#i hope i feed you well with this one

[scratchandplaster]

Stack The Deck - PART 12

CW: PTSD, drug abuse, recapture, regretful Whumper, mention of past torture, Lima syndrome

PART 11 ⇽ [Masterlist] ⇾ PART 13

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

"Now comes the best part!" Brooke whispered, quickly sliding the pot from the stove top onto a coaster. The golden liquid inside was bubbling up to the rim, but without a chance to spill over, it was already poured down onto a blanket of crushed ice.

She had to be steady now, line for line of sticky syrup was traced back and forth, patiently waiting for her guest to join in.

Elliot did, eventually, by placing popsicle sticks down and coiling the already hardening candy around them. Although he always kept his left hand in his pocket, far away from any curious eyes, he managed to roll them along the lines of syrup quite well, until a stack of sweet rewards was formed.

"And you never did this when you were younger?" Brooke mumbled while her teeth were desperately trying to unstick from each other.

Elliot nibbled at the corner of his taffy, clumps of ice were still stuck to it: "I don't think so, our snow was too dirty. My uncles took me to winter festivals, though."

He wouldn't have come, if his guilty conscience hadn't forced him this time. He declined invitations and outings over and over since he moved back home, so many had stopped prodding after a while. Except her, she was stuck in his messages like a tick, coming up with all sorts of reasons to meet up again.

When asked if it wasn't a bit early for winter traditions, without any snow to be seen in August, Brooke was determined that it was never too soon for maple taffy. She didn't wait for the seasons.

She didn't question his absence either, and they never talked about the job - how it used to be. As the days grew shorter, so did his hope to join her once more.

All in all, Brooke hid her interest very well, even after he had to take his daily meds in front of her: little chalky pills he swallowed down with the help of tart and sticky candy.

"So, I thought," she started after they cleaned up all the dishes, "we could watch a movie, to get the Christmas spirit going."

"No space for Halloween in your holiday plans?" Elliot asked with a tired smile, though he wouldn't mind leaving horror movies on pause this year. Or however long it would take until he felt like himself.

Brooke shook her head: "Not really my thing, but we could call it even and watch Nightmare Before Christmas."

A part of him wanted this more than anything, this comfy sliver of normality, but a glance out of the window was enough to tell that Elliot had overstayed his welcome.

"It's getting dark already," the quiet apology towards his host was rewarded with a scrunched brow, "My, uh, mom wants me to help with dinner."

She didn't mind the shitty lie, that's what she got for gossiping around with strangers in the restroom. Brooke was sure Elliot had been told about the quick chat in every detail.

"No problem, what about next week?"

He agreed eventually, planning to cancel if he felt like it. Or maybe they could do it at his place, his parents would love this sign, him linking-up with friends again.

Elliot was a bit embarrassed by it, more so scared, but Brooke even walked him to the train stop. Standing engulfed by a crowd should've made him feel secure, at least he desperately waited for it.

I'm safe, I'm safe, nothing is going to happen. Nevertheless, Elliot recognized him sometimes: in advertisements, in the bus, as sneaking shadows at the corner of his eyes.

It was nice being out again, exhausting, but nice. He waved Brooke goodbye.

Everything is okay. It hadn't been a bad day, so why did he feel so uneasy? It's been fine so far, no need to start whining. Especially back home, I'll just upset mom too.

Another pill should soothe his racing mind, but that's it, he didn't want to act plastered in public. It was all agreed upon, he could increase the dosage as-needed: doctor's orders.

It. Is. Fine.

He could taste the rumbling heartbeat in his throat, and his left arm woke slowly from its medically-induced slumber. Too much, just too much at once.

Home- a bad idea. If whining upset her already, a full on panic attack wouldn't help either.

He tried to tune the people around him out; were they staring? Of course, they were. Sour spit collected at the back of his mouth, begging to be let out, but no matter how much he tried to keep focus, he stumbled out of the train one station too early. 

Elliot needed air, a second to breathe.

Automatically, he started fidgeting with the cap of the pill bottle. How many did he take by now? Whatever, one more wouldn't make him hurt any worse than he was now. Elliot finally got a grip on it and forced the tablet down dry.

There he was again: climbing out of the station to stroll along a lonely sidewalk in the dark. Exactly what he was trying to dodge.

Great plan, fucking brilliant.

A forced calm finally started to spread. Fatigue hit him with a gentle fist, but it was welcome, the better of the two moods.

A new message popped up on the phone display, making Elliot jump weakly:

Are you home? 

So to speak. He sent a thumbs up for Brooke because "- she seems so well organized."

Illusions made his head spin with every step.

Don't think about that, look for a place to rest.

Elliot was sure he fell at some point, but was right back on his feet, stumbling over to a bench. An inviting offer in the abandoned street.

What did Dad tell me? Five things you can see- five things you can...hear...five thin...gs...

Tired breaths began to calm his system slowly, and the tight warmth in his chest kept his pain down.

He closed his eyes to rest for a bit, just a moment of-

--------

Elliot woke up slowly. Keeping his eyes softly closed, he tried to assess how bad it hit him this time.

After a night out in the cold, he counted himself lucky if his feet were still attached to the rest of him. It would take hours to shake the frost out of his bones, to creep back home for breakfast, but that's what one gets for overreaching.

He waited for the biting cold on his face, for the wind licking at the shell of his ears. But every painful itch turned out to only be a passing tickle, not even the traffic noise had woken him up.

His body felt warm and relaxed, covered by a soft blanket. He still couldn't manage to peel his eyelids open, too confusing was the silent murmur that this was off. That something was wrong.

First, both his jacket and shoes were missing. A sigh of relief echoed through the room.

Elliot had made it home, thank goodness! No future adventures in the evening for him, he knew being with Brooke had been a bad idea; not because of her, of course not, but he just wasn't... made for this anymore. As new waves of anxiety tried to stir up, a heavy weight pressed down on his chest: weird, he would never let Ginkgo run around at night.

Oh, quick, I need to feed her and clean up the cage.

While at it, his mother was in dire need of a hug until she would forgive him for still keeping up with his bullshit. Making her worry to death about her son, Elliot knew better than that.

Finally rubbing the grainy dust from his eyes, the first thing Elliot noticed was a blurred shape at the foot of his bed. The more his vision cleared up, the louder his heart pounded against the blanket and the hand above his own. No face was needed to recognize the person sitting next to him, he knew exactly who decided to haunt him today.

Oh, this again. Elliot quickly shut his eyes back to familiar darkness, cursing his stupid brain for dreaming up these memories. Sleep paralysis, very original, thank you.

They would fade, like they always did. He was home, he was safe...

...

..

.

Something was wrong.

Maybe the sun shining through the window that made his eyes water in face of brightness, an impossible task in his own windowless bedroom; maybe the fact that he'd rather die in a ditch than sleep without his wrist brace.

He had to know, and opened his eyes one final time - this was not his room, not his home. A trick of the tired mind, it simply had to be, Elliot prayed while looking the man of his nightmares straight in the face.

"Hi," Morris whispered, hand on top of broken hand.

No.

Not this.

Not again.

That wretched man slowly leaned forward to let his elbow rest on his knee, an expectant smile on his lips.

Staying horribly numb, Elliot's left arm automatically jerked back to his waist. He felt himself being dragged to that house and if he finally dared to be honest with himself, a part of him had never left.

--------

His guest gave Morris nothing, maybe he just didn't hear him right. Even though he specifically refrained from sitting on the bed and gave him some space to breathe, all the effort didn't seem to be enough. Elliot snapped up to sit ramrod straight under the covers, his breathing hastened to let his restless stare stop on Morris. 

Here they were at last, and this time nothing would go wrong.

"Uhm, do you want me to start or-" Morris said, a bit flustered and picking eagerly at the sheets. The answer came instantly: "I don't know where she is!"

"Who?"

"Wha-"

"Are you still high? It's been hours, that can't be right."

Much to Elliot's relief, Morris let go of him to turn around with a worried frown and fumbled for something at the foot of the armchair he was sitting in. Through blank fear, getting up and walking out was not even considered yet; but one thing came to Elliot's mind despite it all. The thing the world spun around.

"Amber. I don't know-"

"Ohh," Morris cut him off with a small laugh, forehead wrinkled in reassurance, "No, no, this is not about her. I think she had her claws on me for long enough."

Elliot fucked up bad this time. All the simmering fear, anger and helplessness pushed down on him with crushing force. Brooke - the crowd - Morris, it went over in the blink of an eye, his emotions couldn't catch up to the shock and the pills; and he was thankful for it. For letting himself hide inside a little longer.

Still, the icy-blue stare demanded his attention. He had called himself paranoid, laying awake at night to let his fears flirt with this exact scenario again and again, now he knew it had been warranted. Elliot felt it the first time he dragged himself home, just as intense as when he lied to his doctors all those times. Cluelessness spread and made Elliot trip over his own heartbeat.

"I-I didn't tell anyone either." he swallowed thickly, "I know what you said, I didn't forget."

Morris gaze softened, somehow relieved that he wasn't the only skittish one of them.

"You thought about me a lot, huh?"

He meant it to be playful, but seeing how much this comment made Elliot flinch back, he needed to choose his next words more wisely. Nothing but smooth sailing from here on.

He wants to know if I'm still in line. If I fear him more than I look for justice. Elliot would grant him that, gladly so: "Every day."

Much to his confusion, he just needed two words to make Morris empty eyes glow with joy.

This was good, great even, right? Keeping him satisfied, not provoke the anger that cost them so much already. Old survival methods slowly clawed their way back to the surface.

"Really?!“ Morris tone was laced with pure satisfaction, and if asking his guest, it was won out of superiority. Another fallacy that wouldn't be corrected anytime soon.

Instead, he just managed a weak nod above his sweaty hands. Elliot didn't trust his own voice, but still had to push forward.

"I don't really know why I'm here. If it's not about her...can I go then, please? My...my dad will be home in a few days, I miss him so much," his shaky tone somehow pushed out, helpless to stop the tears that started collecting and threatened to flow over. He should've watched that damn movie with Brooke; too late, all in vain.

Somehow, Morris didn't like this at all. Screaming and crying: no fun. How did Elliot already forget that?

"Why are you upset? Don't- no, that's not how it's supposed to go!"

Staying calm to ignore this dreaded feeling took everything out of Morris; if anything, he was the one allowed to be upset! He had been lied to, that old whore kept him away from her son, let him stew in pain for nearly a year. He was deprived of everything he deserved...

But wait, this was perfect: a gradual start. They both had been given time to process, hopefully enough of it to reward Morris for his good behavior. The lean years are over.

"One second," he finally huffed out, a tense hand running through his hair, "this is all wrong, I have a whole plan made up. Wait, wait!"

Knowing how this man's plans usually worked out, Elliot could do nothing but brace himself. Even trying to shrink further under the covers was only commented by a crooked smile: "I practiced, don't laugh!"

Elliot would never dare to, he hadn't in weeks. A quick clearing of his throat gave the go-ahead.  

"I'm really sorry for what happened. I lost control: of you, of the...situation. I'm sorry you were hurt, and I will make it up to you. But first, I just have to know:" stabilizing himself on his twitching knees, Morris finally let the dreaded question out, "Can you forgive me?"

Nothing but static whirred throughout his mind.

"Yeah," Elliot stuttered, "S-sure. It's alright."

In an instant, a pressure inside the room was lifted. Exhaling with a deep sigh, Morris steadied his forehead on his folded hands: "That's great, thank you. You're just great." We can go forward then.

A guilty conscience does weigh heavy, it seemed. That was it? This was no tasteless joke, all he wanted was absolution, granting at least one of them their piece of mind.

Suddenly, Elliot felt unreasonably bold.

"I need to leave."

"No, not yet," came the firm answer.

There it was, the catch. Who needed to call back this time?

Morris read the hollow why off him in a second and replied with a look Elliot couldn't place. Pity, maybe, with an unhealthy glow of hunger.

"Elliot, I know a junkie when I see one."

Don't let it be fentanyl, Morris prayed, otherwise he would tie him to the bed frame and never let him set foot on a street again. But he wanted to keep this topic on the back burner for now, to let new trust sprout.

Junkie - the nerve to even imply that had Elliot heat up in anger. Especially when it came from him.

"In my jacket," all Morris found was a bottle of Tramadol 100, half empty, "That's my medication, my-my painkillers. I need to take them every day, I got a prescription!"

Perhaps Morris' stock was running low. Elliot would help him make ends meet freely, however much he liked. Well, he had to be let go for that first.

"Sure you do. That's how it usually starts."

Elliot hesitated a second too long, thinking of another way out.

Meanwhile, his newest host had talked himself into a passionate monologue: "Yeah, you wouldn't believe how much shit they are stuffing down people's throats, but you're good, aren't you?"

"Yes, it's okay. I-"

"That's why I found you in Yaletown, passed out cold and begging to get robbed, mhh? Because you have everything under control."

This left them speechless. Elliot noticed the urge to cry freely this time, he was out of wits and excuses that wouldn't get cut down in a heartbeat.

On the contrary, Morris seemed triumphant about Elliot's little slip-up. Happy even, if one dared to look closer.

Somewhere at the foot of the bed, a phone started ringing. For the first time during this short waking-nightmare, Morris gave a nervous glance towards the door, biting his lip and clenching his fingers into a fist.

"Doesn't really matter," he decided quickly, "we have enough time to catch up later."

Later? That would imply stretching out this farce.

Finally, Elliot was awake.

"Morris, please listen-"

"Call me Chris."

Elliot was dead, he finally managed to fuck up the rest of his life and go straight to hell.

Make him like me. No, no, stop it. As if that ever helped.

Gathering his racing thoughts, Elliot hoped there was still a chance to steer things in his favor.

"Thank you for..." Abducting me? Helping me? Those words would never leave his mouth, "...letting me crash here. But we both know that I can't stay; with you." Wherever here was this time.

"You're nervous. That's alright, that's understandable. We can work through that!"

The steady anxiety collecting under his heart finally came to the forefront. Five - five things - things I can - His little tricks didn't seem to gain traction, he couldn't even hear himself think through the phone's incessant hum.

"D-don't you want to get that?"

Morris stretched out to snatch and softly cradle Elliot's left hand again. After the medicine's sweet numbness that held him together would fade, every touch will retaliate itself.

Dead focused on him again, caught between seconds that spanned hours, the man calling himself Chris now kept him close. Elliot was never spared, they had never parted ways.

"No, I don't think I will."

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Thanks for reading 🤍 [Masterlist]

Taglist: @whatwasmyprevioususername, @canislycaon24

[just-null]

Do you ever do requests? If so, do you ever plan on drawing some Yandere with the Hantengu clones? :D hope you have a good day/night!!!

Mentioning an unfamiliar name

yes!! I love yanderes.. and these guys.. these guys are such good material...... nods nods..

I'm not sure about requests..I assume you mean drawing requests? I suppose if it REALLY catches my interest enough, I'd do it, but it'd probably just be line art/sketches.

[clowningaroundmars]

Hobie1610 pt. 3

part 3 has finally arrived!!! at a faster rate than part 2 but a bit of a wait nonetheless lol

not entirely sure how long this lil story will go on for but hope y'all are enjoying this ride regardless, whether it ends on the next part or in 3 more chapters ldfjkdhf

in this installment: thrilling action, a high stakes chase, and we get to learn more abt our beloved hobie jones! yippee!

>pt. 1 here<

>pt. 2 here<

♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧

By some miracle, Hobie did not mention the suit to Miles once they started texting semi-regularly.

Unfortunately, they also couldn't really make their lunch date (date? God, get it together, Morales. It is not a date…) as soon as Miles would have liked, due to a million different things getting in the way of them setting a solid day aside to chill together.

Just his luck, of course.

But in the hallways, Hobie actually deigned to give Miles a passing smile every now and then. They didn’t ever get to hang out like they did for those precious few moments on the first day of school, but Miles didn’t feel the crushing weight of guilt every time he saw Hobie in his same classroom anymore. What a relief!

So Miles was mostly okay with how things were going anyhow, even if the hangout ended up falling through and they both decided not to go in the end. He was able to patrol and do his homework in blissful peace for the first time in months.

… Kind of.

That look on Hobie’s handsome face as he looked down past Miles’ coat collar though…

That still ate away at an anxious part of Miles’ brain whenever he had the time to sit down and really let his worries manifest.

No time to think about that now, though. Miles was suited up again on a school night, hoping to get at least an hour’s worth of patrolling in before security at Visions noticed he was absent from his dorm room. He hoped Ganke would be able to cover for him like he always did.

It was yet another cold evening out in New York City, and Miles was steadily covering the edges of Brooklyn, heading towards Manhattan to do a quick sweep through Central Park like he did on occasion. There was always something going on in Manhattan, especially during the evening.

Miles decided it wouldn’t hurt to take a quick peek before calling it a night and heading back to Visions.

So away he went-- now fully in his Spiderman element-- vaulting and soaring over buildings, showing off every now and then by doing silly flips and tricks mid-air for the opportunistic New Yorkers looking to snap their Spiderman Sighting of the day. A little social media promo never hurt anyone, after all…

Spiderman finally swung down onto a tree branch on the western side of the park from a street lamp and was just about to lower himself down as inconspicuously as he could, before immediately feeling the tingling electricity of his Spider Senses race up and down his spine, giving him the usual headache along with it.

He crouched down quietly on a branch and watched as a familiar lanky figure streaked across the path underneath him onto the grass and beyond.

Whoever this runner was, he was fast. And hot on his trail was a gang of burly bumbling assholes cursing up a blue streak as they gave chase.

Spiderman’s eyes stayed glued to the fast runner like they were a lifeline. His senses honed in on the person and he erupted out of the leaves of the tree with one mighty leap, sailing through the air to shoot a web out and swing his way on over to the excitement.

Several joggers, people walking dogs after work, and mothers with baby carriages exclaimed and shouted as they were barreled into by the gang of men trying to keep up with their moving target. The runner didn’t seem to be giving up, though, as their long legs sent them flying over bushes and rocks and lounging people as gracefully as a ribbon in the air.

It was indeed getting dark soon again, but the darkness didn’t really affect Spiderman’s senses at all. His mask helped him fine-tune his powerful vision and anticipate the runner’s next moves.

It looked as though they were trying to make their way up towards the Great Lawn from Cedar Hill, but whether the person was planning to make a break for the now-empty Delacorte Theatre or the Metropolitan Museum Of Art… or beyond? That was the million dollar question.

Spiderman didn’t want to lose the person in case they happened to just be a petty thief, since that would be a quick and easy problem to fix. But as he silently chased down the runner alongside (and unbeknownst) to the gang, his suspicions gave way to some other... ideas.

Namely, that the runner seemed young, a bit too young for someone to be pissing off this many fully-grown gang members.

He pushed through his confusion and made a break for the theatre the second he guessed that the runner was pivoting in that direction.

The trees were getting thicker the closer they got to the Belvedere Castle and Spiderman eventually resorted himself to hoofing it, mindful of sticking to the shadows of the foliage that surrounded them on all sides.

He was super grateful now more than ever that his suit happened to be his signature sleek black and red, rather than the tacky and hyper-visible reds and blues of many of his Spider counterparts (sorry Peter!)

Once he confirmed that the suspicious target was indeed planning on hiding in the bleachers of the massive amphitheatre, he shot up a web to hoist himself into the infrastructure from the tall stadium lights. From there, he positioned himself a bit closer to the fray, hearing the loud and heavy boots of the gang following the runner, not far behind.

Then, he squinted into the dusk as he watched one of the entrances from his perch up high... and almost choked on his own saliva!

In comes none other than Hobie Motherfucking Jones, streaking down several steps like a shooting star, clutching onto… something tucked under one of his arms. He was breathless, panting loudly, and heading straight for the Belvedere Lake.

Upon hearing the heavy bootfalls get ever closer with every passing second, it seemed that Hobie got the idea to attempt a last-minute juke by throwing himself underneath the stairs that faced the lake, tucking himself as tightly as he could under the massive stage at the center.

Spiderman watched all of this happening with wide eyes, holding his own breath in. He prayed that the ugly thugs didn’t see Hobie’s sneaky last-second move, but climbed up high onto the stadium lights and prepared to swing down anyhow, just in case.

What was Hobie even doing here, out at this hour? And what the hell did he manage to steal that was so important to these men anyways? It was quite a chase they were caught up in, running nearly two entire miles all the way up to the amphitheatre just to catch him, and that was only from what he could see when he swung into action.

The group split up and pulled out flashlights, determinedly searching the bleachers and corners as best they could while the sky rapidly darkened above them.

From right below the webbed crime-fighter, Hobie poked his head out from the shadows and took a peek.

No, no, duck back down! Spiderman wanted to shout, but he couldn’t.

No one knew he had followed them and he was safe high above the action where he balanced himself on the metal bars that housed the bulbs. His muscles tensed as the bright beam of light from one guy’s flashlight swept a little too close to Hobie’s head. Damnit.

Spiderman couldn’t just sit there all day! He had a friend to save, stolen item be damned!

He rechecked his web shooters furtively and took aim.

He set his sights on another stadium light pole across from the stage, figuring that if he was quick and agile enough, he could time his swing well enough to scoop Hobie up from where he was hidden and avoid any detection. Hopefully.

Seemed like a solid enough plan though, until Hobie just. Shot out from his hiding place all of a sudden, the heels of his boots rapping loudly against the cement and echoing all around the stage as he made a beeline for the lakefront.

Shit!!!

Miles wanted to kill him. Those guys didn’t even suspect he was hiding where we was in the first place!

... Okay, plan B!

Spiderman’s brain whirred at breakneck speeds as he watched the thugs exclaim loudly and give chase yet again, this time much closer to Hobie than they ever were before.

Without thinking, he swung down from his perch and bowled over a couple of men in his haste to simply just… grab Hobie like a damsel in distress and fireman-carry him back around the gang to get a good line of web onto a nearby pole.

The men all cursed and shouted in surprise of course, flashlight beams waving around everywhere.

One of them even yelled, “what the hell was that?!” like a character in one of his dad’s favorite cheesy slasher movies.

Spiderman was too fast for them, a black blur simply whizzing by as he grabbed Hobie and hoisted the both of them up into the air with a mighty leap. Hobie yelped in surprise, grunting from the effort, and seemed to let whatever he stole slip out of his hands which then clattered loudly onto the ground below.

The thugs rejoiced then, shaking fists at Hobie and his rescuer as they flew up to the top of a tree and detached themselves so they could fall onto the stadium light opposite from Spiderman’s initial hiding spot.

Spiderman didn’t stop until he attached another web up to the lights and dangled there for a bit. Adrenaline still coursed through his veins as he shifted Hobie off of his shoulders and let him slide slowly onto his side, his friend’s wiry arms clutching him tightly.

They both watched with rapt attention at the goings-on several feet below them.

The thugs congregated around the fallen item, picking it up and turning it this way and that. It looked like a briefcase, though with the low lighting it really could’ve been anything. It was only when one of them-- the biggest and burliest of them all-- shouted out another colorful swear word that Hobie then seemed to come back to himself again.

He squeezed Spiderman’s shoulders with his arms and kicked at him. They swung a bit from the wiggling.

“Ouch!” Spiderman hissed, as quietly as he could. He was hoping the dark dusk would conceal their position now as long as they made No Noises, but even that wasn’t guaranteed.

“Go, go, go, go, man! Let’s get out of here!!” Hobie hissed right back into his ear, his face mere centimeters away from Spiderman’s mask.

Spiderman stubbornly ignored the heat radiating out from his face at that realization and jerked this way and that, looking for an easy escape from their conundrum.

Flashlight beams danced around the ground before finally swinging up to the trees and catching sight of a pair of shoes dangling in the sky.

The biggest and meanest one of the bunch pulled something out of his pocket and took aim.

Bullet! Spiderman’s senses screamed into his cerebellum.

“Goddamn,” he huffed ruefully as the shots rang out. Hobie panicked. “Bullets for us? That’s a little harsh, isn’t it?”

Hobie clung onto his hero for dear life. “Brother, if you do not get a move on from here, we are both gonna get turned into fish filets!” He shouted into Spiderman’s ear.

“Ow. Okay,” Spiderman grumbled, sticking himself to the side of the pole they dangled from and readjusting Hobie so that he clung onto his back instead.

He took a deep breath and narrowly dodged a bullet that whizzed unnervingly close to their heads. Hobie yelled again.

“Okay, okay, okay,” Spiderman began, speaking quickly. “Hold on, okay? Hold on tight. Just hold on and do not let me go for even a second!”

“On it!” Hobie shouted back, legs kicking a bit before wrapping themselves tightly around Spiderman’s torso.

They both took a breath and then Spiderman jumped, gaining some air before twin webs erupted from his web shooters-- aimed directly towards the seating area entrance.

Together, he and Hobie rocketed from their airborne position towards their escape route once the fluids connected to solid architecture. To his credit, Hobie only whimpered a little bit through the ride.

The thugs had no chance! They stumbled on tired, aching legs towards the very door the two teens had left out of, complaining and cursing some more as they searched through the steps and made their way out onto the theatre’s general admission and concessions area.

They searched and searched through the bushes and trees, going so far as to even check the sculptures near the structure.

After several tense moments of gruff shouting back-and-forth, the search eventually died down until only a couple of the men were left sweeping the area once more. The others had already given up their fruitless endeavor and called it a night.

“Fucking kids, man. What the hell,” Spiderman heard one of them grumble before kicking at the Romeo and Juliet statue angrily and following the rest of his cohorts down the path towards the Great Lawn again.

Hobie and Spiderman let out matching sighs of relief then, happy to have given the men the slip by managing to hide behind the giant 3D Delacorte Theatre sign right above the box offices. Lucky for them, most people don’t think to search behind lit-up signs, so they went completely undetected.

“… Wanna let me know what you were doing here this whole time? You could’ve gotten killed!” Spiderman breathed. He wanted his tone to be sharper, more authoritative… but he was just so glad to see his new friend still in one piece instead of riddled with more holes than a chunk of swiss cheese!

Hobie scoffed, tucking a loc behind his ear and sitting back. Thanks to the lighting of the sign and the other park lights in the area, Spiderman could see him digging around in his coat pocket and fishing out-- a USB drive?

Hobie held it up triumphantly, sleepy down-turned eyes glistening with pride.

“I got it! Suckers! Screw them by the way, I’m not the thief, if that’s what you’re wondering,”

Well. He was sneaky, alright. Spiderman had to hand that to him, at the very least.

He sat back on his heels as well and exhaled. “Fine. I believe you. What’s on that drive?”

Hobie squinted at him then, really giving him a good once-over now that the excitement had officially died down. “…Damn. You’re Spiderman,”

“Yeah, yeah. Hey, hi, nice to meet you, I’m your friendly neighborhood Sp-- ugh, seriously man, just tell me what all of that was back there or else I’m webbing you up and calling the cops.”

“Hey!” Hobie objected. “Like I said already, I’m the good guy here. I snagged this from those guys because I caught them snoopin’ around the museum over that way. I followed them and found out they were stealing this!”

Spiderman bobbed his head. “Okay? And what’s on it?”

Hobie turned the drive over a bit in his hands, admiring it. “Most likely? Security codes, schedules, maps. I’ve been uh… investigating those dudes for a while after watching them sniff around the museum for a few days now. It looks like they were just art thieves plannin' a heist, so I jumped on the opportunity to deliver justice myself.”

Hobie’s mischievous grin was met by Spiderman’s disapproving stare.

“And why didn’t you just call security and let them know? Like I said, super dangerous thing you did back there! If I wasn’t there to save you, you could’ve died, man.”

Hobie pocketed his USB drive again and rolled his eyes. “Y’know, for a vigilante hero with cool superpowers, you sure are a square.”

Spiderman sat up and placed a hand on his chest, feigning hurt. “Oof, ow. That’s mean,”

“Yeah, it is, but you know I’m right. If a kid like me walked up to some cops and tried to warn them of a possible art heist, you just know those pricks’ll laugh in my face and do literally nothing about it. I had to take matters into my own hands!” Hobie jutted his chin out defiantly.

Well. Couldn't really argue with that, especially considering PDNY’s less-than-stellar track record of taking preventative measures most times. All that they would most likely do is nod along to whatever Hobie was telling them and chuckle, shaking their heads as they walk away. Not their problem.

Spiderman rubbed his chin. “Point taken," he conceded. "So what’s your plan now?”

Hobie glanced around, as if he was checking for any eavesdroppers. “I’m gonna submit some photos to a journalist I met online before turning this in back to the museum. The journalist’ll help get those guys behind bars once a story's published and some actual adults talk to the cops. I am going to go collect my reward,”

Spiderman blinked. He had a bunch of questions swimming in his head, but the first question out of his mouth was, “what reward?”

“The reward for turning in precious security info, genius!” Hobie tapped at his forehead with a finger and grinned. “If I get to negotiate with them, I can get some money to save up and-- uh. Nevermind. Listen, are you gonna rat me out or not?”

Miles’ brow creased behind his mask. “… I don’t think I will. Sounds like you’re doing the right thing… mostly.”

Hobie cheered silently. “Yes! Okay, I take it back, Spidey. You are cool!”

Spiderman sighed. “But first, I need to know you’re gonna be safe. Like, actually, and that you’re not gonna get followed home.”

Hobie shrugged nonchalantly and pushed more locs out of his face again. “Yeah, you can walk me home if you want,”

“No, that’s not what I mean. I mean, that’s not the only thing I mean. I need you to promise me that you’re not gonna get into stupid stunts like this again. That was so dangerous and you really could’ve gotten hurt!”

Hobie exhaled as well. He stared intensely into the mask’s giant white lenses for a beat, making Spiderman shift uncomfortably.

Then, he held up his pinkie. “… Fine. I won’t do stupid shit like this again. I promise.”

Spiderman blinked a few more times and hooked his pinkie onto Hobie’s. “Uh. Okay, cool! Cool, that’s what I wanna hear, considering keeping New Yorkers safe is my job! I just wanna see you safe, that’s all. No more art heists, you gotta leave that to the professionals to handle,”

“What, professionals like you? You might’ve not even gotten to them in time before they snuck off with like millions of dollars worth of art, bro.”

“Anyone ever tell you you are just so mean? Dontcha have a little faith in me? The ‘vigilante hero with cool superpowers’?” Spiderman shot back.

They both laughed.

“Seriously, though. I do appreciate the fact that you saved my ass back there,” Hobie admitted, eyes cast downwards for a second. “I was actually gonna throw this thing into the lake and hope this drive got eaten by like… a fish or something.”

“And what about you?” Spiderman smiled despite himself.

“Well,” Hobie shrugged. “If I died, I died. I guess,”

It was Spiderman’s turn to scoff now. “You have a family, man. Don’t be ridiculous. You have friends and family that would miss you!”

Hobie’s expression turned dark, his entire face shadowing for a second before being replaced by cool detached nonchalance. A slight hint of annoyance stayed put underneath.

“… My family’s barely my family. I don’t have any friends, either. Don't worry about me.” Hobie admitted in a clipped tone. He stood up abruptly and started doing some casual stretches.

Spiderman stood up as well, knowing fully well how this song and dance was going to go.

He would never admit it out loud, but he’d seen his fair share of self-destructive citizens throwing themselves into the middle of danger in the short time he’d been doing this whole vigilante thing. He had talked many a melancholy or manic person from tossing themselves off of multiple different buildings, different bridges, stopped them from “falling” onto train tracks.

And as loath as he is to admit it, this Hobie’s particular brand of cool detachment was entirely too familiar to him as well.

A flash of his uncle Aaron’s face lit up a part of his brain that he hadn’t really allowed himself to acknowledge since that fateful day. He quickly stamped that out.

He cleared his throat and rubbed at his neck. “… Well. That sounds pretty depressing, man.”

He didn’t notice Hobie’s shoulders hitch at that phrase.

“But,” Spiderman continued, “You got people out here who care about you, even if you don’t know it. You’re still so young, you could be ending your life before you even meet, like, your favoritest person in the whole world, right? So just do me a quick favor, take care of yourself. For me. Live long enough to meet your favorite person, alright?”

Spiderman put on his best comforting expression that he could despite the mask most likely getting in the way of Hobie fully seeing it. He hoped his words were enough to convince him not to dive off the deep end, at least not anytime soon.

It seemed to work at least a little bit, because Hobie looked back at him with a much warmer-- albeit hesitant-- expression.

“Can I ask you something?” Hobie finally said after a few moments of silence.

“Uh, sure.” Spiderman replied.

“Do you know about a kid named Miles Morales at all?”

The air was sucked out of Spiderman’s lungs right then as he floundered like a fish for a minute, brain working into overdrive to make his answer sound both intelligent and convincing.

“U-uh, maaaybeee? I dunno, I meet a lot of New Yorkers everyday and I don’t get many names, yanno? S-sounds familiar, but sorr--”

“I knew it,” Hobie exhaled a laugh and surged forward to embrace Spiderman with both arms.

Spiderman stood frozen in his place, arms held in mid-air as he worked to process this.

“Uh. What--”

Spiderman felt Hobie’s chin dig into the side of his cheek a little as he turned his lips to his ear. “Your secret’s safe with me, by the way. I’m not telling anyone,”

Miles felt his whole world turn on its axis before shattering completely.

Oh no, no, no, no, no! Goddamnit!

Miles pushed Hobie off and stepped back, holding his hands up. “Oh hey, whoa, whoa, whoa. I dunno what you’re thinking or who you think I am, but--!”

Hobie sighed loudly. “Miles, I saw your suit.”

The world screeched to a halt.

Hobie picked his gaze back up off of his feet and even seemed apologetic, almost. “I, uhm. Like, back on the roof. At Visions. I wasn’t… a hundred percent sure I saw it, since it could’ve been any logo at all, but. Well, you’re a pretty bad liar too, y’know that, right?”

Miles sucked in a slightly shaky breath, gulping loudly. “Uh. W-well,”

Hobie smiled shyly. “You, uh… you’re like around the same height as Miles Morales, anyways. And you sure sound a lot like him, too.”

Damn. Damn it all.

Miles spun this way and that, placing his hands atop his head as he panicked slightly. “H-Hobie, you cannot tell anyone else about this, whatsoever. Do you understand? No one. At all. Or we’re both dead!”

Hobie held his hands up, lines creasing in his face. “Look bro, you’ve got secrets of mine too. We pinkie promised, remember? I don’t break promises.”

Miles didn’t point out that the promise was so that Hobie would stop getting himself into stupidly dangerous situations, but he accepted it anyways, albeit reluctantly.

“D-do… do you actually, like actually promise me you’ll never breathe a word about this to anyone? Ever? At all?”

Hobie held up his right hand into the air, as if taking an oath. “I, MJ, solemnly swear to never breathe a single word to anyone about your super secret identity, so help me god.”

Miles planted his fists on his hip and shook his head. “Oh my god,” he exhales on a shaky laugh.

“Don’t you believe me? What would I have to gain by selling you out? Oh,” Hobie stops suddenly, perking up. “We could even work together! I got me my sweet camera and my extensive connects, man. Think about it!”

“No, no. Hobie. Stop that, man. I’m not putting you into any danger after I just saved your skinny butt. Spiderman doesn’t do sidekicks anyways,”

Hobie looked a bit put out, but shrugged anyways. “Well, I mean… think about it sometime. We could seriously take down criminal activity around here, if you’re down! And, uh. You do have my number,”

Miles looked up and took a deep breath. “Mmnyes, I do. I do have your number. That’s… I mean you’re not wrong about that. Listen, I think it’s getting pretty late and we should both be heading back home now, though.”

The corners of Hobie’s mouth curled up mischievously. “True, true. It is a school night, after all.”

Miles couldn’t stop grinning despite the heavy anvil that threatened to burst out of his chest. “Yep, yes it is! Okay, time to get you home now. C’mon, let’s go.”

Miles moved to step into Hobie’s space and carry him on his back again so he could lower the both of them down from the lip of the theatre roof.

But before that happened, he felt Hobie place a cold but strong hand on his shoulder, stopping him.

Miles looked up inquisitively and felt his breath catch in his throat as he felt those same hands slowly slide up the smooth spandex of his suit, up his shoulders, and then they stopped at his neck, at the seam of where his suit and mask met.

The entire thing probably only took a few seconds to do, but to Miles it felt like eons passed as he felt every single muscle twitch and the pulse beating underneath Hobie’s skin while he ran those fingers up his arms.

He was standing so close to him! Oh god!

The entire ordeal was unbearably intimate, and Miles could barely stop the shudder that wracked his body suddenly.

Hobie’s soft lips were slightly parted, the lighting of the sign next to them caught in the dark brown portals that were his eyes.

“U-uhm. Sorry, this is weird...” he mumbled quietly. But his hands didn't move.

All around them, crickets started their soothing chorus.

Here they were, right behind the giant lettering of the Delacorte Theatre, intertwined in each other’s arms on a cold night-- and Miles’ core body temperature has never felt hotter before. He felt like he could melt steel, the way this night was going. He didn’t know when his hands raised to grasp onto Hobie’s arms, but they must’ve done it of their own accord because Miles then felt himself squeezing softly onto Hobie’s biceps.

Slowly, painstakingly, and carefully… Hobie made his move.

Every centimeter of the mask being pushed up was accompanied by a soft look that asked-- no, it begged-- for permission to continue. His hands seemed to move on their own eventually, as he slid the mask up over the back of Miles' head and then eased it up off of his nose.

Hobie wore a soft look of determination then, that fully came into view again once Miles felt his mask slide right up off of his eyes. Hobie’s soft hands eventually fell away, mask in one hand, no sounds in the air except for the wildlife of the park starting to wake now that the night has officially fallen.

Miles wasn’t sure why he did, but he held his breath.

After a few seconds of appraising gazes from each other, pupils meeting pupils, exchanging a million words a second with just a few looks… Hobie grinned beautifully.

“Damn. There you are,”

Miles felt a plume of heat erupt from his gut and rush up to his face. “Uh. Hm, y-yep. Here I am,” he blinked back at Hobie with his big brown eyes.

Hobie had a look of pure joy on his face before it started to melt away suddenly. “You know… I should backstab you for abandoning me out of nowhere that one time, though… I really should...”

The moment collapsed like an undone web, a delicate thing now completely destroyed as Miles leaped up in indignation.

“Hobie!”

Hobie stepped back and laughed loudly. “Re-lax! I’m not gonna actually do it. But. Y’know.”

“And if you do, I’ll leave you webbed up to that billboard near Visions,” Miles threatened, mostly light-heartedly.

“Psshh, and then get my mom’s two million lawyers on your ass? Good luck,”

“As if they could ever catch me! I’m Spiderman!”

Just as easily as they had stepped out of being just kids for a moment, they stepped right back into it, bickering like they'd been friends since forever.

Miles lowered the both of them from the sign and they headed towards the eastern side of the park, making their way over to Hunter’s Gate. They bickered and bantered back and forth the entire way there, and it was only once they made it to the outer gates of the park that Miles stopped them both.

With his mask back on and other New Yorkers now milling nearby, Miles made it a point to lower his voice as he turned to Hobie and puffed his chest out heroically.

“So, random citizen. Where are we off to today? I told you I’d take you back home safely, and that’s what I’m gonna do.”

“’Cause you promised, right?” Hobie smirked, tucking his hands into his coat pockets.

“Uhm. Yeah, yeah. I did. So, lead the way!” Spiderman made a grand ushering gesture, and Hobie chuckled good-naturedly as he stepped aside and exited Central Park.

“You gonna walk me home, Spiderman?” Hobie threw him a side-long glance.

“Yyyeah…? Why? You’d rather swing home?”

“I liked swinging, actually. Yeah,” Hobie stopped where he was on the sidewalk and nodded with an air of finality. “Yeah… let’s swing!”

Spiderman felt his heart do a few somersaults in his chest before he gestured towards his shoulders. Hobie quickly assumed the position, long lanky arms wrapping around him and leaning his body weight against Spiderman’s side.

Spiderman shot up a web to a nearby street lamp and gave his friend one more glance.

“You sure?” He asked again, really making sure that Hobie was okay with this. Not many people really liked swinging, which was understandable. Even Miles wasn't the biggest fan of it at times.

Hobie chuckled and ignored the onlookers as they slowly ambled past the two, throwing the teens questioning glances as they made their way past them.

“Yeah, I am! Let’s go,”

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Miles: Do you actually actually really like on your LIFE promise that you’re not ginna tell a soul about… well…

Miles: gonna*

MJ: Yes, Miles. I PROMISE [eyeroll emoji]

Miles: I KNOW WHERE YOU LIVE

MJ: Do you actually, though? ;)

Miles: No. But I can find out… I got connects

MJ: Uh huh. I’ll tell your “connects” that if you don’t take me out on that promised lunch date, our friendly neighborhood Spiderman just might be the next trending topic on ALL social media apps again very soon……..

Miles: Oh my god. You are Evil. I can’t believe this. My next arch nemesis… damn

Miles: What a killer plot twist. The greatest foe I have yet to face happens to be none other than one of my very own classmates

Miles: It be ya own people

From his family’s Lower Manhattan penthouse, Hobie laughs out loud as he reads the text messages, ignoring all of the curious glances thrown his way by various members of his team.

From Miles’ own humble dorm room at Visions, he laughs aloud as well.

[luck-of-the-drawings]

EPISODE 2 AND 3 HAVE BEEN SOOOO FUN im already so emotionally attached to each of these characters.. if anything bad ever happens to any of them im killing everyone and then everyone.

[scoobydoodean]

Imagine seeing Dean try to punch Cas and hearing that dropping anvil sound when he does it and seeing Dean comically turn around and nurse his poor knuckles right before being so babygirl he convinces Cas to help him escape instead of holding him captive and your takeaway being, "This is abuse." :(((

[jacksprostate]

Before Project Mayhem, before fight club, before Marla, before Tyler — there is still one sad sack of shit.

.

.

The hard part about work trips isn't making the plane or seeing another family of five burnt into their leather seats. It's missing support groups.

See, if you're lucky, the company will send you out to a major city. Cities are great. A little advanced work to find a slightly below average church or library, you're set each night you're there.

It's a bit of novelty, getting to be a new face all at once. People assume you've just been diagnosed. It's never the failed treatments, the degradation of their life and everyone in it, the continuous experience of knowingly dying — none of those things are the worst thing that happens to you.

It's finding out they will.

So people cry. They crowd around, I sob like I've been told I've got stage four colon cancer and three weeks to live. We all cry. I sleep soundly on the plane back or in the nice, four star hotel my company provides me.

Flying out to a small town, though. I'll be awake enough to be hallucinating by the time I get back for Remaining Men Together. The only mercy is that the next time I show for all the groups I missed, I can see who thought I died. I get to be resurrected.

The other part about small towns, you have to take a second, shitter plane to a local airfield, or you have to take a rental car. One of the most popular rental cars available right now, it'll light itself on fire if you use the cruise control at the wrong time. I know this because I sat next to another guy with my job, who worked for a different company, and he said I'll show you mine if you show me yours. So I told him about the faulty airbags, and he told me about the overheating switch.

I prefer to avoid driving.

All the rental place at the airport has left for me, it's one of those flaming cars. I use cruise control. If I don't, one of my narcoleptic spells will send me into the Jersey barrier.

When you drive into these small towns, you have to try to pay attention, or you'll end up a county over talking about the wrong wreck. They're otherwise interchangeable, but the miles on your rental car won't line up and those are the type of records that might get pulled out when the company is finally sued for the big one ten years down the line.

As a result, I see the same decor on the way in every time. Meth lab. Abandoned homes. Garbage fire. Classic Americana. There is no four star hotel here; I sleep the same.

The only reason I've been brought out here is because the poor shithead who drove his truck into the ditch drunk was driving my company's flagship vehicle. It loses power steering if the car jostles the right way going above 55 miles per hour. I've been told to keep track of potential incidents and make sure the company can firmly claim it's not at fault.

We've had this problem for decades, and we will for many more. Sometimes, everything is falling apart.

The job is simple, and I only get tempted by the town's blatant opioid addiction for a day and night. Painkillers would probably make me sleep. The thing about being a recall campaign organizer, though, is like recognizes like. It's not only other Compliance and Liability guys who tell you company secrets while sharing the aisle in business class.

When I'm finally back in my own town, after my own support groups, after crying my eyes out into Bob's meaty middle — I pick up my mail. There's the newest IKEA magazine. Half of it looks like shit. The type of thing you'd only see in some curated art deco, modernist, post-modern traditionalist bohemian minimalist apartment.

I have to have it.

I go to sleep, hard, like God himself tucked me in. I sleep with my wallet net four hundred heavier, because even an IKEA spree tends not to outweigh a work trip. I sleep, with my called in IKEA goods only two short weeks away, my job well done, and I know, my life is complete.

[star--anon]

Gally hides a lot of his panic attacks and nightmares that he got after he went through the Changing in a desperate attempt to be liked again in the Glade

He was kind of universally hated in the books, apparently becoming extremely unlikeable after he got Stung

which is honestly so sad. What he saw drove him slightly insane and he couldn’t handle it and shut down.

[whumpypepsigal]

outer banks new season dropped and jj whump in the 2nd episode already? oh im living!!!!

@of-wounds-and-woes have you started the new season my friend? *squeals*

[lost-in-beacon-hills]

I can't imagine being Mrs Everdeen. But I do wish to try.

Imagine standing to the side roped off from your children and being unable to do anything as your youngest is reaped. Knowing she won't make it because she's too tenderhearted and too young. You know as her name is called, that she will die. And yet you can't change it. You just gets to watch as your child is slowly marched forward to her death.

Imagine the hopelessness she feels. Having braved the few years of Katniss's first reapings alone, and now having to endure Prims reaping and all the while wishing she had her husband by her side to help her get through it. But she's done it for the past four years with Katniss, so surely this one won't be as bad? Only it's worse. Because it's Prims first reaping. The chances of it even happening are so slim. Katniss made sure of that. And yet, it is, in fact, her name being called.

And you wait in silence as your gut sinks and your eyes close, and you take a second to remember your daughter before she's gone. You regret giving birth because all it's done is lead to here. You regret it, and you feel so resentful. And some part of you thinks this isn't the way it should be. Not her. Not Prim. She doesn't have what it takes to claw and strangle her way to the top. She's dead before she's started.

Your gut lunches and your heart beats too fast. You feel sick. Until you hear your other daughter. The one who has been your family's rock. Who's your rock, is now stepping forward to take her sisters place. You release a breath and part of you unclenches. Because even if you would never speak it, even if you would never want to think it, even as you think it and feel disgusted with yourself, you know that you would rather Katniss go in.

She could do it. She's done so much. For years she's taken care of a family. Kept them fed by skill alone. She's your daughter. You should tremble at the thought of her going in, and you do. But not as much as knowing it could have been Prim.

And all you can do is sit back, watch it happen feeling more than grateful. Knowing this child has saved you in more ways than you can count and how often you've failed her. Despite failing her again and again every day she still continues to provide and protect. She still takes the role of mother when you haven't.

As your sixteen year old daughter marches forward, you get to feel safe one last time, grateful to have this decision made for you.

[reindeer-writer]

I may be a tad hyperfixated

Ok so like, Starline has 100% become my defacto comfort series and because of that I’m thinking about it nonstop, all the time, every day, so I have a lot of things that I have to share about it

The two listener characters in either entry, Skipper in SL2 and Breckett’s spouse in SL1 (who I’ll be calling Hops because I’m a comedic genius) are left pretty blank character and backstory wise for obvious reasons, but there are still a few things we can deduce about them (us?) that I wanna write down so I don’t forget

I’ll be putting down things we know about Breckett and Hakir as well just for the sake of having it all in one place (and also because they’ve pretty firmly made themselves at home in my mind palace)

I’m splitting this up into two parts because I need to relisten to Starline 1 before I finish that part of this, so this post will only cover Hakir and Skipper

Hakir:

-Hakir’s full name:

Hakir’s full name is Hakir Ven Krolist.

Not exactly groundbreaking information, but it’s only brought up like once or twice in the whole series so I’m putting it here anyway

-Hakir was a sentinel during or before Starline 1

This is mostly just a timeline thing.

Hakir was a sentinel at some point which means he had to have signed up before the war.

However he’s a red diamond, meaning he was dishonourably discharged and fought against them during the war.

-Hakir was about 15 during Starline 1:

In Starline 1 it’s established that a lot of people who sign up to work for the sentinels do so because they don’t have any other choice, needing to help provide for their families or just provide for themselves the moment they come of age.

Hakir was a Sentinel and it’s very likely he joined when he came of age.

In Starline 1 Breckett also says that he was only 13*[SEE END FOR CORRECTIONS] when the Sentinels ruined his life, the fact he says “only 13” means that he was either a child, a teenager, or a very young adult (we can probably remove child from that lineup purely because Breckett seems to have left home soon after that and I doubt a kid would’ve made it very far). 

From this we can deduce that it must be pretty common for intergalactic races to come of age somewhere around 15 years old, probably a bit earlier or a bit later depending on species because if they didn’t he would have clarified what stage of their life his race is in at that age.

Meaning that from now on 15 is the assumed age that a species is considered an adult at.

It can’t have been that much time since Hakir’s discharge from the sentinels because he’s still in tip-top fighting shape by Starline 2 so he obviously isn’t like 50 by then

Assuming he joined the Sentinels as soon as he could to help provide for his family, he would have joined at about 15 years old and have been discharged soon after because of his behaviour.

-Hakir is in his late 20’s to early 30’s 

In the Starline 2 trailer’s description it says it’s been 15 years since the events of Starline 1

meaning that Hakir must be around 30 years old, give or take depending on when his species is an adult.

-Hakir is not very trusting of other people:

Hakir is fairly distrustful of people and quick to close himself off, in fact it’s a fairly large part of his character.

He’s initially distrustful of Trailblazer, very quick to turn on the Director after it’s not how he imagined it. (even if the distrust toward them is justified)

Hell, he didn’t even trust Skipper, the soon-to-be love of his life before they’re put into a life or death situation, and being locked into two different rooms together (the prison in episode 1 and their shared bedroom thereafter.

Hakir is understandably very closed off, and his trust and love for Skipper just goes to show how much they love each other.

-Hakir is still close with his family:

Both when explaining the naming system of his species, and when talking about his and Skipper’s relationship moving forward it’s clear that Hakir is still very close with his family.

-Hakir wants Skipper to step on him:

Need I say more?

Skipper:

-Skipper isn’t their real name:

Ok let’s get this out of the way first

Skipper is almost 100% a nickname or a pseudonym they go by because so much of their work is illegal.

It's just like how Mindflayer's listener character gets nicknamed Rook eventually. (Also sidenote, but Lorraine, Harph, and Rook have the fucking strongest polycule vibes in all of fiction istg)

Maya calls them “Skipper” when speaking to Hakir as well, meaning it’s *definitely* what they use for work.

There’s never any sort of clarification on whether it’s their first name or last name or what the rest of their name is.

It also makes sense from a storytelling perspective to have it be a nickname rather than an actual name since it lets us better project our own traits onto Skipper.

All this to say that Skipper is definitely not their real name, and just one of those nicknames that’s so good everyone calls them that rather than their real name.

-Skipper is really skilled when it comes to combat

Both before and during the series their fights with Hakir show that their abilities are at least equal to that of someone who definitely has both training from the sentinels and combat experience from the war.

From this it’s pretty obvious that Skipper is incredibly skilled with combat and that it’s something they enjoy immensely.

-Skipper is in their 20’s:

In episode 1 Argus says that Skipper started doing smuggling work the moment they were old enough to fly a ship (almost definitely 18), he also says they’ve only been at it for a few years with Smuggling work meaning they’re, at the very youngest, 20 years old, but more likely somewhere between 20-25

A lot less deduction than Haki’s age huh? :3

-Skipper was a child during Starline 1:

Again just more timeline stuff, but Starline 1 takes place 15 years before Starline 2, meaning that Skipper was somewhere between 5-10 years old

-Skipper cares about other people's well-being a lot:

Making sure to keep Hakir off the bottle, getting him to drink water instead of coffee when he's hungover

Early on in the series Skipper begins to show a lot of concern for Hakir’s wellbeing even though up to this point they’ve been pretty bitter rivals.

Whilst there’s an argument to be made that it’s only because they’re working together now, the turnabout in behaviour is far too quick to just be in self-interest, especially if they harboured genuine resentment toward Hakir.

They  make sure to keep Hakir sober when possible, probably already aware of his destructive drinking habits from their shared history.

And the night after they sleep together when Hakir suggests drinking coffee to deal with their hangover Skipper tells him to drink water, he responds with a stutter and a slightly more submissive tone as well which means Skipper was firmly ordering him to drink water rather than just suggesting it.

-Skipper is very trusting of other people: 

Trailblazer and Breckett even though they were both connected to the director (there’s not even any indication given that they’re upset with the director which implies they understand and forgive it)

Skipper is very innately trusting of other people, after meeting trailblazer they’re very quick to trust him despite Hakir’s objections, and it’s only because of them that Hakir is willing to give Blazer a shot.

They also don’t seem to harbour any resentment towards The Director (at least not that’s shown) which seems to imply that they forgive him.

On top of that their relationship with Hakir is built up very quickly expressly *because* they’re willing to bury the hatchet and put their full trust in him right off the bat.

-Skipper is a smartass: 

There are a few different times when Skipper makes a snappy remark or a quick-witted joke, and in episode 8 (Hangover) Hakir straight up calls them a smartass.

On one hand this is mostly just Skipper being a funny person in general, but on the other it seems like it might partially be a bit of a persona they put on to bolster their own confidence considering the fact that in a lot of situations they’re actually rather 

-Skipper is highly intelligent:

Skipper is a very clever person, they’re an incredibly skilled hacker, have good combat awareness, quick on their feet, and being smartass requires that you actually be smart.

-Skipper is very unserious:

Skipper is pretty much constantly making jokes or acting silly, even in dangerous situations like when they were trying to dock the director's ship and make a joke about Iron-Man.

Barring scenarios where they’re in mortal peril, Skipper is always ready to make light of a situation, and this functions as a bit of a grounding force for the people around them like Hakir since he’s a lot more stable mentally and emotionally when they’re around.

-Skipper is a total nerd:

Beyond the obvious Iron-Man reference it’s made pretty clear that Skipper is a bit of a geek.

The main thing is their knowledge with computers and hacking, getting interested enough in computers and stuff to even start hacking already has the dweeb alert blaring at full volume, but beyond that, committing fully, learning how to code and then subsequently learning how to hack is massive nerd activity. 

-Skipper does smuggling work because they love the danger, freedom and adventure that comes with it:

Skipper could pretty easily land a job somewhere with their m4d hax0r sk1llz (god I'm sorry, I shouldn't be allowed near a keyboard) and there aren't exactly a lack of places to find work with the entire universe at their disposal, so it's very likely that they do smuggling work because it's fun rather than because it's profitable (though it probably is, Hakir mentions some jobs Skipper stole from him would've made him rich) and the only reason someone could find this kind of work enjoyable is if they love the danger, freedom, and/or adventure that come with it.

-Skipper is very confident in themselves and exaggerates their confidence further with faux-egotistical behaviour: 

There are 2 or 3 times in the series where Hakir tells Skipper that they shouldn't let something “go to your head”. The fact that this is repeated tells us that this is common behaviour from them. 

Skipper is either actually overconfident in themselves or they pretend to be for the sake of being funny.

The odds of them being genuinely egotistical are incredibly low for a few reasons, but what springs to mind is the night where they sleep with Hakir, because before they're willing to go through with it they voice concerns that it's just a fling rather than anything more. 

It’s obvious that at this point they've already developed feelings for Hakir, and they're concerned enough that he won't be interested in them that he'll just leave again afterward.

This kind of insecurity isn't the type of thing one would expect from someone who would be totally full of themselves.

-Skipper is actually very soft in private

In the scene where Hakir and Skipper are making out drunk and about to sleep together, Skipper needs to be reassured that Hakir is actually interested in them and that it’s not just a one night stand.

In the hangover scene they gently reassure Hakir that they enjoyed their night together even though he thought it was a bit of a disaster.

and finally

In the scene where the two of them have accepted their fate and are lying in one another’s arms ready to die together, Skipper is happy being held and comforted by Hakir about their fate rather than being the one doing the holding or comforting.

All this points to the fact that in private Skipper is actually a huge softie despite their confident and jokey exterior when it comes to how they act in public.

-Skipper isn't close with their family:

Ok so this is a big one. I can't remember in which episode this is, but Hakir says that maybe when Skipper and their parents are on good terms again they could introduce Hakir to them.

This tells us a few things, namely: 

Skipper and their parents are on bad terms, the fact that they might be on better terms at some point in the future means that it's over something that can be forgiven, and the fact that they might introduce their boyfriend means they’re still close enough to care about what their parents think which means their relationship isn't totally shattered, just fractured.

In the first episode Argus mentions that Skipper “started the moment you were old enough to fly a ship” with their career in smuggling which means the second they could they left home and put as much distance between them and their parents as possible. 

From this we can then deduce that whatever caused the fallout between them and their parents was incredibly severe despite the fact they seem willing to forgive.

Which means that it’s probably that Skipper is queer in some way (which is pretty obvious looking at their character, kinda fruity)

All this to say it's pretty likely that it all played out as follows:

Skipper discovers that they're queer in some way during their teenage years.

They choose to come out to their parents

Their parents are NOT accepting, but aren't bad enough to create a permanent divide between them

Skipper leaves home the second they can and starts with their current career

The Exciting Conclusion!

From all of this information we can actually narrow down a lot of things about each of the characters into more concise profiles starting with

Hakir:

Hakir is a very closed off and cautious person, his initial reaction to just about anyone is to keep them at an arm's length unless absolutely necessary.

Once you get close enough to him to break through his hard exterior though he’s a fairly chill guy.

He has a hard time keeping himself mentally or emotionally in check alone, but Skipper helps to keep him happy, healthy and enriched.

He’s a little bit rough around the edges, but Hakir is consistent and reliable, nobody better to have on your side when the chips are down, just be sure to support him and he’ll be there to help.

Skipper:

Skipper is an incredibly trusting and caring person, they put the safety of others before their own and care deeply about anyone close to them to the point they’re willing to forgive huge mistakes or misjudgements of others. 

They put on a persona of independence and confidence both as a way to deal with the hardships that they face on a regular basis, and to ground others around them in times of need.

In more private situations like with close friends or Hakir they drop the act and show that they’re actually a lot softer and are more willing to be doted on than in public.

They’re super sharp, but never use their intelligence to degrade or diminish other people’s abilities.

Fun, caring, and calming. What more could someone want?

I'll be releasing the Starline 1 version sometime soon, so be ready for that when it drops!

*Edit: So I started my relisten of Starline 1 and uhhhhh

I may be stupid

Breckett actually says that he was only in his 30's when the Sentinels came, his use of "only" indicates that his species is still fairly young at 30 years old.

This could mean that Breckett's species might live for far longer than humans do if 30 is still young, maybe even hundreds of years, or that maybe the advancements made in modern technology have extended the lifespans of all species to the point that 30 is still very young. (I choose to believe the second one purely because it means Breckett and Hops get to grow old together, and if they don't get a happy ending then my heart wil shatter)

I also want to bring attention to the fact that the translator might have a part in this since we know it has a tendency to embezzle details a little bit. Like when Breckett makes food from his homeworld and we hear him call it squid, but he also clarifies that it's not a type of seafood.

So there's a very good chance that when Breckett says he's 30 he might not be using human years, he could be using his homeplanet as a reference for how long a year is or it could be some other intergalactic constant we aren't aware of.

Not to mention the fact that there's probably a whole slew of space terminology that doesn't have any equivalent in any human language yet.

And if the translator is meant to function off of a wide set of data from a bunch of different sources like a neural network of some kind the fact that it only has one person as reference for how all of the English language works would probably cause a few issues.

All this to say I've basically just debunked my entire argument for Hakir's age and he could be any number of years old.

I'm sticking to my guns though because I've already implanted it into my brain as canon and if they have similar lifespans then they're far more likely to die at around the same time and not need to mourn their partner's death for like another 100 years. I still think that Hakir is around 30 and no one can convince me otherwise.

Plus this all comes with the bonus headcanon that everyone in the future gets to live far longer which is always nice.

[rubctosis]

wanted to leave a little update to apologize for my lack of activity. my work schedule has been absolutely terrible since some people left. my schedule is always changing so i cant really give a precise time when I'm able to put time to write. it sucks :< but I'm gonna try to get to queue some before i go to sleep! ill do my best to reply to everything when i can! and i hope i don't keep you waiting for too long. and my replies are worth it. got big lawlu thoughts on my breain atm

[skitskatdacat63]

And now a matching Fernando :D

[moinsbienquekaworu]

I just spent like 20 minutes thinking about soup

[brutalmasks]

currently thinking about how, since bunny mask's head / sort of by extension her neck ( yeahhh, i'd say that, because she is NOT immune to decapitation ) are basically her achilles heel in the way that they heal muchhh slower than the rest of her body does + there have even been times where she didn't heal properly at all in those areas... that most of the scars bunny has are concentrated around there.

thus, if your muse is intimate with her in any way, then they'll most certainly be seeing those on her skin and i just 😭 it kind of hits me RIGHT in the feels — and i say this because there has to be a lot of trust there for bunny to feel safe enough to expose what is literally the most vulnerable spot of her body to them, you know? so yeah. that is one surefire way of knowing that bunny mask trusts your muse with her life ❤️

[oldmisfortune]

(yes i already posted this once by accident and deleted it, yes i made a mistake i am so very sorry, sometimes tumblr does me dirty)

FINALLY!!! AFTER 177382728 YEARS i have got around to drawing the adorable Victoria, @klamv-art 's baby 🥹

I had a lot of fun drawing her and i hope I did her justice 💖💖💖

[oculusxcaro]

[X] has appeared! What to do?

"Okay, none of these options sound appealing."