, as he abruptly stood up and tried to tackle Five but Luther blocked him with his arm.

"If you are that desperate to understand, ask someone to translate it for you in simpler terms. If you want to ask who could possibly condense it down to your level of intelligence then, I suggest you ask the other 15 year old in the room." The younger brown-haired male sarcastically recommended as he side glanced at you.

Everyone followed his gaze which resulted in everyone's attention on you, which made you freeze up, not expecting to be acknowledged out of the blue. "Well… From what I understood, Master Five miscalculated during his time travel, because of the miscalculation he was only able to project his consciousness and not his physical form at the time. And, since his physical form didn't develop during this period, he was forced to manifest in his 15 year old body. Am I correct Master Five?"

"Close enough." Five confirmed though there was a slight error in your explanation but he does not want to go into tangent about it because he knew that it would be pointless and he would start deviating from the main topic.

"How long were you there?" Luther asked.

"31 years, Give or take."

Simultaneously, Diego and Luther sat down. You raised a brow at this, complemented with an amused look on your face. Although neither would admit it, they both shared the same brain cell most of the time and it was hilarious.

"What are you saying? That you're 46?" The ape hybrid inquired, his tone giving away his disbelief.

"No, my consciousness is 46. Apparently, my body is now 15 again." The younger male corrected the larger male.

"Wait, how does that even work?" Vanya raised one of her brows yet she was ignored.

"Delores kept saying the equations were off. Eh." Five looks out the window, his back facing his siblings as he eats the sandwich, then he faces his siblings. "Bet she's laughing now."

"Delores?" The violinist's question was ignored once again as his gaze was fixated on the newspaper.

"Guess I missed the funeral."

"How'd you know about that?" The ape hybrid man asked.

Five rolled his eyes at Spaceboy's question. "What part of the future do you not understand?"

The younger male read the paper's headline then asked. "Heart failure, huh?"

"Yeah."

"No."

Five clicked his tongue. "Nice to see nothing's changed."

"Uh, that's it? That's all you have to say?" Allison grunted, confused by his stunt.

"What else is there to say? The circle of life." The boy commented as he left, just like how he left to get milk 16 years ago.

"Well… That was interesting." Luther stated as silence settled among them.

Once the abrupt family reunion ended, everyone left the kitchen to prepare themselves for the funeral. On the other hand, the servants of the Hargreeves household were busy tending to their tasks while helping the others. As you finished your chores, Pogo did not hesitate to switch shifts with you in monitoring the CCTVs, though as you were monitoring it. You couldn’t keep your eyes off of Five, his mere existence boggled you. It didn’t help that you kept replaying what Mr. Hargreeves said to you.

"I know he will come back but, you are free to call my statement a hunch if it helps you sleep at night." It still felt unnerving that he knew and it even felt more unnerving seeing the real deal before your eyes.

Although you were in a dazed state, your mind didn’t completely block out the noise from the physical world. When you heard pitter-patter hitting the window, you shifted your gaze to the outside and noticed the change of weather. People say that whenever the sky darkens and the rain occurs at a funeral, it means the angels are mourning because one of God’s children died. While others say it’s both an inconvinience and a coincidence. Truth be told, the rain did fit the atmosphere for mourning, though the children of the Monocle would say otherwise.

As you were monitoring the CCTVs, Pogo called over everyone to prepare themselves for the funeral. In spite of the rain, you all still went along with the funeral. Everyone brought an umbrella with them, except Luther and Diego. The atmosphere was serious but someone disrupted the mourning.

"Did something happen?" The robot asked with a smile which caught Everyone’s stares.

"Dad died. Remember?" Allison reminded her.

Grace’s smile faltered at the statement. "Oh. Yes, of course."

"Is mom okay?” The Rumor asked concerningly.

"Yeah, yeah, she's fine. She just needs to rest. You know, recharge.” Diego reassured them, the others doubted his words but went along with it anyway.

"Whenever you are ready dear boy." Pogo signaled. To which, Luther stared at the vase and took a few steps before opening the lid, instead of gracefully dancing with the wind, the ashes of the old man fell out.

"Probably would have been better with some wind." The larger man remarked.

"Does anyone wish to speak?" Pogo brought up but everyone went silent.

"Very well," Pogo adjusts "In all regards, Sir Reginald Hargreeves made me what I am today. For that alone, I shall forever be in his debt. He was my master… and my friend, and I shall miss him very much. He leaves behind a complicated legacy-"

"He was a monster." Diego interrupted, despite the horror that was ridden in the other’s faces, Klaus was laughing as more words came out of his brother’s mouth. "He was a bad person and a worse father. The world's better off without him,"

"Diego." Allison called out.

"My name is Number Two." He corrected her then added. "You know why? Because our father couldn't be bothered to give us actual names. He had mom do it."

"Would anyone like something to eat?" Grace interrupted once again.

"Ms. Grace, that won't be necessary." You shut her down.

"Oh, okay."

"Look, you wanna pay respects?" Diego spits on the dust then gestured at it as he spoke. "Go ahead. But at least be honest about the kind of man he was."

"You should stop talking now." Luther warned Number Two as he took small steps towards the smaller male.

Diego shifted his gaze towards Luther. "You know, you of all people should be on my side here, Number One."

"I am warning you."

"After everything he did to you?" Diego slowly walked towards Spaceboy.

"He had to ship you a million miles away-" The latino went right up at his face and glared at the larger male.

"Diego, stop talking."

"-That's how much he couldn't stand the sight of you!" Diego harshly pointed his finger towards Luther's chest.

Luther grabbed Diego's hand then performed a right hook to go for Diego’s head but he dodged it, followed by a left hook to which Diego swiftly dodged as well. Both numbers grunted with each fist they threw and dodged.

"Boys, stop this at once!" The advanced chimpanzees' words fell into deaf ears as both males went on with their fist fight. You were about to intervene but, Five grabbed your wrist.

"Their grown men, not children, let them handle this on their own." Five advised you. You knew it was not a direct order but, his words made you hesitant. Against your will, you stayed by his side.

Luther slammed his arm onto Diego which caused him to stagger back but, he managed to tank it and wore a smug look. The latino then taunted the larger man, "Come on, Big boy."

Luther jabbed but missed, Diego punched him in the gut, as Spaceboy was hunched back Diego drummed the larger man's back.

"Stop it!" The violinist screamed yet no one heed her words.

"Hit him! Hit him!" Klaus egged on.

Luther did a left hook but Diego countered it. Seeing that no one was going to listen to Pogo, he sighed and scoffed as he leaves the children by themselves.

Number One grabbed Diego's collar and threw him near Ben's statue. When the latino was on his knees, Luther tried to punch him but, Diego kneed his stomach. The clad in black tried to kick Luther again but Luther pushed him. Before he could apply more force, Diego turned the tables.

"Get off me!" Diego shouted.

Luther tried to slam his arm but, Diego was quick to dodge with a complimentary punch. Both were now panting and staggering, barely on their feet. Everyone’s eyes were on the fight but you had your eyes on Diego’s distance. He was dangerously near Ben's statue.

"I don't have time for this." Five muttered then return inside.

"Come here, big boy!" Diego taunted once again.

Luther ran towards him and sent a punch towards his direction but due to Luther being slow, Diego was able to dodge it. Ben's statue instead became the victim of Luther's wrath.

"Oh…" Klaus’ face shifted to shock as he witnessed Ben’s downfall… twice if you count the statue as Ben’s replacement.

"And there goes Ben's statue." Allison said under her breath then begins to walk away from the fight.

Out of nowhere, Diego brought out one of his knives.

"Diego, no!" You and Vanya shouted in unison.

Before you could run and tackle the Kraken, he already threw the knife toward Luther’s direction. Luckily, Luther's arm only got scraped. Even though you failed to protect him, you quickly rushed to his side as he frantically pants. He hurriedly covered up the wound and retreated to the house, to which you followed.

Once you were finished with helping Luther, you were quick to go downstairs and check on Five. You already lost him once, you don’t want to lose him under your guard again. On your way there, you passed by Allison who seemed relieved seeing you.

"How's Luther?" She asked, concern evident in her eyes.

"Master Luther's fine, luckily the wound was not deep and it merely grazed him. Though, I hope that next time he does not easily get reeled in by Diego's taunting." You said wishfully even though you were aware that was not bound to happen considering their track record over the years.

"I doubt that. After all, boys will be boys." The rumor’s statement made you smile since there was some truth to it. Although you all had been apart for years, the others didn’t change, they were still the same people you grew up with. Hopefully nothing could change that.

As both of you arrive at the kitchen, you guys witness that Five is looking for something, whilst Klaus was on the table loitering and doing his own thing. You didn’t think much about the number of people until Allison raised a question "Where's Vanya?"

"Oh, she's gone." Klaus replied.

Out of instinct, you were about to go and leave the kitchen to look for the violinist but then, you remembered your original objective and stayed in the kitchen instead and just mentally said sorry to Vanya.

"That's unfortunate." Five said as he slammed the refrigerator closed.

"Yeah." Allison was taken aback by Five’s statement, especially knowing the type of person he usually puts up front, until he added on. "An entire square block. 42 bedrooms, 19 bathrooms but no, not a single drop of coffee."

"Mr. Hargreeves hated caffeine." You reminded him but he glared at you to silence you, which worked.

"Well, he hated children, too, and he had plenty of us." Klaus remarked with a laugh.

"I'm taking the car." The younger male was about to blink to where the cars were parked until you interrupted him. "Master Five, where are you going?"

"To get a decent cup of coffee." He hissed at you with venom.

Truth be told, you didn’t understand why he would need to go outside, he could have just asked you to buy coffee for him or you make one for him instead. Though you supposed that would take longer than he would like, and knowing his patience and unspoken dislike of you, he would not appreciate the time you took.

"Do you even know how to drive?" Allison questioned which only caused his furrow brows to become more prominent.

"I know how to do everything."

As Five was about to teleport away, you grabbed him by the wrist before he could blink away.

"May I come with you?"

"I'm 46 years old, I don't need a babysitter." He hissed, clearly hating the idea of being babysat by you.

"Master Five, I'm not coming with you to babysit you, I'm coming with you because I need to monitor you in case you are feeling the side effects of time travel." You tried to reason, though you admit that reasoning was rather flimsy.

"That's the same thing as babysitting but as a shitty excuse!"

You sighed, thinking you failed but, as you were about to let go of his wrist, he grabbed yours instead. His lips near your ear, as he carefully whispered "I'm only letting you come with so someone can catch me up-to-date."

His voice and the distance between both of your bodies made the gears in your head pause, followed by embarrassment flushing your face. Before you could even respond, Five randomly teleported you both to the garage. For a moment, your mouth was left ajar but, you were able to register the boy's silent gesture to enter the car, to which you followed.

Throughout the whole ride, it was silent until Five spoke, "Did you want out of that shit hole so bad that you were willing to go out with me?"

"No, Mr. Hargreeves wanted me to monitor you once you returned." You lied well it was a half lie but, it was true you wanted to monitor him and something about him was bothering you.

"Even on his deathbed you can't even catch a break. Though, I should expect that from you." The boy huffed passive aggressively, which made you feel awful, why did he hate you so much?

"Before his death, did he ever say anything? Like wanting to reassemble the Umbrella Academy?" The boy in school shorts asked promptly, to which you found yourself hurriedly creating a lie.

"The Monocle did say he had plans on reassembling the academy but he never got to do so..."

From then on, the whole car ride was silent as you guys arrived in front of a donut shop named "Griddy's Doughnut". It was rather retro looking - at least based on what you have heard from books - despite it being past the 2010s, they didn't renovate the building into a more modern look. Which you found yourself questioning if they were short on budget or not…

You walked behind Five as a precautionary measure then entered the building. As the counter came to view, the physically younger male approached it then, rang the bell twice, you both sat down silently as a another customer entered the building. The man took in a deep breath as he took a seat. Once the sound of the bell ringing finally alerted the waitress, the sound of clattering ceramics were cut short followed by her entering the counter.

Waitress chuckled as she wiped her hands clean, "Sorry, the sink was clogged."

You awkwardly smiled at her, silently understanding her pain. Then she took out her notepad and pen from her apron. "So, what'll it be?"

"Uh, give me a chocolate éclair."

"Mm-hmm. Sure."

"Can I get the kids a glass of milk or something?" She said with a smile which made you internally cringe for her, you felt like you already knew what was going to come out from Five's mouth.

Five scoffs then says, "This kid wants coffee. Black."

That was surprisingly milder than you expected but, you were relieved that the donut lady was spared from Five's mouth.

Waitress paused, her mouth agape but quickly tightened as she then turns to the man beside Five, "Cute kid." She chuckled.

In turn, Five forced a smile which only worsened the uneasiness you and the donut lady felt. To divert her attention, You coughed and smiled at her. "I'll just have a glass of water."

"Okay." Her body language more at eased with you, the waitress then began to prep for your orders.

Five sighs, "Don't remember this place being such a shit hole. I used to come here as a kid, used to sneak out with my siblings and eat donuts till we puked."

Your eyes widen at his admission, they snuck out without you? Even Vanya? Were you that untrustworthy that they had to hide it from you?

"Simpler times, huh?" Five mused.

"Eh." The older man looked puzzled but, played along, "I suppose."

Waitress cleared her throat as she placed everyone's orders in front of us, "Here."

Five nudged you with his elbow and motioned for you to pay the bill. You pat your skirt's pockets to look for your wallet but, the other man interrupts your search.

"I got theirs."

"Thank you sir." You thanked him with a small smile, to which he returned.

As you took small sips, everyone did their own thing. Your eyes busy wandering about the building, looking for something that would be useful in a certain scenario, like how the broom could be used as a substitute for a wooden staff, a plate as a distraction, and a butterknife for stabbing.

Five glanced at the other customer's vest then strikes up a conversation with him. "You must know your way around the city."

"I hope so, I've been driving for 20 years."

"Good, I need an address."

Five asks for an address for the place he is looking for and the man jots it down on a napkin then leaves once he's finished. The boy then carefully folds the napkin and stuffs it in his blazer's one of many hidden pockets.

As the brown haired boy was about to drink his coffee, he heard the door swing open then notices the reflection of the newcomer - rather newcomers - from the bell, all of them were wearing combat gear which meant one thing...

"Hmm. That was fast."

You glanced at him, confused by what was happening and how Five knew these people.

"I thought I'd have more time before they found me." His answer did not suffice your curiosity.

"Okay. So, let's all be professional about this, yeah?" One of the masked men proposed but the boy beside you had other plans.

Five placed a hand on your thigh then began to do Morse code of 'SOS' to notify you are both in danger. At first you were in high alert, ready to take out your retractable staff but, the boy followed up his secret message with 'I can handle it'. You were not at ease by his answer, not one bit.

"On your feet and come with us. They want to talk." The leader of the masked men demanded as he used his firearm to gesture for Five to go down on his knees.

"I've got nothing to say." Five said so breezily and arrogance which bothered you even more, is this how he handles live hostages?

"It doesn't have to go this way. You think I want to shoot a kid? Go home with that on my conscience?"

"Well, I wouldn't worry about that…" Five turns to the person who had his firearm pointed towards Five's head. "You won't be going home."

Five retreats his hand from your thigh then grabs a butterknife and teleports behind the group leader and stabbed his neck. Then he quickly disappears, while they were distracted by their dead comrade, he reappeared by your side and teleported you behind the counter. Against your will, you peeked and watched him do his work.

He blinked then reappeared on top of a counter, with a very relaxed pose with a smug look on his face. "Hey, assholes!"

You did not like the fact that he looked like he was enjoying this.

The gunmen were shooting at where the voice came from but, he disappeared, leaving the men to shoot up the place and leave it in ruins. The boy in school shorts reappeared at the front door then knocks on it to get their attention, as they ready their firearms to shoot at him. He mockingly salutes then vanishes once again.

You didn't want to be useless so you took a nearby mop and broke it then, stabbed one of the gunmen using the broken half. Before one of the nearest attacker could shoot a bullet through your skull, Five quickly untied his necktie then choked him.

As he was busy, you threw a plate towards a thug's head to distract him and the others. Whilst Five grabbed a pencil then stabbed one of the gunmen that was about to try and tower his smaller figure.

The last two thugs were about to charge their guns at you but, Five ran to your side and blinked away with you in his arms, as the idiots shot themselves. As silence finally settled in, he reappeared to the masked man he was choking earlier and retrieved his necktie.

As you were examining the donut shop, you noticed one of the gunmen is still alive so you approached him then snapped his neck to end his misery. As you left his side, he noticed that one of the men after him dropped a tracking device, which explained how they found him so quickly.

The brown haired boy asked you to use one of the assassin's knife to cut open his arm and dig into his arm to remove the tracking device. Once you were both done, you guys left the building and dropped the tracking device in a nearby puddle then left as if nothing happened.

Five and you made your way to Vanya's apartment, well it was mostly you leading the way since you were the one who memorized the way there. Instead of loitering outside Vanya's apartment like a normal person, Five had other ideas. Without a word he grabbed your wrist and teleported you guys into the violinist's apartment.

Suddenly, the door clicked and the doorknob turned, which Five took as his cue to turn on the light, which made Vanya jump on her heels. Although you knew it was not an appropriate time, you smiled and waved at Vanya nonetheless. You were just glad she came home safe.

"Jesus!" She jumped, a hand on where her heart is supposed to be.

"You should have locks on your windows." Five suggested.

"I live on the second floor."

"Rapists can climb."

You tried to stop yourself from chuckling at his statement, knowing it was a serious conversation and He probably would not appreciate your response.

"You are so weird." The petite girl mumbled as she sat beside you then, began checking on both of you guys. Based on how her eyes widened, you could tell she noticed there were some specks of blood on both of your clothes.

"What happened?" Vanya's worry evident on her facial features.

"It's nothing." Five dismissed but the violinist's lingering gaze never left the specks of blood on his collar.

"Why are you both here?" Vanya asserted.

"I've decided you two are the only ones I can trust." Both girls in the room raised their brows at Five, this type of situation was rare and rather odd.

"Why me?"

"Because you're ordinary."

You glared at Five and stepped on his foot, to which he rolled his eyes at. He forgot you were very protective of Vanya.

"Because you'll listen." He corrected himself though the petite girl had his doubts.

"Miss Vanya, is it alright if we use your first aid kit? We weren't able to pass by a pharmacy on the way here and I'd like to disinfect and treat Master Five's cut." You asked and she went to the bathroom to get the first aid kit then gave it to you. As the servant, you did your task like always, which is to aid with the numbers wounds.

"When I jumped forward and got stuck in the future. Do you know what I found?" The brown haired boy asked.

"No."

"Nothing… Absolutely nothing."

You paused from tending with his wounds and checked if he was telling the truth, he was dead serious.

ㅤㅤㅤ❲ T H E ☕ S E R V A N T ❳

The world lay in ruins, a wasteland of rubble and debris. What was once bustling cities and towns were now piles of twisted metal and broken concrete. The streets were empty, save for the occasional scavenger picking through the remains of what was once a home or a business. The air was thick with dust and smoke, making it difficult to see more than a few feet ahead. It was a world of silence, save for the occasional sound of rubble shifting or the distant echoes of a once-great civilization now reduced to rubble and fire.

Five stood amongst the rubble devastated by what the future had become. It was now a world of despair, a place where hope had been lost and the future was uncertain.

"As far as I could tell, I was the last person left alive."

Five walked then found a newspaper and read the title.

"I never figured out what killed the human race, but… I did find something else."

"The date it happens."

ㅤㅤㅤ❲ T H E ☕ S E R V A N T ❳

"The world ends in eight days, and I have no idea how to stop it." He said, his words were soft but it was enough to cause your heart to tremble in fear. Both you and Vanya had shocked engraved onto your faces, still processing what you guys heard.

Knowing this sounded like it was going to be a long night, you turned to the girl next to you and asked, "Miss Vanya if it's alright, may I put on a pot of coffee?"

Vanya nodded wordlessly, as she agreed this was going to be a long night for everyone else.

➢ Taglist : @kumioon @buuhsworld @incapableofanything @igotanidea

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arainaizevran · 7 months ago

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oh god i want All of them so bad ... umm. sorry women ? and/or. defender's heart

WIP folder game

i'll do sorry women! this is basically uhhhh the whole buildup to ajax killing alfira despite his best efforts to stave off the urge. also it's women plural because. well. karlach dies, and later that night alfira also dies. sorry women. (not the actual title, though)

here's a snippet (violence and gore warning, general dark urge stuff):

Her face changes with each thrust of his blade. Stab. A man with unkempt hair, his easy smile stretching until it rips his face in half. Stab. The scowl of an old man, his skin drying until he is merely a husk. Stab. Empty white eyes stare back at him, the blue of her pale skin swirling round and round. Stab. Her face doesn’t change. Stab. A derisive laugh echoes, first soft, then louder and louder as he brings down the blade again and again and again.

With a final thrust, he brings their brows together, twisting the blade with satisfaction. When he pulls away, it’s Wyll who stares back, his beautiful face still drawn in that same pathetic concern. The sight of him, on the verge of death, shoots a thrill right up his spine. As Wyll takes his last breath, Ajax leans in and inhales the oxygen from his lungs, slotting his lips over his, making sure not a single molecule escapes their mouths as he breathes in the remaining air out of him.

Ajax gasps awake, his hands covered with entrails, elbow-deep in gore. No, gods, did he…? The bloody sight jolts him, and his first instinct is to identify the body. Leathery blue skin, vibrant bardic garments, silky purple tresses, horns jutting out of her skull, her face twisted into a perpetual expression of terror. The tiefling’s name eludes him, so he decides on another: Not-Wyll. Uncanny relief engulfs him. With mechanical motions, he picks up Not-Wyll’s body, seeking to dispose of it as quickly as he can. Already, the first rays of the sun peek through the horizon.

As Ajax carries the body, careful not to spill her guts on the soil and make even more of a mess, he recalls what he can. He remembers her voice, in sickeningly sweet singsong: “Perhaps I could catch a rabbit in a snare for breakfast!” Then, the shrill scream—oh, he can hear it so vividly—then, the ecstasy washing over him as he brought down the dagger repeatedly, blood gushing from the wounds, splattering all over his face. The way the knife smoothly carved into her stomach, the intestines peeking through: a most delicious sight. He shudders, laying down Not-Wyll onto the sandy beach. He hates it—every moment he remembers of it; he wants to purge all the thoughts and desires from his brain as much as he wants this wretched tadpole out of his head. Yet, he feels at peace having sated the urge. The horrible headache had dissipated, leaving his mind clearer than it has ever been since waking up in the Nautiloid. Still the loss of memory, but no longer consumed by his thoughts. What utterly terrible bliss!

All he needed is to spill blood. Not the wild slaughter in battle, but deliberate, beautiful murder.

The River Chionthar stretches before him, rushing into the open sea. He poises, leaning back to toss Not-Wyll into the river, when—

“Is that who I think it is?”

He whips around to see the vampire leaning on a tree.

#ask #ikarons #wip #ajax

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soloistschornicles · 2 years ago

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⌗𝕬𝖘 𝕳𝕰 𝖕𝖑𝖊𝖆𝖘𝖊𝖘…

〈 🥀 〉⏤ SYNOPSIS. As an attendant, you’ll do everything to satisfy your young lord. Even if things get dirty...

♔. . .PAIRING. scaramouche x reader

♔. . .FORMAT. oneshot

♔. . .TAGS & WARNING. there's a fluff in it﹔ a slight of violence﹔mention of torture [ leave if you’re uncomfortable ]

UNLOCK THE STORY WITH 〈 🗝 〉

A raging storm of blizzards and ice floes rumbled over the coast of Snezhnaya. The winds howled and screeched against the rocky cliffs of the icy shoreline, while the waters churned with heavy clouds.

A few snowflakes drifted down from the grey sky as they whirled wildly into the air and disappeared in the midst of a swirling vortex that was forming before the eyes of those who observed the event.

Hordes of Military soldiers and different legionnaires came upfront through the whole spectacle. A silhouette of a man was seen from a distance, his vast Kasa is apparent even in the raging white storm.

The Balladeer stood unfazed as he watched his attendant performing the task that they were assigned.

"Don't lose your composure. We need those for Dottore's demands." The 6th Harbinger interjected.

"Yes M'lord, I shall continue with the procedure." You claimed. With the assistance of your vision, you prolong the swirling vortex on the palm of your hand with ease.

Intercepting all the abyssal-cryo energies stored inside them with precision, it would take just seconds to extract them from their frozen state and place them in the small container placed before him.

As soon as you did so, the swirling vortex dissipated into thin air like the blizzard around it.

"Done," You proclaimed conventionally, handing the container to the Balladeer.

"Good work, you all dismissed." He said while walking off with an approving nod of his head. He signals the troops to return to their respective post. You immediately went to your master's side, like a puppet on a string.

Ironic, isn't it?

"These cryo particles consist of remains of the Abyssal powers. They are very difficult to acquire due to the high density of these energy molecules within each element, thus requiring much more precise handling. What do you think?" Scaramouche's indigo sphere pierce yours.

You took a deep breath. "Unfortunately, I'm unsure of the specifics, however, I'm sure Lord Dottore would provide the answers that you need."

You replied confidently. It had become an almost routine thing to reply to him, like a prayer that would be answered.

"But, I'd be happy to assist you in any way that I could. After all, your wish is mine to grant."

⏤🥀⏤

"M'lord, it would be wise if you're wearing your coat. Your joints would be glazed by the cold climate." With a tender touch, you rubbed the back of your master as he leaned his slender figure to your warm body.

His soft hair tickled your skin, sending chills down your spine in response.

A deep chuckle rumbled from his chest, making you feel small against him as your head lay snugly on his shoulder.

"Such a considerate servant, you are." He spoke low to you, not loud enough for other ears to hear but loud enough that you could still feel his breath on your bare neck.

He wrapped one arm around your waist and pulled you closer, holding you securely in the crook of his elbow.

It's not common for Scaramouche to be this affectionate during your working hours, commonly you and your master would be open to affection when you're both at your humble abode, particularly your shared bedroom. Where no eyes could witness your intimate deeds, though, you're not complaining.

But what brought about such an action?

"M'lord, has something bothering you?" Your hands reached up to caress his face, smoothing out the wrinkles and creases that plagued his pale skin. His indigo eyes softened under your touch as if he was content with your ministrations.

Scaramouche chuckled, "No, I'm just being sentimental."

His fingers traced your jawline and cheekbone before they rested on your cheek, cradling the delicate skin in his hand. The tips of his finger lingered for just a moment, tracing over each contour and curve that made your face unique.

Sentimental? You're not sure what to say, so instead, you just hummed and continued rubbing his chin gently, trying your best to soothe him. Your master didn't need words, you understood his silent meaning and knew what he meant.

"You're thinking too much again," he muttered with a frown and gently brushed your lips with his thumb, a rare act of intimacy. You sighed as his palm met yours in a gentle clasp. "Do not fret too much, my troubles will not last forever."

⏤🥀⏤

A cry of pain and wail of discomfort was heard through the cold cellar. The man in question sat upright, eyes shut tightly in a vain attempt to block out the agony that wracked his body.

A pained gasp escaped him as he felt something foreign invade his internal organs, making it difficult to breathe. He couldn’t remember ever having been so sore before.

His back hurt and felt like it was on fire. Sweat dripped from his forehead as he struggled to get up but found himself unable due to a lack of energy. All he could do was lie there with his face buried in the cobblestone hoping that everything would go away soon.

He heard movement above his head followed by a loud clang. A moment later, the door was kicked open. One person entered the room, clad in a purple and black color scheme trench coat.

The man's eyes widened in astounding as he spotted the insignia of a notorious military organization in his hometown.

"T-The Fatui? What do you want with m-me..?!" The man tried speaking but only managed a wheeze. He gasped in a large breath of air when the stranger roughly shoved his head down into the stone, forcing him to stay quiet for the moment.

"Normally I would indulge in the victim's chattering nonsense, but because of my master's hidden indignation, I should end this quicker." The voice said.

"Master?" The man asked confused. This person looked nothing like any Fatui soldier he had encountered before.

"Who are you?" The man was genuinely curious. What could this person's agenda be with the man who shackles to the wall?

"Shall I recall the past events? Where you didn't pay off your mortgage, ran and hid away from the Divine's eyes. My master is capable of tracking low lives, but you're an oddity. You were the only complicating factor standing against my master."

The once-cold cellar became electrifying. It felt as if icy daggers were piercing his skin, burning into his flesh. Tears started pooling at the corners of his eyes as he felt his mind being invaded.

It was like a tidal wave washing over him, threatening to drown him alive. His throat constricted painfully, causing him to gag.

He could feel his insides twisting and turning. The pain was unbearable. The man screamed in agony. He couldn’t think straight anymore. There were no words coming out of his mouth. He was too scared to speak.

He couldn’t move. He just lay there trying to focus on not dying. He could barely even breathe let alone speak. It was all the unfortunate soul could do to keep consciousness.

"Now, you shall meet your end."

⏤🥀⏤

"Next time, if you want to wander and do my tedious assignments, ask permission if you do so..."

Scaramouche drawled as he basked himself into the comfort of your lap, caressing his indigo-colored tresses to soothe his mind's restlessness after a long day on the job as a Harbinger.

He sighed contentedly, feeling the gentle resonances from your chest's steady rise and fall as it supported his head in the cradle of your thighs. Deep within his belly, he hummed languidly.

"Noted, Scara~" You cooed, ruffling his tousled curls with loving fingers before you gently pushed him off your lap and onto the bed.

He yelped when you removed yourself away from him, but you only laughed quietly at his adorable whine. He huffed indignantly but settled down nonetheless and closed his eyes for a bit longer.

As the door was rudely opened, revealing one of your master's lowly subordinates with a lack of manners, your genuine smile shifted to a practiced grin.

The said subordinate handed out their reported files into your hands without consent and went up to forewarn the Harbinger of the recent events that occurred on the Snezhnaya coastline..

Your lover in question was just lying on the bed with an irksome expression on his face that was about to erupt but was subdued, listening to his underlings who spouted inconveniences that were not his concerns.

"My lord, what's your opinion on this situation?"

The underling waited for your lover's response, but all he got was a lackadaisical motion of his hands, and you knew what the situation was at the moment.

After placing the documents on the nightstand, you abruptly grabbed the subordinate's arm and dragged them into an empty room containing all of the unique contraptions.

Scaramouche doesn't need any of such a equipment since he has his own electrifying abilities, but you needed it to perform proper procedures on your victims.

The Harbinger simply watched you doing the process with a crazed smile that accentuates his porcelain face.

"That's my love, always attending to my every need."

#hutaospiritsoother #spirit'swrite❣️#genshin impact fanfic #genshin impact x reader #scaramouche x reader #kunikuzushi x reader #x reader

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imjusthereforbatfam · 3 months ago

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Never-Ending Encore, ch. 11

Read on Ao3 Story: Beginning (on ao3), Prev Chapter (on ao3)

Chapter "Summary": Gunshots. Screaming. Crying. For Eden, it’s always the same. Pain, death, more pain. Encore. Pain, death, more pain. Encore. Pain, death… …Wait. Why isn’t she in pain? …And is that a freaking Pow-Pow Ranger??

WARNING: GRAPHIC VIOLENCE/DEATHS I just remembered I used to post this story on here too, so... here you go 😅

———

Visions flashed in Eden’s mind.

A group of men standing around her, discussing what to do in hushed voices. A thick arm, all muscle, clenched around her small neck. The mouth of a gun kissing the side of her head. Her legs barely long enough for her heels to kick the tops of the man’s knees as she struggled; her hands uselessly clawing against his hold. Hot tears streamed down her round cheeks, pooling in the crook between his arm and her neck—

Chasing after a man in a ski mask through dark alleys. Her daddy’s plan— his orders swimming in her ears, drowning out Gotham City’s unfamiliar rain and cold. The man’s body turning as he reached an opening. His hand swerving, his gun pointed blindly in her direction—

Chris Henriksen standing above her. His bloodshot eyes filled with a drunk man’s fury. Blood trickling from her stomach, gushing from the holes in her back, pooling in the gravel all around her. His daddy’s pistol reloaded, hovering directly over her. As he glares down at her, neither his hands nor gaze waiver—

Each memory ends the same.

BANG!

A bullet forces its way into her skull for the very first time. It tears through everything in its path. Fire razes her brain until the bullet explodes into the night air. Blood, bone, and muscle fly out after it.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

The first bullet whizzes by her arm. The second grazes her leg. The third – by some unholy miracle – plunges directly into her left eye. Bursting her eyeball, splitting the back of the socket, the bullet rips apart veins, carving a tunnel straight through her skull before angrily rupturing into the cold, wet air.

BANG!

Even drunk, the proximity of Chris Hendriksen’s gun allows him a perfect shot to the center of her forehead. Everything goes red. Fire races from front to back. With nowhere else to go, the bullet splatters the back of her head open like a watermelon. Thick, meaty chunks of blood, skin, and muscle form a halo of gore around her shattered skull.

Each memory ends the same.

But there’s a secret. Something precious few can share about getting shot in the head.

During that half a millisecond between the bullet entering and exiting your skull…

You feel it.

No matter how quickly it happens – no matter how little time it takes the bullet to exit the chamber, to smash its way into your skull, to blaze through your brains, and blast into the open air – you feel it.

All of it.

Every cell in its path. Every molecule in its wake. Every last bit of your mind ripped apart by a trail of flaming agony.

You feel it as though this is the one and only thing on this earth you were meant to feel. You feel it like God himself craves your intimate, infinite suffering. Like the Devil grinning as he digs dirty, acid-dipped fingers into your skull.

It is an eternity of anguish veiled in the guise of an instant.

Every. Single. Time.

BANG!

The tears push up against Eden’s eyelids.

She didn’t want to feel it. The ripping. The burning. The unmistakable force of a bullet tearing through her head.

Maybe it would be different this time. Maybe Death would pity her just this once.

Eden already ached for the brief reprieve She brought with Her. Death’s soft and warm embrace, to her, was akin to a mother holding her beloved child. Being dead was only torturous because she – Eden's spirit or soul or whatever she was in that state – knew it was only temporary.

Far too soon, the green, acidic light would come. It would envelop her like a spotlight as the universe demanded another encore. Her senses would return to her as though she were dropped into an icy lake— like she was falling— like she was drowning— like she was being seared— like she was being carved open by a thousand knives— like she was being electrocuted— until she jolted back to life once more.

She waited for the same old song-and-dance to start. Pain, death, more pain. Encore. Pain, death, more pain. Encore.

Only this time… there was no pain.

There was no blast into her skull. No ripping or rupturing of her brain. No burning agony like there should be.

There was screaming, sure. Cursing, crying, and screaming all around her. But no pain. No Death.

...and no green light.

With great effort, Eden forced one eye to open. Then the other. The man who’d been ready to shoot her down, the sentry, was no longer standing in front of her. In fact, he was barely standing at all.

He clutched at the handle of the driver’s door, trying desperately to open it despite leaning heavily against it. His other arm hung limply at his side — streams of red pouring down its mangled remains and onto the road. His dark sunglasses were gone. His once eager eyes now wide and fearful as he stared down the street.

He was screaming. The van’s driver was screaming. The man in the trench coat was scampering into the passenger seat. And also screaming.

BANG!!— Eden flinched violently —POFWISHHHH!!

BANG!! POFWISSSSHHHHHH!!

Her eyes saw the van’s back tires burst and rapidly deflate, but her mind couldn’t make sense of… well... anything.

“E–”

She’d been shot, hadn’t she?

Hadn’t she?

Her hands flew across her head, madly trying to find where she’d been hit. As if she’d somehow missed the whole thing. Pain, death, pain, encore... right? But when she pulled her hands back to look for fresh blood, they were clean. Covered in already-healing scrapes, dirt, and nearly dried blood, but nothing fresh. Nothing that indicated the flood she knew had to be pouring from her head.

She felt something wet streaming down her chin—

“—den!”

—but it wasn’t red. It was clear. Not blood. Water.

Water…

Tears?

Was she…? Her fingers wiped at her eyes. She was. But when had she started crying?

“E—”

The sentry’s gun was on the ground — she was able to process that. The van’s engine screaming out, too. The deflated tires smoking and sparking as the metal wheels skidded against the road, the driver attempting to peel out.

“—den!”

More gunfire. The metal wheels screeching. The whir of a small but powerful engine getting closer—

“EDEN!!”

A piercing shock ran through Eden’s body. Her head whipped toward the person screeching her name.

A young woman on the ground. Her face terrified. Streams of tears running down her cheeks, leaving a clear trail.

Marsha.

It was Marsha. She was crying, and bleeding, and reaching for… for Eden.

Unthinking, Eden bolted toward her, her arms out and ready.

She all but slammed her knee into the ground to grab Marsha. She yowled, as her skin ripped against the pavement and a sharp pain cleaved through her kneecap. The violent sensation raced up and down her leg, making the whole thing rattle – but it didn’t stop her from swooping Marsha into the air just as violently.

Her wild mind spun around dizzy memories of small hogs, misshapen bales of hay, huge sacks of flour… Marsha would’ve been easy to carry in comparison, but cracks in Eden’s kneecap seemed to spread wider and deeper with each step. The air burned around her knee as something wet gushed down her leg. Eden gritted her teeth, her tears nearly blinding her as she hurried for the row of cars parked along the street.

Tires skid harshly across the pavement, coming to a shrieking halt right behind her. The men’s screaming amplified to the sound of glass smashing and metal breaking. Eden almost screamed too, her heart beating in her throat and roaring in her ears.

As soon as she rounded a car, her leg finally gave out. She collapsed — both she and Marsha letting out pained gasps as they hit the ground.

Wincing, struggling to breathe, Eden dragged her leg closer and maneuvered Marsha onto her back. Her knee burned. It ached. Still, her blurry eyes and trembling hands flew aimlessly over Marsha.

Pressure. They needed to apply pressure. Eden’s hands jerked and pressed down against the coat still covering Marsha’s wound.

She heard herself muttering, stumbling over her words as she told Marsha why it was important to keep her level, why they had to keep pressure on the wound, telling her they were okay, promising everything would be okay.

Marsha was still crying. Choking down gasps of breath. Her big brown eyes flickered over Eden’s shoulder. Her mouth dropped.

“Are you two—?”

Eden launched her elbow towards the voice, shrieking as she did.

The stranger blocked it easily, swearing. She went for the throat.

“Hey!” He grabbed her hands. “Calm down!”

She thrashed and glared at the man before coming to an abrupt halt. “The… The yellow Pow-Pow Ranger?”

Even as she said it, she knew that wasn’t quite right. The TV character’s costume was an equal mix of yellow and white, but this man wore yellow and black. The only white at all in his uniform was some symbol spread across his chest. But at first glance, his costume looked close enough to the TV character’s that it made Eden’s racing mind stop and short-circuit.

The yellow and black helmet he wore didn’t cover the lower part of his face, so Eden could actually see his mouth go from a half-grimace to something closer to a pout.

“I am not the Yellow Pow-Pow Ranger.”

It sounded like he’d gotten the comparison before …and like he was young. But that was all she could come up with in her state.

She blinked at him. “Oh.”

A moment ago, her thoughts had been moving too fast to make sense of things. Now, they were slower than molasses, and she still couldn’t make sense of things.

The stabbing ache in her knee jabbed its way to the forefront of her mind. The pain was less intense than before, the mending already underway. But despite how quickly her body was healing this time, she could still feel the throbbing of the cracked bone and the sting of cool air on torn-open skin.

“Right,” she said blinking through the conflicting sensations. “Sorry, hon. I just— You do sorta look like—” She glanced down at his costume, at the white on his chest. It looked sort of... familiar. It took a moment for her brain to recognize it, then—

“Oh!”

A bat!

“There’s a hostage situation going on inside!” she said pulling her hands from his grasp and pointing toward the bank. “All the robbers are out, but I’m pretty sure there’s a bomb keeping the rest of the—”

“It’s alright, ma’am,” the boy said raising a hand. “I’ve already been briefed on the situation.”

“Alright, good. But listen, hon, there’s people inside that van and they’re—”

“Ma’am, it’s alright,” he soothed, moving his hands in a calming gesture. “We know about the hostages there, too.” He moved to help Marsha put more pressure on her wound, who was looking up at him like he was made of starlight. “We’ll get them out soon as Red Hood finishes restraining the—”

“Hood?!”

Eden shot up like a rocket. Her healing knee let out an audible CRACK! at the sudden movement. She hissed, stumbling against the car to stay upright.

Across the road, the van's driver door hung loosely on its hinges; its window shattered. There was a sleek black motorbike not far from their hiding spot. Long streak-marks from the tires stretched down the street by several yards.

Red Hood was there, standing almost exactly where Eden had been cowering only a minute ago. The red symbol on his jacket stretched across the broadest part of his back like an unbreakable shield.

She took a soft breath at the sight, her heart picking up speed.

All three of the men were on the ground before him. Two of them – the driver and the man in the trench coat – were groaning, all black and blue. The third – the sentry – was trying to crawl away, inching toward one of the rifles left in the street.

Red Hood followed him, his pace slow and deliberate. Gun in one hand, he towered over the man like an expert hunter readying for the kill.

When the sentry turned to look up at him, Eden saw his eyes. Once burning and eager to take her life, the man’s eyes were now watery and wide with the fear of losing his own. His bloodied, mangled arm hovered in the air as he blubbered for mercy.

A twisted part of her was glad to see it.

“Hey, calm down!” Not-Yellow-Pow-Pow-Ranger yanked her back into hiding with one hand, making her yelp. “I know he’s a little scary, but Red Hood’s a good guy right now — promise!”

Frowning, she smacked his hand away. “I know that!”

The boy’s lips opened then pursed slightly like maybe she’d confused him. Or upset him? It was hard to tell without the rest of his face showing.

“Hon, listen. Those hostages—”

“Signal.”

“—huh?”

“My name’s Signal,” he said.

“Signal?” she repeated, not sure she’d heard him right. “…That’s your hero name?”

He left out a half-offended scoff. “Damn, okay.”

“Oh, sorry! I’m sorry, hon, I shouldn’t’ve said it like that, I just—” Eden stopped, shook her head wildly, then grabbed the boy’s shoulders. “Signal, LISTEN! Those people in the van are not hostages! Not all of them, at least. More than half of them were in on it — the guy in the maintenance uniform for sure!”

Signal’s demeanor changed instantly, and she let go as his shoulders broadened. “You’re sure about that?” He sounded older, more serious.

“Yes. A hundred percent. So could you please tell Hood— uh, Red Hood so he doesn’t end up caught in some trap he doesn’t need to get caught in? I don’t—” The sudden thought made Eden’s heart race. She swallowed dryly. “I don’t want him getting hurt.”

Signal stared at her a moment, his jaw going lax. Then he shook his head and leaned a fraction closer. “Sorry, what?” He sounded young again, like he didn’t understand what she was saying.

Eden bristled. “I said, I don’t want him to get hurt!”

He nodded quickly, mostly to himself. “Yuh-huh, that’s what I thought you said.” He turned his head to look directly at the car beside them, glanced back at her, then the car door again.

She furrowed her brows and glanced at the car too. What in the world was he looking at? The shoddy paint job??

“Signal,” she snapped. He jumped slightly, fully returning his attention to Eden. “Are you gonna help Red Hood or not?”

“Right!” He immediately cleared his throat. “Right,” he said in his more mature voice. “Of course, ma’am. Don’t worry.”

He shifted, looking down at Marsha whose eyes were now drooping as she looked up at him. He was still pressing Eden’s coat onto her gunshot wound.

He opened his mouth, probably to tell Eden to take over, but stopped as she immediately and wordlessly did just that. Warry of Marsha’s drowsiness, she also grabbed her hand and squeezed tight.

Signal stared at her for half a moment, but when Eden looked at him with a lifted brow he jumped to his feet.

“Just keep that up. Paramedics should be here soon.”

Then, just like that, he bolted around the car, calling out to Red Hood. His words were harder to make out, but she could catch snippets of what she’d told him. There was a familiar, almost robotic sound that could only be Hood’s voice scrambler that replied. Eden let out a small sigh of relief.

There was quiet, followed by the sound of the van doors opening. Then what might’ve been Red Hood speaking and some muffled talking. Then a whole slew of noises Eden couldn’t quite follow. Then sudden, rapid gunfire.

Eden shrieked, throwing herself over Marsha, hiding as much of her as she could from any more stray bullets.

Silence.

Eden popped up, breathing heavy as she got to her knees and attempted to peek through the car windows. She had to see what was happening. She had to see what was happening. She needed to know if Red Hood— needed to see— needed to help him if he—

“Eden?” Marsha called in a whisper, snatching her attention.

The girl’s dark eyes kept fluttering, struggling to stay open. Even so, Eden could see the uncertainty in them, the fear.

“It… It’s alright.” She took a deep, shaky breath, squeezing Marsha’s hand tighter. “You’re going to be okay,” she promised, still feeling no tug, no blooming pain in her own abdomen. “You’re safe. Everything’s going to be okay.”

Marsha’s eyes moved back and forth lazily, trying to focus on Eden’s. “Thank you…” she breathed.

Eden started to frown – it was her fault this had happened; she was just taking responsibility for her actions – but covered it with a gentle smile. She could correct Marsha later, once things finally calmed down.

There were sirens now, rapidly approaching from all sides. She heard a motorcycle roar to life on the other side of the car, and lifted herself until she could just peek through the windows.

Red Hood was sat on the black motorbike, watching Signal race into the bank. He looked down at the bike, then shifted his gaze in Eden’s direction. She could tell the exact moment he’d spotted her, his body perking up as his helmet turned toward her fully. It made her smile.

She gave him a small, grateful nod, trying to tell him they were okay.

He stared at her, then glanced behind as red and blue lights appeared down the street. After one more quick look, he revved his bike and took off.

Eden’s smile grew. She sent it down to Marsha, who was barely keeping her eyes open. She squeezed her hand again.

“You’re going to be okay,” she cooed as she started to drift off. “You’re going to be okay. I promise.”

“Ma’am, another ambulance on its way,” the cop repeated. His glare seemed to grow deeper each time he spoke. “Just wait a few—”

“I don’t need an ambulance,” Eden shot back, her accent getting thicker as they continued to argue back and forth. She readied to shove her way past him. “I need to be with my cousin! Wherever she’s goin’, I’m goin’!”

The cop tried to stop her, but Eden grabbed his forearm and bicep, put her foot where her mama taught her, and propelled herself forward. He stumbled from the momentum, allowing Eden to awkwardly swing around him. She fumbled her footing and fell ass-first into the ambulance. Pain shot up her tailbone, but at least she was in the damn thing.

Quick as she could, she grabbed the rail beside the small bench on the wall and hoisted herself into the seat beside one of the paramedics. In the same moment, the cop righted himself and turned toward her with his hand on his holster.

She gave him her best glare. “She’s my cousin,” she said again, warning him this time.

Usually, when Eden called someone a cousin, what she was really saying was, “This person’s part of Paradise Farms; you mess with them, you’re messing with Louanne Smith.” That was usually enough to keep most folks from giving them any trouble. But this time, she didn’t have her mama to hide behind. So what she was saying instead was, “This person’s well-being is my responsibility; if you don’t knock it off, I might do something stupid.”

The cop seemed to pick up on this, his glare getting even angrier. His hand twitched above his gun.

Eden’s grip on the rail tightened reflexively. She’d had enough guns and cops for a lifetime.

“Alright, lady—"

“It’s fine, Dan,” the older parametric snapped. “We don’t have time to waste on this crap. This woman needs help, now.”

The cop, Dan, shifted his gaze to the man, then to Marsha. When he set his stare back on Eden, she jutted her chin in defiance. He glared and turned to the paramedics.

“Don’t be afraid to sedate this one. Some time in the psych ward might do her some fuckin’ good.”

Eden held her tongue. She did her best to aim her glare to the floor as the cop finally shut the back doors. She sighed, some of the tension easing out of her.

“Thank you,” she said to the parametric as the siren began to wail and the ambulance started to move.

He didn’t respond but sent her a fleeting glance to show he’d heard her.

Careful not to get in their way, Eden reached out and took Marsha’s hand again. She hadn’t stopped holding it until that jerk cop had tried to pull her away.

But she had to stay with Marsha. Just in case she took a sudden nosedive and Eden needed to trade with her. Taking on someone else’s death wasn’t fun – when was dying ever fun? –, but it was the closest her powers ever came to “healing” others, so it was better than nothing.

Several long minutes of holding Marsha’s hand and nothing continued to happen. Even after all this time. Even after losing consciousness. Still nothing.

Eden let out a sigh of relief, earning an odd look from the paramedics. She smiled at them, feeling more sure than ever that Marsha was going to be okay.

The two frowned at each other. The younger paramedic shook her head subtly at the man, and they quickly went back to work. They probably thought Eden was crazy, or maybe in denial. But it was true. Despite everything, Marsha wasn’t dying. And that meant she’d be okay.

Eden took a deep, deep breath. Her lungs seemed to expand. Her bones settled as her muscles relaxed.

Her mind went back to Signal and Red Hood. Aside from that glimpse of Red Hood as the cops arrived, she hadn’t seen him. Nor had she seen any sign of Signal after he ran into the bank.

She hoped they were still okay. She hoped they’d been able to get away without any trouble. Some old piece of Frank’s “training” rang out in her mind, reminding her that cops were usually only ever happy to see heroes if they’d done something extraordinary. Halting a bank robbery, for all it was worth, was not extraordinary. Especially not in Gotham City.

That made her think about Aaron… He’d been eager to help before, but how had he actually faired on his own? Was the old lady alright? Was he? What if he’d been hit by a stray bullet too?

She sighed. It was wrong of her to dump the safety of all those people on him like that. She didn’t have much choice after seeing Marsha facedown in the street, but still. The thought of anything happening to him or any of those people made her insides tense all over again.

She picked her coat up off the floor to grab her phone. The paramedics had tossed it aside as soon as they had the tools to properly care for Marsha’s wound. Pulling it onto her lap, Eden frowned at how much heavier it was than usual.

She’d bought it not long after Red Hood had “saved” her life — the night he’d given her those awful stitches. Very purposefully, she’d sought out a coat in a warm, rich shade of black. She’d been hoping the color wouldn’t show a lot of blood whenever she got hurt again. No sense in buying a new one every time she bled out, after all.

Looking it over now, the search definitely paid off. Despite having pressed it against Marsha for so long, Eden couldn’t spot any blood on her coat. Only when she looked closely could she see signs of it at all. And even then, she wasn’t totally sure.

Curious, she tested the fabric with a soft squeeze— then gasped. Blood poured out, running through her fingers and down her arm like rainwater.

#Never-Ending Encore #Neverending Encore #red hood x oc #jason todd x oc #OC: Eden Smith #ch 11 #chapter 11 #oc centric

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