#i'm not dumb i know the answer to this will be: no

[undoing-daughters-blog]

I'm going to explain the theory that Jinx is not actually dead

(I know this is long, I promise it's worth it)

This starts in chapter 8 of season two.

We see Jinx in the prision, she's devastated, lost, defeated, and wants things to end. And we see the first interaction she has with the voice of Silco. In this interaction Silco tells Jinx that "killing is a cycle" and that it would continue. But Jinx says she's "done running in circles", meaning: she wants to stop this cycle. To which Silco says:

And later, when Vi goes to visit Jinx, and Jinx tricks Vi and escapes the prison. Vi then asks her what she will do, Jinx answers:

And now Jinx knows the way to break the cycle, is by leaving.

Next time we see Jinx is in episode 9. She is still in the same mood as before, and now she cuts most of her hair off and burns The Last Drop

Burning down The Last Drop and letting go of her hair shows this closure. Later, she tries to kill herself, which is her way of "walking away" to "break the cycle".

But then Ekko shows up, saves her, and they go to save Vi and the others together.

At this point, Jinx wants to stop the killing and wants to leave, but she will always want to save Vi ("I'm always with you. Even when we are worlds apart").

But she still wants to break the cycle. She still needs to let go.

So, as she saves Vi from Warwick with the monkey bomb explosion, she escapes and leaves Piltover.

And we get a hint of that in the final scenes of the show when Caitlyn is going through her mother's database. She finds a blueprint of the hexgate tower and finds secret air ducts in the place where the explosion happened.

We also see her holding a part of Jinx's bomb.

And after seeing the blueprint she has this look. Like she's thinking "is it possible she survived?"

And in the very last scene we see one of these things that is flying away from Piltover.

Which reminds me of Season 1 Episode 1:

She has always wanted to ride one of them.

Maybe, this is her new way of walking away, instead of dying.

And the two frames are almost exactly the same, it couldn't not be a reference to that s1 moment.

And I know this theory may sound dumb but, why would they show us Caitlyn looking at those blueprints then? Every scene, every frame in Arcane is carefully designed. The team is very good, they wouldn't just show it for no reason. It wouldn't make sense. Especially because they have only 9 episodes of 40 minutes each (except 9 which has 50) to develop everything that happens in season two. And there are A LOT of things going on, they don't have time to spare. If they chose to show us that, it had a very important meaning.

Also I think it's kinda bad If Jinx just dies, I wouldn't like that ending, at least not like this.

[venomous-qwille]

This is one of the most reblogged things I've ever posted, so I just wanted to say that I'm always happy to answer asks relating to learning art, art studies and signposting to resources. I'm currently working on a very large (free) google doc/pdf that focuses on what the fundamentals are, how to recognise which ones you need to improve on (how to triage your art, basically), and how to get the most out of studying. To that end I'm always keen to hear what people would like help with most! It is my fervent belief that anyone can teach themselves art. That plateau you are stuck on? Every artist hits it, usually multiple times. It sucks. Hating your art sucks. Your eye will always improve before your skillset and that's the worst, most horrible truth about art. You will always be chasing a 'better version' of your art that you will feel like you can't reach. You gotta learn to love the grind- find the joy in being a dumb cat chasing its own tail in the bathtub. There is no art mountain you can't overcome if you know where to start climbing.

What do you all study when you're doing art studies??

[v1x3n]

SNAP! ── ripped apart.

♯ PAIRINGS - john price x falsely accused reader x 141

♯ SYNOPSIS - tortured for information by your family and the person you loved, john price. you were harmed for something you hadn't even done, you were framed as the traitor and soon they would find out.

♯ TAGS - fluff, angst - panic attack, trauma, flinching.

─ previous chapter // masterlist // next chapter ─

There's a sudden knock on the door to your room, your body dry and freshly washed, the minty smell from the soap bar fills your nostrils whilst you slump on the hospital bed. Curled in a way that was uncomfortable but it wasn't hurting any wounds so that would have to do.

The knock is followed by the door opening wide, revealing a man who you recognise, a man named Logan. The cheery fellow bounces into the room, suddenly the dingy lights seem brighter. "how's my favourite girl?" the man smiles while trotting inside, then closing the door behind him. "The nurse told me t' not bother ya sooo here I am!" he announces, smirking when you peer up at him. Your permanent frown slightly moves upwards when you see the goofy yet devious grin on his face.

Without a reply he sits down on the wooden chair placed by your bed, "you're looking better! my wounds are barely healing!" you wonder what had happened to him for a moment but then you remember that one of the first times he snook into your room, he rambled on for almost an hour. Telling you that he had been shot whilst on a mission, twice in the stomach. Luckily he survived. He smiles as he stretches out his hand, groaning, "I'm glad you're okay," he says, his voice filled with emotion.

A sigh falls from his lips when you sit up, "saw some big beefy guy leave your room before," john, he's obviously talking about john. "Looked real pissed off." Logan mumbles under his breath when he looks to the side. Fucking twat, he was pissed off? He doesn't deserve to be pissed off. "Ya know him?" He looks towards you for an answer. But you two both knew you weren't going to verbally say anything. You nodded hesitantly.

"Ya friends?" the man questions, this time it wasn't so hesitant. "No." You firmly said. Logan thought this was the first time you had spoken to him, it clearly must've been a trigger or something, "he is NOT my friend." Reaffirming your statement, pure rage boils through you at even thinking about being his friend. He lost that fucking privilege. "huh."

There's a silence that lingers in the air. The wet droplets from your freshly washed hair drips down, sending shivers down through your body. "Well, at least you have people visiting. My family is too busy t' visit. Or they just divnt wanna." he mutters the last part, "id kill for anyone t' visit."

"You know you get a lot of people lining outa your door? I can barely get through mine cause these bulky men will always be there." What? You questioned internally. "Ya friends with them?" you probably knew who he was talking about, it was probably the other knobheads that harmed you. None of them had really spoken to you since you arrived, john would sit down on the chair that Logan was currently sitting on sometimes, you two wouldnt talk though. Youd rather kill yourself than utter a single word to him.

"none of them are my friends, " gruffly talking again. Your throat kinda hurt so the sounds came out raspier than you had wanted them to. "hmm! Anywho! You wanna play some cards with me? I knowww.... Snap?" Then he puts on a dumb little smile.

After rolling your eyes at him, you nod. Magically he pulls out a card deck. Placing them on the blanket covering you. Once splitting the deck into two and passes you a half. Logan puts a card down gently on the blanket, not wanting to put it down too hard and hurt you. He didn't quite know what had happened to you but by the looks of it it was bad. You had nurses in all the time, your body was wrapped in bandages and by the looks of it, you only had 8 fingers.

"6 of clubs!" he announces. You place down a random card, 4 of hearts.

After a few rounds, you had won. For him having a deck of cards and wanting to play snap, he wasn't that good at it. A small smirk rises on your face, looking down at your massive stack whilst he had no cards left. "Well, well done." He grumbles with a mocking pout.

Once nodding you give him half your cards and he whacks them across the bed. Scattering the cards around, you gasp. Laughing, he observes the stunned look on your face before you shuffle the cards and half them. Dividing them into two halves, again making sure you both have a half each.

The word snap was yelled out from Logan's lips as he finally got ahead of you and slammed his callosed hand downwards onto the 2 of diamonds. When you flinch, he felt the weight of his face drop. "fuck, I'm sorry-" the look on your face could only be described as panicked, scared and fearful.

Suddenly a loud ringing blinds your ears. Your breathing grows. You take sharp and quick breaths when he looks towards you. You don't know why you panicked so much over something so stupid but then again - you do. "oh god I'm sorry!"

Logan's heart sank as he watched you struggle to catch your breath. He quickly slid closer, his voice gentle, "Hey- fuck- it's okay. I'm right here." He hesitated, unsure whether to reach out physically, but instead whispered, "Just breathe with me, nice and slow," trying to guide you back to calmness. But unfortunately that didn't help. You flinch back once more and shuffle under the blanket. The sounds of the room grew louder, the beeping of the machines sound over Logan's - trying to be - comforting voice. Your breath caught up once more. Your breathing is loud and fast. "it's okay-"

He gets cut off when a nurse comes into the room. She quickly rushes to you and all you see is almost a blur when your eyes prick with water. Distant yelling and you see the obscured bodies rush into the room, the nurse beside you and mumbling nonsense as the blob you think is Logan leaves. 

[heartowan]

★ POST- PATROL : jason todd x reader!

( it's fluff! ♡) ─────────────── ★

You sighed once more as you stared up at the ceiling of the room, the warmth and coziness of the bedsheets and the small little fish lamp at the corner of the room not enough to get you back to sleep. You needed to pee, and you couldn't run from it anymore. Ugh.

In a languid rhythm, you got to the bathroom, peed, wiped, washed your hands, and walked out in the same lazy steps as you walked in, but before you reached the room, you heard the familiar noise of the living room window being opened. Funny thing, you didn't even need to look to know who it was.

Jason walked into your shared apartment as quietly as possible not to wake you up, not knowing that you were waiting for him to walk into the small hallway that led to your room.

He seemed to be as lazy as you were, his steps spaced out and heavy as he made his way. And, when he made the turn into the hallway, you jumped in his front to scare him, and uh... it didn't work.

You frowned instantly, and he let out a delightful, hearty chuckle at you, his free hand going to his knee as he laughed, the other held his red helmet.

"How... did you know?" You mumbled, your voice low and slightly disappointed. Not really sad, though.

He took a deep breath before answering you. "You left the bathroom light on." He said, glancing at the open door and strong cool light coming out of it. "I just expected you to be up."

You kept your frown and a slight pout ─ you had yet to succeed at scaring him.

Jason slid his big arms around your shoulders, squeezing you against his chest. He smelled like sweat and gunpowder, but you were used to it.

"I didn't get hit one single time tonight." He murmured into your hair, his face nuzzling your soft strands. You were so soft.

Jason wanted your approval. Wanted you to be proud of him for coming home in one piece tonight. You let out a soft huff at his words, your arms snaking around his waist and squeezing him, earning you a little grunt. "Should I expect that every night from now?" You murmured softly, with your lips so close to his ear, you didn't need to speak any louder than that.

He chuckled quietly. "I'm not gonna answer that."

Yeah, you knew that'd be the response. Jason liked the mess, he liked coming home and having to clean up the blood from his suit, he liked the slight pain from the bruises, and he especially liked when he was so beat up, you had to patch him up, apply ointment, kiss him better. He loved your attention, he loved any and everything you gave to him, physical or not.

"Why don't you go shower while I wait for you in bed?" You murmured in that quiet tone while your arms moved back a little so you could caress the exposed part of his forearms with your fingers.

"I already know I stink, you don't need to point it out." He teased, pulling back to flash a dumb smile at you, and you returned his with one of yours. "But I was going to do that anyway."

With that said, he pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead before letting go of you. "Wait for me." He mused, already shedding his jacket even before he got to the bathroom.

You shook your head at him, but that dumb smile stayed on your lips for the rest of the night until you fell asleep in his arms.

☆

read my other stuff! ♡

[slashbitch2]

The Proposal AU! (part three)

Summary: when your boss Agatha faces the threat of deportation, she convinces you to marry her in return for a promotion- and things only get more complicated with a trip to Salem, an eccentric tarot-card-reading aunt, and a homophobic mother to convince.

Agatha Harkness x Fem!Reader

TW: deportation (which I admit I know very little about I'm not American lol) suggestive themes, sort of arranged marriage

W.C: roughly 1.4k words

PARTS: ONE, TWO

As soon as you left Hayward’s office, Agatha started furiously typing on her phone, the crease between her brows growing deeper with each step out the building. You simply followed; uncertain of what else you were meant to be doing right now. Packing, you supposed. But your first priority was to get some information out of the woman, who was currently on a mission to remove herself from the building, striding at least three steps ahead of you at all times.

It wasn’t until you were both sitting in the taxi that you finally had the chance to speak. “So…” You started, paused, then realised she wasn’t going to put her phone down anytime soon. You sighed. “We’re going to Salem?”

“Unfortunately,” Agatha murmured. “If I can get in contact with my mother, that is.” She spat, resuming her frantic typing.

You scowled, leant closer to peak at the phone screen and tried desperately to ignore the way her perfume pleasantly filled your nostrils. Something about being in close proximity with Agatha was mesmerising. It always had been, but it seemed this latest situation was worsening your complex feelings towards her. If someone asked you to label it, you would say admiration, but deep down you knew it was something greater than that. You simply refused to acknowledge it.

“So, you weren’t originally going to visit?”

Despite having to be involved in Agatha’s life, you had never heard her talk about her family. Not once. It didn’t surprise you. It was near impossible to picture the woman in any scenario other than sitting behind a desk, winding up one of your coworkers for their incompetence, or shmoozing a business deal. Although you imagined her prickly personality had to come from somewhere, and shuddered to think what her mother might be like.

“No.” Agatha scoffed. “I try my best to stay as far away from family gatherings as possible.”

“I’m guessing you’re not close…?” You questioned, slow and cautious.

“God no.” She shook her head, strands of hair coming loose from the vehement movement. “I want nothing to do with my mother and her coven of freaks.”

You tutted, suppressing a smirk at her colourful choice of language. But instead of pursuing the topic further, you turned to look at the scenery flying past the window. “Shouldn’t have mentioned it to Hayward then…”

“Well, with your parents ever so conveniently out of the country, it did appear suspicious that we wouldn’t tell a single soul.”

“Could’ve eloped.” You murmured.

“Sorry, darling.”  Agatha droned; her tone petulant. “Next time I’ll set us up a nice horse-drawn carriage down to the registry office.”

You took in a deep breath, ignoring the surge of irritation at her smarminess, something you recognised you would have to learn to cope with for the next painful while. You had no idea how long this whole process would take, and realised with a sudden stab of guilt that you would have to eventually inform your parents of this decision.

If you explained it was to keep your boss’ position at the company, rather than any dumb, spontaneous act of love, they would surely understand, right?   

“Agatha?” You called, met by a hum of acknowledgement. “Are you telling your family the real reason for this marriage, or are we going to have to keep faking it?”

“Oh, my mother’s a raging homophobe.” Agatha chuckled bitterly, refusing to meet your eyes. “If she doesn’t immediately kick you out, I’m going to enjoy riling her up.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

At last, Agatha’s focus was diverted from her phone as she looked briefly over to you, mildly intrigued by your perseverance. “I was just going to see how it went when we get there.” She replied, shrugging.

“Great…”

“And until then, don’t mention this to a single soul.” Agatha jabbed an accusatory finger in your direction. “We continue as normal for the next day and a half, with me singlehandedly driving this company to success, and you following me about all dazed and heart-eyed.”

“What!” You protested. “I do not follow you about, nor do I have heart eyes!”

“Whatever you say, sweetheart.” She smirked, radiating an irritating charm that had you forgetting how to breathe for a second. You wrung your hands about anxiously in your lap, willing yourself to relax.

“Our flight leaves at 6pm on Friday, so we’ll have to go straight from work,” Agatha said, changing the subject. “You can hide your luggage in my office, and we’ll have my driver pick us up so that saves that hassle…”

She trailed off suddenly, and despite your insistence on not getting too caught up in the intricacies of your boss’ behaviour, you peaked over at her. Just like earlier in the immigration office, she was chewing at her lip, this time with a faraway expression. You frowned, sensing she was nervous about something. It set you slightly on edge to see her this way. Agatha was never nervous. Big meetings didn’t faze her, important deadlines never stressed her out and public speaking was like a second nature to her. Where once this bravery had been sickeningly envious, its disappearance now gave you concern.

Agatha was a mystery to you, one you were reluctant to address, yet desperate to understand.

---

Agatha flopped down onto her desk chair with a huff, allowing her head to fall backwards and feeling her neck crack with the movement. The tension that racked her body seemed to grudgingly resist lessening, and she considered whether she ought to just take the remainder of the day off. But that would be suspicious...

She loathed the idea that her every decision was being monitored but dreaded to imagine the other option: moving back home, back in her mother’s grasp. She hadn’t seen the woman in over ten years, and to think now that she would spend the weekend in her company… Agatha groaned, letting her face crash forward into her hands. She squeezed her eyes shut, and in the darkness saw only her mother, pictured how she would be reacting to the news that Agatha would be joining them for part of the trip.

As per usual, her attempt to reach out to her mother had been met by silence. She was starting to suspect her number was blocked, and thus Agatha had instead chosen to inform Lilia Calderu about this impromptu reunion. The woman was cooky, but kind. She had always been Agatha’s one ally within the family, and since her emancipation, was the only one who had bothered to stay in contact.

As if abruptly summoned from her thoughts, Agatha’s phone buzzed across the table, likely holding more information from Lilia. With a sigh, she reached forward to raise the lit screen into her eye line, yet was surprised to be met by another’s name

[4:10pm] Jennifer Kale: you’re coming to Salem????

Agatha chuckled, though not out of humour. Jen was one of the many people her mother seemed to just acquire. It was a terrible feature of Evanore Harkness: that the crazy gravitated towards her, became involved in their family and never left.

The word ‘family’ didn’t quite sit right with Agatha. It was more like a cult.

[4:11pm] Agatha Harkness: I am. I take it you’re still hanging about?

[4:12pm] Jennifer Kale: well when you abandoned ship someone had to replace you.

Agatha scoffed, ignoring the wave of irritation at Jen’s phrasing. She was irreplaceable. Though the idea that her own mother should even try to swap one daughter out for another didn’t exactly come as a surprise. Nonetheless, it still hurt. Agatha crossed her arms over her chest, deciding to pursue the conversation no further.

[4:15pm] Jennifer Kale: Lilia mentioned you were bringing a plus-one. who is she?

At this, Agatha’s loathing softened ever so slightly. Jen was one of the few that had supported her coming out, had even attempted to defend her from Evanora’s outrage. She picked the phone back up, feeling a smile grace her lips as she started to type.

[4:15pm] Agatha Harkness: someone I’ve been seeing for a while. She’s nice. You’ll like her.

The message was a simple lie, but it did the job.

Still, reading it back Agatha found she had a lot more to say about you…

NEXT PART

[adimouze]

i'm trying to come up with a reason why the video was deleted other than that red bull asked them to delete it, which draws so much more attention than just leaving it there ?? but I don't know, they're dumb and they're trying to pretend daniel doesn't exist so it sounds like something they'd do

Like what other reason is there to delete it other than because they mentioned daniel and had to use daniel’s face? like. It’s such an inoffensive video otherwise. A nothingburger of LL trying to be Max’s friend, Checo saying he thinks f1 drivers are a bit shit about answering phone calls and Yuki talking about pierre.

Like. What could be the reason.

Imagine how much more maxiel moments they’ll be gatekeeping from us now. They published THIS one but there’s plenty they’re not showing. Even the LL and Max one on the sofas eating. 100% they have pictures of daniel cuddled up next to max, they check in on each other in the energy station (stroopwaffel video) so imagine how much more interactions red bull has photos of that they will never share.

[vhstown]

ain't no love; pt. 5

"that's why i said ain't no love" (finale)

— miles g morales x gn!reader series

SERIES SUMMARY: Miles G Morales is just a kid without a father; the Prowler is just a "rotten" vigilante. Both of them start coming into your life — one in the middle of the semester, and the other by total accident.

SERIES MASTERLIST 📼 ← PART 4 / PART 5 / EPILOG. →

chapter summary: [MULTI-POV] Miles has been a ghost, so you decide to do your own digging. Your answer might have just found you first.

content/warnings: graphic depictions of violence and injury grieving, death

word count: 8.7k (WHAT)

a/n: hey 😁 there's gonna be a teeny tiny epilogue after this one but this is the official end to aint no love! thanks to @/qiuweyballs forever for proofreading this series wouldn't exist without him 🙏

"I need that edit by 3pm, Watson!"

"Got it."

Even if the office was filled with the constant clack of keyboards, or desk phones ringing, or even Jameson himself barking right by her ear — as he was right now — MJ still had to keep up her persona. Agreeable, non-confrontational, all part of company protocol. There was no time for personal opinions or rebuttals, other than Jameson's; she was sure everyone would start coming in tin hats if it meant keeping their jobs.

"You're falling behind, you know," he continued as she quickly clicked off of the email she was working on. "Going to that school fair of yours set you at least a week behind!"

"It was one afternoon, sir. And I'm all caught up, the edit's not due until—"

"The edit is due when I say it's due. You out of all people should understand how things work around here by now. Get it done!"

The man sauntered off without much opportunity for her to reply, a cup of coffee crumpling between his fingers that he probably had yet to take a sip of. The poor intern that had made it would be the next to get an earful when he did try it, she was sure. Too much sugar! Not enough milk! Did you make this with your eyes closed? she recalled. MJ had heard it all by now.

Jameson didn't really have the gall to fire her — she knew that at the very least. The article could wait, however. Visions was yet to release a statement about their fired teacher, and the article would just look like all their other ones — speculatory and clickbait-y with not very much actual information. The Sinister Six ones certainly did well though, always on their broadcasts and the front of their website. Even NNC didn't have as much notoriety as the Bugle did with its less-than skeptical audiences.

The Visions student, right. With a few pasted links and a couple attachments, along with a lackluster "Good luck!" tacked on the end, she hit send. Good to know kids still have dumb email addresses.

She didn't take being abandoned a second time at the fair personally, really — everyone was fifteen once — but she couldn't help but wonder what had happened. It was almost imperceptible, but she knew when a smile looked off. There was something noticeably different about you when you had come back.

"MJ, uh, can I get your business card by any chance?"

"You know what a business card is?" she had joked, but it hadn't done much to ease the discomfort. "Yeah, sure. Contact me if you need anything."

"Yeah, thanks."

You'd asked for articles. Specifically on the Chameleon, and on the recent Prowler activity. You hadn't told her much, just that you needed help compiling some information for school. Some... presentation. MJ wasn't sure whether it was a lie or not, but it was all publicly available information anyhow.

You'd also wanted any information on Visions "teacher", Garrett East. His arrest had been for identity theft, and nothing more. Not many had reported on it as of yet, given he was detained so recently, but you were an insider. He had apparently been your calculus teacher, and the man that he had stolen the identity of had supposedly gone missing a few months before Garrett returned in his place. At least, that's all she had of her article. Maybe it wasn't the best idea to send it to a random high school student before her own boss, but it also wasn't like the man had any real idea what went on in his company. It was a wonder they managed to get through the quarter.

It was just a favour for someone nice she'd met. Maybe it'd repay her in some way in the future, most likely not. Regardless, she couldn't help but smile a little when she noticed her phone light up, a "thank you" text under your name. If only she actually had a work phone number, and it wasn't just her regular one. Visions students making connections already, it seemed.

The time on the screen was 2:41pm. She was met face to face with her wallpaper once again — a low-lit picture of her and a brown-haired man with glasses, the two of them smiling, red faced and dressed like their college selves. Peter Parker, her fiancé. They were holding those terrible beers he'd sworn by. He was a photographer, but this was one of the only pictures he'd taken of them together. It was shot on a bite-sized digital camera they'd bought for college, but never ended up using much. Now, it was all she really had.

Maybe the Chameleon really had come back when Peter had gone missing. Maybe it had something to do with you, with Visions

You probably already had a lot on your plate. And so did she. If she had anybody to chase, it was Otto Octavius. He'd offered Peter an internship in Manhattan. She'd never seen the man herself, only heard from him how good of a person he was, how this was going to get him a job and that it'd be good for them. That he'd finally get some use out of his degree and get to pursue science instead of taking "crummy" pictures for the Bugle. That they could save up for their wedding, and...

That was in Manhattan. The disappearances now were in Brooklyn. And even then, it was coming close to a year since he had disappeared.

She was always running in circles, at the command of an old man with a head too big for his body.

2:43pm. MJ turned off her phone, sliding it into her pocket.

Better get this edit finished.

2:43pm. Wednesday.

Ideally, with a couple days off of school, you would probably be at home, or maybe even out doing something fulfilling with your life. Maybe you could've even gone somewhere with Miles, if he hadn't up-and-disappeared along with every trace of him.

Your unread messages to him faded to black, leaving you to stare at your own face. Maybe you could've used those extra days to sleep, if it hadn't been for the chilling glow of purple eyes or the melting disfigured face that threatened to materialise everytime you closed your eyes.

What did he even like? Comics that he'd mentioned to you once? Of course he'd want to go to a comic book store with you after you'd made fun of him for seeming to want to deal with criminals himself. If only he'd come save you from Brooklyn Public Library right now. You were certain it couldn't get any more swampy in here with all the Visions students scrambling to do their off-day work right now.

Reading through the reply to a ballsy request you'd given to the Bugle's head journalist, you had a few questions in mind other than the ones concerning your disappearing, sort-of friend. Was all this research really practical? Maybe not. Would it help you sleep to know that the guy that had been teaching you calculus since the start of sophomore year was actually posing as a man that had gone missing months ago?

Another very normal thing that only seemed to happen to you.

Maybe you just attracted bad luck. That girl in your history class had joked about it last year, after you'd bumped into your teacher and every single paper he'd been holding had fallen to the ground in one scattered disaster. She wouldn't let it go, and it appeared that your brain wouldn't either.

Or like that time you went to Oscorp on a visit day and happened to be the only one there, trapped with a shapeshifting monster and the Prowler on the 90 millionth floor of that god-damned tower.

Maybe it was bad luck, or maybe you were cursed — or maybe you just walked into these situations on purpose. Like right now, sifting through years of articles on real criminals, with nothing but a hunch or fifteen.

The Chameleon had been arrested, like Miles had said, eight years ago on accounts of identity theft, much like your "teacher" but also very little like your teacher. According to what you were reading, Dmitri Smerdyakov been dubbed "the Chameleon" for a string of carefully orchestrated take-overs of big companies after impersonating their CEOs. His defence had argued that the big names in these companies were gone because they "wanted to be free of the burden of running their own companies".

You didn't have to be a journalist to make a face at that.

There was no mention of shapeshifting, as you'd seen with Wellston and Stromm. Just a couple lousy identity theft charges that didn't add up to their total amount anyway. This guy had more luck than you'd ever had.

The only other person that had seen any "shapeshifting" happen was Miles, and although he'd seemed surprised, something about his reaction was strange. You couldn't place it, but there was some sort of analytical twinge in his eyes, as if he was solving a math problem and not looking at someone shapeshift for the first time. You didn't know anything, really. Miles seemed like he did, though. If only you could bump into him and wring it out of him. And maybe go buy overpriced comic books with him and forget about the fact that your teacher had been arrested and midterms were coming up and maybe even become actual friends.

If only you were that lucky.

If only it was that easy to move past, as well. The fact that someone that had been involved in disappearances 8 years ago might be mixed up with this, along with the recent uptick in missing people made you feel uneasy. Surely any detective would have put two and two together by now, but remembering the fact that the shapeshifter had turned into a literal police officer dissolved any reassurance that thought might've brought. You were in a public library surrounded by unoptimistic college students, parents with their kids and even some of your own classmates, but the feeling was completely your own, tucked away behind a computer screen and a booked monitor session.

You couldn't be scared, though. You'd already seen probably the scariest thing in your life, kind-of almost died, and been wound up in so much craziness you knew so little about. If only high school had prepared you for researching literal criminals.

"Your 30 minute session is over. You will be logged out shortly."

God damn it.

If only Brooklyn Public Library's computer sessions weren't 30 minutes. You didn't want to log back in anyway, not if someone had booked after you. You could go back home, the library had just been an excuse to get out, really. Not that you'd made a whole new email and signed in as a guest on the computer. Not that you were paranoid.

Picking up your bag and checking your messages one last time you made a beeline for the exit. Well, less of a line and more of a strange obstacle course through the swarm of people. And of course you had to knock into someone. Just your luck.

"Hey, sorry," you mumbled, hands raising just a little in apology. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah..." The person dusted themself off a little with a frown, before looking up to meet your eyes.

Rafael?

"Hey, it's you," he realised, eyes widening as if he'd just gotten lucky.

Out of all places...

"I... gotta go."

"No, no, wait. I need you to do something."

Of course you do.

"I really don't have the time," you whispered back, as he caught up to your advance towards the doors.

"Uh, hey, listen... You talk to Miles, right? Like, he's your friend?"

"Yeah...?" No...? You weren't even sure at this point.

"Uh, look, I need you to tell him something..."

"What, you're in love with him?" you spat, finally looking at him again. "Cause it seems like it. You're always talking about him. Always talking to me about him."

"What?! No the f*ck I'm no—"

A much louder "shhhhhh!" got your attention. The librarian didn't look too pleased. Neither did any one of the people who turned to look at you.

"I'm not gay, man!"

So, the two of you were now out on the street as Rafael defended his sexuality with nothing but exasperated hand gestures.

"I didn't say that."

"Okay, well I'm not. Damn, why are you acting weird for?"

"Your face is red."

"I'm black!"

"That melanin isn't doing anything for you."

"Shut the f*ck up!"

You rolled your eyes, hiding the way the corners of your mouth were starting to lift with a deep exhale. The poor guy was not very discreetly checking his face right now with the back of his hand.

"What, then? What did you wanna say to him so bad?" you asked, instantly making him retract his hand from his cheek.

"Forget it."

"No, tell me. You got us all the way out here for no reason?"

He gave you a look, before promptly looking away, mumbling something under his breath.

"Didn't hear that." That made him groan loudly. It was akin to a petulant child, if not a few octaves deeper.

"I'm... sorry."

Huh?

"You're... sorry?" you repeated, making him let out a huff.

"Look, I..." Rafael met your eyes again, his narrowing uncomfortably. There was something strange in his expression. "My mom's missing. I dunno who to tell. I know I messed up and I... I get it now. I get it. The thing with his dad."

Oh sh*t.

Remorse. That was what you were seeing in his eyes. Or maybe regret. Neither you thought you'd ever see from him.

"Tell him I'm sorry. Or don't. Whatever," Rafael muttered, kicking a bottle cap on the ground until it skittered to a halt by a dog, who found interest in it as its owner tried to tug it along the pavement.

"You can't tell him yourself?" you replied, brows furrowing. As bad as you felt, this was a personal matter. You weren't about to be a parrot for the guy that hadn't grown out of his bullying phase.

"You think he'd listen?"

"It's understandable if he doesn't."

"And what if he doesn't come back?"

"Why..." What? "Why wouldn't he come back?"

"I... dunno. Why can't you just tell him?"

Huh. "Why wouldn't he come back, huh?"

Rafael gives you a sort of reserved look, as if he's contemplating whether or not to lie to your face.

"I heard something about him while I was in that office. He's like... withdrawing from the school."

"He's... what?" Withdrawing from the school? Could he even withdraw that fast? "Why?"

"I dunno, damn! Just... forget it. I don't know why I even asked you man."

Rafael turned to leave, a scowl forming on his face.

"Hey," you called out, looking away before he could meet your eyes. He didn't turn around, though.

"What?"

"...I'm sorry about your mom," you managed, before he could go far enough. "I hope they find her."

"Yeah," he muttered, before throwing his hood over his head.

And now your friend, not-friend, study buddy was gone. The only person you kind of got along with at all outside of just one class. Another person missing. Rafael's mom. Maybe you needed to get out of Brooklyn for college. You certainly wouldn't miss the subway all too much, you thought, crammed in-between people.

"Stand clear of the closing doors, please."

As soon as you got out of the station and into the street, you were met with a familiar face among the people passing by. Instead of the Visions uniform, he was in a jacket too big for him, crinkled sweatpants and purple Jordans.

Miles. Calc-wiz. Mr. Disappearing Act. Withdrawn from the school, now in front of you and definitely already getting on your nerves.

He was looking at you, a hint of surprise in his otherwise smoothed-over features.

"Miles?"

"Yeah. Can we... talk?" His cheek dimpled with the awkward half-smile you'd only seen a couple times, but you were so strangely familiar with. You didn't know whether to freak out at him in front of a crowd of people or head home and hope that he didn't follow you.

"...Sure," is what comes out of your mouth.

Just your luck.

"~Ain't no love—" Skip.

"~Ha, sicker than your average—"

"Poppa twist cabbage off instinct..." Skip.

Miles was getting sicker than average of his uncle's playlist. Maybe working in silence was better.

He took out his earbuds, setting them on his mess of a desk and picking up the screwdriver again. Uncle Aaron was busy, "out of town", as his voicemail said. Probably doing something Miles wasn't supposed to be involved in. He'd be back in a day or two, as always. Never in one place too long.

Even for someone so experienced, he knew this was his uncle's first real "vigilante" gig. Uncle Aaron wasn't getting paid, nor was he working under someone trying to solve a cold case Jeff had been involved in with his colleagues. His dad was no detective, but always seemed to want to help out, and the police were getting desperate with all the recent missing person's cases. There was no real pattern, and sometimes people would be returned just fine. That's what the police were hoping for.

Dr. Stromm had disappeared for about 2 weeks, and returned to his normal work at Oscorp. That could be excused for a vacation off of work, for all anyone knew. Wellston, however, was still missing. Probably dead. Just a couple had turned up dead. It was so unpredictable that they all seemed unrelated, but the kinds of people going missing were all of use — scientists, lawyers, bank tellers. Wellston had been getting his PhD while teaching before he went missing. All people of use to the Chameleon.

Whoever his uncle was working for at the same time as all of this likely had no idea. He was probably working for that person right now, even when they had this case to deal with.

Miles had only been up to this after his dad had passed, and he knew he wasn't as polished as Aaron — not after what happened at Oscorp. Those gauntlets couldn't focus their energy, even if they were more powerful and he could charge shockwaves through the air almost instantaneously, and he had bragged about it a little too much when they'd tested it in the garage.

Now, he had faint lines on his skin from the excess heat, and had been taking them apart and rebuilding them for weeks in his room. His visor needed work too. It was way better in depth, but the resolution sucked. Even then, he was sure he could make something better than what his uncle had. Rigorous training wasn't enough to do this sort of work. He had to do his own thing, even if he was taking up the same schtick. Eventually his uncle's beard would gray and he'd have to be the real Prowler.

He was a good guy, after all. Like his uncle, like his dad.

By deduction, the Prowler was a good guy too. But he wasn't the Prowler today. He was Miles. The Miles that had been shouted at for trying to quit school again. The Miles that was fifteen and spent his days off building crappy gear.

Maybe on a day like this he could spend time with other people like he did in middle school. Go to a fast food place, or go to Micah's house to play video games, or hang around in some parking lot and run when he and his friends accidentally set off a car alarm. The sun was setting outside his window now. It felt like those evenings where he was reluctant to be taken home by his dad, after he was at Micah's playing GTA on Micah's older brother's console, laughing and screaming, Micah's sister shouting at them to shut up from the hallway.

Miles puts the visor down, walking up to his window and pushing it open. The air didn't get any warmer around this time of year, a cold wind brushing past his face as he stuck his head out to look at the city below.

Above him was the half-finished mural. A colourful backdrop of red and blue, and purple. His dad's face without the glasses, hat without the logo, the text outline without the actual text.

"Captain Jeff Morales. Husband, Hero, Father," read the ghost of the text.

His dad wasn't missing. There was no hope of him turning up one day, and that he could leave the mural unfinished and paint it over with something else. There was no hope that he'd wake up one night and instead of finding himself grasping at air it would be his mom shaking him awake to tell him his dad had come home.

His dad was dead. His dad was facing him right now and smiling like he did every morning before he left the house. His dad was painted on a brick wall, missing his glasses.

Miles knew he wasn't smiling for him. He was smiling for the city. He was the face of PDNY, captain for half a day alive and for the rest of eternity until Brooklyn forgot him, deceased. The mural had made him feel better when he hadn't been able to leave his own bedroom and decided to get up and start it with his uncle, but now he felt all sorts of emotions swirling through him. Regret, anger, grief, all of it at the same time — only to stop right at his tear ducts, tightening his throat.

He hadn't cried back then; his mom shared the pain of the both of them, even now. Even when they went to his tombstone, she was the only one that had cried as he'd kept a reassuring hand on her back.

Selfish, were the tears that blurred his vision, not heavy enough to roll down his face.

He sat, staring, eyes stinging yet soothed by the moisture. The sun cast a halo around the building, the mural in shadow and the city behind flooded in red-orange light.

"Husband, Hero, Father."

Was he a hero before he was his father? He had painted that himself. He knew his dad was a good guy. Was he a good guy before he was a good dad?

His thoughts were interrupted with the buzz of his phone in his pocket. There was a message on the notification bar, overtaking the text he'd been yet to reply to from his mom.

Are you the miles talking to me right now 1m ago

It was you.

Cause you're acting weird

And you just read my message without taking out your phone

What the...?

no wtf are u talking abt Read 4:51PM

where ru Read 4:51PM

His fingers hovered above the keys, glancing briefly at the gauntlet at his desk.

With a guy that looks exactly like u

You're the real miles right

He wracked his brain for something, anything as he ran back towards his desk.

6 liters per hour Read 4:53PM

What???

OH

Okay calc genius help me out please?????

He let out a breath between his teeth, shoving his gauntlets in his backpack and throwing on his gear haphazardly.

The Chameleon. Becoming him.

I'm at Marge's on moore st

ok just stay there go into the bathroom Read 4:55PM

don't leave til i text u Read 4:55PM

What are u gonna do??? the restaurant is empty

He's gonna look for me

He was acting so weird if that's not u then it's probably chameleon right

So you did believe him about the Chameleon. Or maybe you were the Chameleon and just being incredibly smart. He couldn't be 100% sure. Not like he ever was. Swooping out of his window, he threw his hoodie down to hang off the fire escape stairs before starting to run up the side of his building, shoes vacuuming him to stand horizontally.

probably Read 4:55PM

ur gonna take him outside in a couple min Read 4:55PM

Why???

just trust me Read 4:55PM

ill be there in 3m Read 4:56PM

The sky was now a shade of blue-purple, the reds and oranges dissolving behind the skyline. It was getting dark, and fast.

Okay

Manoeuvering through the maze of buildings with his shoes keeping him a thousand feet from being heard or seen, Miles headed for Moore Street with the little map in his peripheral vision. When he got there, all that welcomed him was a lone street lamp that had yet to turn on, a couple of closed local grocer's and a dimly-lit diner named "Marge", a discoloured space next to it the shape of an "s". Close enough.

Sifting through the modes on his visor, he settled when he saw the outline of two people. One strangely shaped like him and one strangely shaped like you.

He climbed down a little, dimming the lights on his gear completely as he receded into a small alley. The guy definitely looked like him physically. Tall, handsome, standing outside the bathroom, shifting on his toes...? Creasing my Jordans? Seriously?

Oh, yeah he had you to deal with. And himself, apparently.

leave now Read 4:58PM

Miles had about zero idea how to, but he needed to figure it out in about 30 seconds from now.

K

You made your way out of the bathroom, and he moved to the side of the diner you were closest to from outside to get a better view.

"...Gotta go home..."

"...Lemme walk you..."

As you left the store into the empty street, he could make out the slight twinge of nervousness on your face as you looked around ― probably looking for him and finding nobody.

"Hold on, I gotta text my parents..." You took out your phone, turning yourself a little to obscure the screen.

"Yeah, that's cool." Sounded almost exactly like him. Creepy.

go into that alley on your right and run home Read 5:00PM

Ur kidding

you gotta trust me Read 5:00PM

At that moment, you took one last look at your phone before turning into the alleyway. You were just a couple quick steps into the alley when his doppelganger grabbed yourshoulder.

"What the hell are you doing, Miles?!" you shouted suddenly, trying to pull yourself free, only to be thrown against the wall of the alleyway.

"I'm doing you a favour. You're not going to school anymore," he responded, his tone suddenly flat and nothing like it was a moment ago.

"What are you talking about? I'm just trying to go home."

His doppelganger was now featureless, his face melting away into the blankness Miles still couldn't describe. The panic on your face is visible from yards away. Miles just has to catch him off-guard. Without hurting you. He could do that.

"So you are the Chameleon," you muttered, still trying to pry his hands away as his grip wrinkled your clothes further.

"Ah, so you did figure it out. Excellent." That definitely didn't sound like him anymore. "You were always the most interesting in that class of yours."

"You... You were the one who was at those after-school classes, huh? And at Oscorp. And that... fair." That you were right about. "What the hell is your problem?"

"My problem is that I need a little something from your school, and you seem like the easiest solution."

"Couldn't you do that while you were a teacher? You got that other guy to be arrested in your place. Aren't you done?"

"It looks like you have me all figured out. Except for one small thing."

"What?"

Something glistened by your neck. Sharp. Metal. He had a knife pressed to your throat, the blade just managing to dent your skin.

"You're going to die."

Missing. Sometimes they turned up. Other times they were probably dead. If he didn't figure this out, you were dead already.

"I'm... I kind of figured that too, you know."

"Oh, really? Aren't you something?" There was something like a grin on his face, but it was too misshapen to really tell. "So unaffected. So controlled."

"How do you even... turn into these people? What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Take a guess. An educated guess is always better than nothing." His voice pitched up into Wellston's awkward sing-song, repeating what he used to say in class. Near-perfectly.

"Why are you so sure you won't get caught?"

"That's not an answer, and I can't exactly reveal such things, you know."

"Not even when you're about to kill me?"

"Oh, unfortunately not."

"Go f*ck yourself." That made the man laugh. If he wasn't in this situation right now, Miles might have managed a smile at that.

"Yeah, go f*ck yourself," he muttered, voice being caught half-way into his modulator in a grainy, deep sound.

In an instant, Miles soared above the two of you, foot smashing itself right in the centre of the Chameleon's face, his knife clattering to the floor. As he stumbled back, you got up, taking the opportunity to run, footsteps hard against the pavement.

Suddenly, the Chameleon was stuck between the wall and Miles' knee, steadying himself with his hands against the brick. Miles could make out some kind of morphed look of glee on his face as his clawed hand clamped him to the wall by both sides of his neck. The lips and teeth were starting to form through the flesh, and Miles let the energy build up in the converter as the smile fell into place, cell by cell.

"You don't want to kill me," he stated, simply.

"Pretty sure I do." Miles' claws just scraped at the skin starting to form at his neck. The quiet whirr of his gauntlet starts to become audible.

"You can't kill me. I am everywhere."

If everywhere is right in front of me, I mean...

"I know what you're doing, Dmitri. It ends here."

"I know what you're doing, Prowler."

He finally sees it, what's forming on the man's face. It's him.

"One of my best students, I never would have guessed," he started, grinning wildly, with some sort of overwhemled excitement.

Miles felt his mouth go dry, his face under the mask paralysed as the one staring at him continued to smile.

"The DNA that I retrieved from you is that of... Miles Gonzalo Morales."

It was as if the shockwave forming in his gauntlet slowed with time itself as he came to stare. He was looking at himself. Smiling. Grinning. Crazed. Miles Gonzalo Morales.

"Kill me. I have my assets, and subordinates. They will end you. Your mother, Rio. The hospital she works at. Your uncle, Aaron."

The quiet whirr in his gauntlet faded into silence. He felt his hand retreat, leaving the Chameleon, still posing as Miles, grinning, unblinking, and flat against the wall.

"Oh, you've made a very good choi―"

SLAM!

Metal met with bone, an audible crack following as Miles' clawed fist met the wall, the Chameleon's face smashed between the two.

"You mother... f*cker..." he breathed out, voice choked through the sudden rush of blood, smearing against the wall as he lifted his face from it.

Miles pointed his gauntlet at him again, the whirring renewing itself to a high-pitched scream, light purple expanding between them and tearing through the alleyway like fire.

"Muerto el pollo." (Job done.)

The man's reforming grin was overtaken by the brightness of the blast, energy snapping into one focused point before hurtling through the air, right at the Chameleon.

Miles felt his ears start to ring. His body was lightweight. Airborne.

His back hit something hard, and suddenly the lightness was replaced with an erratic clawing spreading up his arm. The light flickered into sparks that led fire under his sleeve, eating away at his skin. Burning. The blindness faded away, eyes managing to focus. All he could see past the smoke was a figure approaching him, and a hysteric laugh that grew louder and instantaneously changed pitch.

"So confident," is what he could make out through the ringing in his ears that had bled through his head into a sharp, disorienting pain. "I almost thought you had me."

Ripping the burning gauntlet off of himself, he noticed something jammed in the converter as he shook the heat from his arm. Some sort of sabotaging device. He'd had just a few seconds before the burning would've made it past his skin. The Chameleon had planned this.

Looking to his other gauntlet, he noticed the same device, ripping it out before crushing it under his foot. Never twice.

Swallowing back the cough building up in the back of his throat, Miles made a move for the Chameleon, before catching his figure turn left ― running.

Coño. (F*ck.)

Launching himself up, Miles locked onto the man, hurtling through a series of alleyways, fluidly dodging every obstacle in his way as if to waste no time. He could not let him get into a crowd and disappear. This had to end here, even if he had no god damn plan and his uncle was sure to scold him when he got back. He wasn't going to let you or anyone else get killed by this crazy f*ck.

Miles threw himself down into the next alleyway, hearing heavy, fast footsteps, someone approaching in his vision.

Just a little closer.

SLAM!

He threw the Chameleon down onto the ground, noticing he'd already changed appearance.

That face. No, this wasn't the Chameleon.

It was... you. And you were looking right at him. Terrified.

"Please, please let me go," you mumbled, gasping for air in-between words... "I... You're the... Prowler, I― Please― The... That guy's after me and..."

Your head fell against the concrete, an exhausted look in your eyes as you caught your breath.

"Please. I didn't... I didn't do anything. I can keep quiet about you, I haven't told the police anything. About Oscorp. Nothing."

"I know it's you, Chameleon." You would've ran far away by now, he was sure.

"I―I swear I'm not. I'm not him, I don't know how to prove it to you, but... I called my friend for help and... he never came. Please. Please let me go. I don't know where the Chameleon is right now."

Another set of footsteps came towards the both of you.

"I'm right here, Prowler," emerged another voice from the alley.

It was... you?

"Come on. Weren't you looking for me?" the other you continued, half-hidden in shadow. "Come get me."

So the you on the floor... was actually you. And this...

"Please, that's... that's him, you've gotta let me go," the you that was on the ground muttered, exasperated. There was a waver in your voice. In the way your eyes widened looking at him. Almost like confusion.

The Chameleon was right there. Admitting that he was in fact the Chameleon. While he was trying to run away.

"Please," he heard below him, a quiet, desperate whisper in the silence.

You both looked identical. Even though he'd injured the Chameleon, the both of you were unscratched. You both sounded the same too, from what he could decipher. No real way to tell you apart. And his only answer right now felt like a trick.

He kept eyes on the you standing before him, barely making out a face. Something was there, in the way that you looked, the way you stood. Something strange, something he couldn't figure out fast enough to make any decision.

And then, he felt a little pinch. One that suddenly exploded and tore through his flesh, wrangling with every one of his nerves as his body seized. You had lost your scared, desperate expression, your face now distorting along with his vision into that of a smile.

"I understand," a voice started, ringing through his head as if it was everywhere. "You want to help me."

The pain was clawing its way through his body from a point in his leg. He turned his head, noticing the discarded needle beside him. He'd managed to ease his hand just close enough to administer it. You ― no, the Chameleon, lifted himself from the ground, before Miles felt his head spin hard with a kick.

"I admire you, your wit," he called out, letting out a laugh as he started to walk towards you. "Turning against your own savior. Wonderful. Absolutely wonderful."

No, no... There was... there was no way you were working with him. There was no way you...

"You have proven yourself. You'll be better than... than that Garrett fool. I've changed my mind."

Miles rummaged in his utility belt for something, anything. He had no idea what he'd been given, but it was already running through his blood, reaching his brain and poisoning every part of it.

"Your friend over there is going to be unconscious in about half a minute. Why don't you take care of him? I'll be a fool to kill you once you do."

Get up, Miles.

His head throbbed with the sound of your footsteps, each one getting louder and louder. His limbs were weakening. He could barely lift his head.

Get up!

"Dad... Dad? No no no... Get up, get up!"

The gauntlet was slowly slid off of him, now in your hands as his arm fell uselessly onto the ground in front of him.

The gauntlet clipped onto your arm, fingers moving as yours did. He felt the metal claws just scrape his helmet, a faint clink echoing through his skull.

Miles didn't want to look at your face, but he couldn't find it in him to look anywhere else. There was that something from before in your expression that he couldn't quite place, and he still didn't have an answer. It bothered him, for some damn reason. Not the fact that he had his own weapon pointed to his brain as he was losing consciousness. Not the fact that he couldn't move. Not the fact that his last thoughts were about the look on your face and not his mom, or his dad.

Whirrr...

That brightness that the Chameleon had been staring at before was now staring right at him. Overwhelming, blinding, all-encompassing. He felt the faint heat on his skin, as his eyelids grew heavy. Something like warmth in contrast to the cold metal, if just for a second. Something like knowing in your eyes. Something hopeful, saving, loving. Even if just for a second. Even if his brain had made it up to let him succumb.

He wished he could smile, and not be terrified. He wished he could be like his dad, who had smiled.

"Take care of your mom for me, Miles. I ain't gonna be around forever."

And he reached for his helmet. To show you his face, to hope you'd stop once you saw him. He reached, before his arm fell limp beside him once more.

Sorry. I'm so sorry.

"Hey, hello?"

"Hey!"

"Prowler? ...Are you dead?"

God, what did you have to do if he didn't respond...? Breathing, pulse...

"What the..." you heard, before he exploded into a painful-sounding coughing fit, tinged by some kind of voice changer. The Prowler lifted his head, and you could make out az kind of shadow where his eyes were behind the dull, unlit screen. "Huh...?"

"Hey, uh. The... Chameleon..."

Gesturing to the pile on the floor, the Prowler seemed to tense a little at the sight. It was the Chameleon, or... what was left of him. His face charred and caved in by the likes of a certain purple energetic blast. Right, you, had to explain that, the de-powered weapon in your hands.

"Sorry for... I didn't know what I was doing, that was―"

"You killed him?" came out a quiet, modulated voice.

That was...

You killed him. With the Prowler's weapon.

You were defending yourself. You were defending him. That man was a...

Thunk!

The metallic arm hit the ground as it rolled out of your arms, looking into the hollow shadows of the Prowler's eyes.

You didn't know anything about any of these people, and you were deep into their world. It was one that you had never thought you'd see, and now you had nothing to dig yourself out of it. You decided to trick him and when Miles was too late to figure it out you had...

You had killed someone. Turned the blast on him within a split second, watching it sear through his skull in a merciless flurry, stab after stab of burning hot energy wracking more and more screams. Right until the weapon had run out of energy. Until your finger grew numb from the trigger inside the device and the alleyway had gone silent. The man that had haunted your mind for months was unmoving before you, ripped of all features, all life.

Murder. Manslaughter. This man had connections. They'd come after you. After everyone you knew and loved. After Miles.

You should've stayed home.

The ache of adrenaline surged through your heart, your muscles, begging. Begging you to move. To run. To get up.

Get up. Run. Run away. Scream for help. Do something.

You felt the scratch of brick, arms enveloping the rest of you as you backed into the wall.

Hide.

All the breath in your lungs seemed to leave at once as you desperately tried to breathe it back in, hearing the air rush in and out of your mouth over and over. It was loud. So loud. The blast had been so loud. He had screamed so loud―

"Hey."

The hand on your shoulder was warm, free of any metal.

"It's... alright," you heard him say.

How could he say that?

"How can you say that?" Your voice was muffled. Wavering. Pathetic.

Would they believe you? With that stupid, pathetic, voice, whoever it was that found you ― would they believe you?

"How can you say that...?" you repeated, pressing your face further into your knees. The touch on your tensed shoulder felt offensive. Mocking.

"You're gonna be okay."

"How am I gonna be okay?"

"You didn't do anything wrong."

"How do you know that?"

You were looking at him now, breath hitched, eyes wide. You tried to sound frustrated, angry, but all that came out of your throat was a sound that told the Prowler "I am scared" in every language.

The Prowler hadn't killed you. He was comforting you. In any other circumstance, you could've laughed at the thought. To your knowledge, this Prowler hadn't killed anyone, or put everyone he loved in severe danger. Maybe you were worse than him.

"Why won't you answer any of my questions...?" you mumbled hopelessly, burying your face in your hands. You could smell concrete, dust, and ash ― invisible, yet incriminating.

Hiss... Click!

You felt hands wrap around your wrists, carefully pulling yours away from your own face. Just as you looked up, you could see the mask dismantling itself, disappearing behind his head.

What was left was a face. The Prowler's face.

No, this is...

Brown, maybe green-ish eyes. They were a smooth coppery colour under the dim light, bright among the shadows underneath his eyes. A black-red was drying on his skin, under his nose and creeping past his cracked lips. Two braids, coming unfurled at the ends, coming all the way back up to the top of his head. A soft face with harshness painted all over it. An exhausted, pained and worried expression.

"Hey, pana."

The face you had so prayed to see blurred into a watery mess as you threw your arms around him, squeezing your eyes shut against his jacket. His arms followed, settling over yours, one palm circling your back and the other settled between your shoulders.

You didn't think you'd held anyone tighter. You didn't know someone could hold to the point that their arms were shaking around you.

"Miles..."

You felt his head rest beside yours, the contours of his face melding against your shoulder. Warmth was running down your face ― blooming in your chest.

"I've got you."

"Mij— Oh... Oh my!"

You'd scrubbed your eyes hard as you could, and Miles had fixed himself up into a giant hoodie and jeans, but you were almost certain that the woman in front of you was utterly convinced that the both of you had been run over by a subway train. Miles' mom, standing with a vacuum cleaner that contributed nothing to the silence. Her jaw was inching closer to the floor the longer the silence stretched out.

"Uh... hola, mami. This is my friend," Miles offered, not sounding any less like he'd been met face first with the headlights of New York public transportation.

"Hi, Mrs... Morales."

The woman propped the vacuum cleaner against the wall, letting out a quiet sigh. She had beautiful curly hair, and was now wearing the sharp-softness of her son's face in a polite, and concerned smile. You didn't want to turn to check if Miles still had blood on his face.

"Is this a bad time...?" you started. "I can—"

"Oh, no, no, I just... I haven't even made dinner yet, I didn't expect—" The woman lets out another breath, shaking her head. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't be so rude. What are you two... What have you been up to?"

"We just... you know," Miles gestured with his hands, charading less than nothing in the air.

"You know...?" she replied, eyes squinting.

"I uh, already ate. Don't worry about it, Mrs. Morales," you continued, giving her what you hoped looked like a smile on your face. "Miles just wanted to show me something. It'll be quick."

"Uh, yeah. That."

"You're not staying for dinner?" she called out, as Miles dragged you into his room. "I was gonna make pastelón—"

"I'll come help you in a sec, mami."

Miles closed the door to his room, and the two of you shared a look as you heard the long, muffled sigh from outside. With the sound of the vacuum cleaner whirring in the hallway and disappearing into another room, the two of you sat on the edge of the twin-size bed, the frame creaking uncomfortably.

The room wasn't particularly big, crowded with posters and various newspaper clippings — many about the Prowler. There were crates tucked away beside his closet, faces of toy figurines and comic books peeking out of them. A lone screwdriver sat on his desk, a stack of notebooks beside it. The backpack you'd seen him take to school was hanging on the back of his chair, a study guide for "Invisible Man" peeking out of it. All that was on his bedside table other than papers was a frame. A young boy, missing a tooth, on the shoulders of an older man, the two of them beaming through the picture.

"You hurt or anything?" he asked quietly, making you remember that he was next to you. "Like, injured?"

"No, I'm... fine." You took half of a breath before your lungs started to ache, swallowing back the dryness of your throat. Mostly fine. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah. My mom's a nurse, so... I kinda..."

"Oh... Yeah, yeah." Huh.

Mrs. Morales certainly didn't seem to know about her son's... part-time job.

You noticed a set of blueprints on the wall, resembling the clawed arms he had stashed away without you or his mom seeing.

"You made those...? The claw-glove things?"

"They're gauntlets."

It was somewhat like the tone of voice he used when he was explaining a calculus question — not condescending, but somewhat tired and fed-up.

"Right..." Gauntlets. Sure.

The vacuuming stopped, and a few moments later the clinking of cookware could be heard.

"You staying for dinner?"

"Huh...? Um, I don't wanna bother your mom."

"Please...? I'm gonna get it if you go home without eating." Something about that made you laugh, even if it was a half-hearted sound that fizzled out before it could really sound like one.

"She seems nice," you mused.

"She is. She tries."

Something of a smile tugged at his lips as a quick snort of air left him, his eyes now on yours.

"I got a lot of explaining to do, huh?" His smile faded a little as the words left his mouth.

"You do. Maybe... Maybe not now, though."

"Yeah. Not now."

In your peripheral, you could make out his arm inching closer to yours. The tips of his fingers just brushed your knuckles, leaving just a spark of feeling against your skin. His throat bobbed a little as he swallowed, and—

"Miles, ¡ven a cortame estas cebollas! (Come and cut these onions for me!)"

"Oh! Um— Okay!"

The bed squeaked again as he stood up, and you could tell he was biting the inside of his cheek. You closed your hand as the lingering feeling of his touch disappeared.

"...You sure I can stay for dinner?"

"You sure you just asked me that?"

"Alright, alright."

You gave him a little more of a smile, and you could see him fighting to not return it as he looked back at you.

"i'm gonna... go and—"

"Yeah, you do that, Miles."

He handed you his phone, or, a phone.

"You can... play some music, if you want. It's connected to that speaker. Just not too loud, yeah?"

You noticed there was no SIM card in it. He pointed to the little speaker sitting by the window sill, peeking out behind a hung up jacket and a school blazer.

"...Thanks."

The door to his room shut, and the murmured voices of Miles and his mom faded as you selected a song. You recognised some of them, ones you'd heard people sing along to on the street or in the cafeteria of your school. This one stood out, though.

It started slow, and the man's voice was rich, full of life and emotion. It was strangely melancholic against the uplifting instrumentals.

"~Ain't no love, in the heart of the city..."

You stood up, walking to the window to get a better listen of it. Lifting up the blinds, your eyes caught something in the darkness. A giant painting of Jefferson Morales. Miles' dad. It was half-finished, but his smile was there.

You couldn't help but think how he looked so much like Miles.

"~Ain't no love, cause you ain't around..."

An almost inaudible rustle caught your attention as you tuned to look at the jacket you had touched. Something had fallen out of its pocket while you were trying to move the speaker. It was a piece of paper, something written on it.

Reaching down, you moved to put it back in the pocket, before noticing what was peeking out of it.

Unfolding just the edge of it, you recognised the title of a Spanish lesson you had a while ago, back when Rafael had been bothering you endlessly. Opening it up entirely, you found what he'd been making fun of Miles for.

There were a series of drawings around scrawled Spanish vocabulary and messy grammar rules. One was of your teacher, Mrs. Hernández, turned away, writing on the board. The other was of the picture of the landmark in the article you had been given, "Arco de"-something. The colour of the building was done in yellow highlighter, but looked rather technical and accurate nonetheless.

The one on the back made you almost drop the paper.

It was you, with such a likeness. Some lines had been erased and re-drawn around your mouth, as if he'd been trying to decide on an expression. Within the creases of the paper you were holding right now, though, you found yourself smiling — just slightly, like if you'd been laughing at something with the rest of your class. Your head was tilted slightly downwards. The drawing version of you was just a little cuter than you were sure you looked like, Miles' stylisation making your eyes shine a little and your lips curve just the right way.

By the time your stomach had stopped fluttering, the song was coming to a close. You quickly re-crumpled the paper and carefully put it back into the jacket, walking over to sit on his bed again.

"~Ain't no love, in the heart of this town..."

"...You never come back this late, mijo..."

"...We just bumped into each other and started talking. You know, like how at the store..."

"...Your tías are different, Miles..."

He really does have a lot to explain, you thought to yourself, unable to stop the corners of your mouth from lifting up, just slightly.

Your questions would just have to wait until after dinner.

my lovely jubly taglist: @noetophat @sakura-onesan @bakugouswaif @phoenixinthefiles @daydreaming-en-pointe @sp1derw1re @kvvrc @spookyscaryskeletrans @proudgojofucker  @spam-1 @playboifenty @hobiebrownismygod @kissingkzuha @nyumeii @uwukiity @itzmeme @shittingonyourgrave @theyluvbix @kezibear @theseustimes

thank you for reading! epilogue hopefully coming soon 👍 reblogs + replies are appreciated 💗 find the rest of my writing in my atsv masterlist here!

[trcvelers-chcsen]

And there they were. Standing amidst the rubble, freshly rezzed, injuried allies around them. After several years, trying everything to avoid talking, thinking, about the other, and what had happened between them during the Endless Night, here they were.

If this was some sort of pre-ordained bullshit, Apollo would have definitely preferred a different venue. Judging from their old flame's expression, and the machine gun aimed straight at their newly mended head, they doubted fae were stable enough to at least allow them to mend their friend.

"...Listen. We've all clearly been through a lot today," they attempt to reason. Set's dead stare doesn't soften in the slightest. "Bibi and this sore loser you hired nearly died. We did die..."

A warning shot was fired, inches from the exo's head. Tears were streaming from Set's eyes as they burned a hole through their dumb, striped chrome dome.

"Shut up," fae spat, taking a step closer, prompting the hunter to take another step back. "Do you have any idea the fucking hell I've been through since you left Dead Orbit?!"

Apollo glanced around at Bibi and Kallex both. One still had SIVA nanites embedded in her wings. The other was clearly wounded, both in body, and in pride.

They took a hard swallow, their fingers twitching in anticipation.

This was not the time or place for a vengeance-fueled heart-to-heart.

"If you want to do this, I'm sure you have plenty of time to do this when our buddies aren't fucking bleeding out," they fired back, prompting a snarl from the other. "So I'd advise we put a pin in this gods damned soap opera, and you can attack me again whenever we aren't surrounded by the fucking wounded."

Set's finger twitched over the trigger. Fae wanted to do this. Fae wanted so badly to take out every single indignity, punishment, lecture, and impossible task put on faer shoulders after "driving away" the Arachs' prized show horse on Apollo. Right here. Right now.

But fae couldn't.

Darkness take them, they were right.

Why were they always fucking right?!

"Fine," fae ejected, tossing faer Thunderlord aside. The weapon clattered as it rolled to a halt in the rubble. Fae wiped faer eyes on gloved fingers, and make faer way over to Kallex. Traveler knew the Warlock had dragged him into enough trouble today.

Boots humming with electricity, fae stood over the chimera, raised faer hand into the air, and upon flourishing downward, unleashed their Healing Rift in a swirling mass of Light. Kallex would find his wounds closing, and stamina replenishing in mere seconds.

"But I am coming back for you," Set threatened, staring at the exo over faer shoulder. "One way or another, you will answer for what you've put me through."

Apollo didn't meet faer gaze or even dignify the threat with a response. They merely stepped over the rubble toward their friend, summoned up the Light for a Healing Grenade, and tossed it to the arachnid who would find the nanites would fall out of any place they were embedded, wounds healing as he was probably familiar with by now.

"Bibi, I am so, so sorry," the Guardian redressed, eyes flickering in that familiar way they had the night they decided to havoc their troubles away. "I never in a million years would I have expected to run into Dead Orbit again, nor that you would get caught in the crossfire of my past coming to call."

Never mind the fact that this may well have happened with, or without their presence, and who knows what kind of havoc Kallex alone could have caused with Outbreak Perfected without someone not only resistant to, but experienced in combating SIVA to take him on.

"Come on. I'll find a way to repay you for the shit these two destroyed."

Lets just say there is a reason why despite his vast array of connections seeing the chimera actually doing a job with someone was more than rare.

This kind of thing is exactly why.

Things like this are also one of the many reasons he predictably doesn't have any friends.

Who would have thought.

Despite knowing full well the likelihood anyone would be able to get out of the building in enough time let alone survive it coming down himself an his client included that doesn't seem to stop his stubborn onslaught of gunfire in the slightest even as Apollo attempt to stop the madness by using themselves and their sword as a shield.

"Get fucked."

He growls, smirking with self satisfaction at the telltale whine of something getting ignited.

Even then his pride won't allow for relenting in the attack at all even as the exo rushes towards the chimera with the intention to save his ungrateful life.

Up the stairs..

Bibi's expression softens slightly as the otherworlder begins to explain things..

Normally, admittedly, they probably wouldn't budge and would even probably say it's their organization's own fault for not thinking that far ahead.

Their own problem to deal with. It wasn't like they're the only ones who needs those parts.

But, fuck. It's probably the tears. Bibi isn't good with crying..

And then a warning rings out from below. It only takes them a second to realize what had to have happened, eyes wide in horror.

"You gotta be fucking kidding me."

Voice practically a whisper as panic takes over, what were they supposed to do?! Their instincts scream fly to safety but there's no way that's happening, there was no good cover on this floor. Their mind raced uselessly.

Suddenly their shockingly warm and lightweight frame is plucked off the ground and the moth lets out a grunt as the pair slam into the wall, only for the floor to give way mere seconds later.

Pain aches through their whole exoskeleton as they hit the ground, before they can even begin to get their bearings the stranger rolls on top of them, narrowly preventing them from being impaled.

As the dust settles..

The chimera shoves Apollo's body off him with a glare muttering something inaudible under his breath.

Whatever it was sure wasn't thanks judging by the look on his face.

Bibi meanwhile is frozen in shock staring at the figure on top of them. Struggling greatly with the idea someone just gave faer own life to save theirs, let alone a stranger whom had been thoroughly kicking their ass just minutes ago.

After all, for most people you can expect death to last..

But.

...

Can those two..?

Just not fucking DIE?!

As if that in itself isn't a lot to unpack..

Well. This sure doesn't look like a friendly reunion.

Pretty obvious neither of these two wanted to see each other, whatever history they had.

Kallex scoots back, away from the pair, while Bibi on the other hand manages to pull themselves out from under the bent and broken remains of the stairs, staggering to their feet, eyes traveling between the two, speechless for the moment if only from the thickness of the tension in the air.

[alwaysbethewest]

I'm gonna say something that 90% of you will hate but it's what's on my heart—now that we've seen Pedro and Vanessa speak in every interview about how this couple is so passionately in love and dedicated to each other and have been married for decades—I wish we could let this be the ONE Pedro character whose fanfic isn't completely overwhelmed by x reader fic instead of even consiiiidering respecting and exploring his canon relationship 😔

[canisalbus]

is there a reason you usually answer asks with a . and talk in the tags? i got confused when i first saw that bc usually when people do that its a 'presented without commentary' thing but you do have commentary haha it feels like you're answering just in whispers like a ghost

.

[aerithisms]

i think my problem with this dw season arc accusing the audience of fanbrain for theorising about ruby is that it both feels deceitful and isn't actually that compelling from a character perspective. the season goes out of its way to build up supernatural mystery around ruby and even invokes susan more heavily than ever before in a way that is deliberately trying to get the audience to make those connections. and then it turns around and says you stupid idiot why would you ever try to connect these dots i have deliberately tried to get you to connect.

building up a mystery only for the character to be ordinary is an impossible girl arc redux only this time accusing the viewer of failing to see the humanity of the companion, whereas the impossible girl arc was turning that accusation on the doctor. 7b didn't really blame the audience for viewing clara as a puzzle and in fact several times spells out the fact that clara is perfectly ordinary before the big reveal to give the audience a chance to catch on. as 7b goes on, instead of laying the mystery on thicker, the audience just gets more and more affirmations that clara is a normal human being (rings of akhaten, journey to the centre of the tardis, hide). i found this approach compelling because it was rooted in character, focusing on the doctor's disconnection from humanity/the gendered dynamic of a man treating a woman as his manic pixie mystery to pull him out of grief. s14's meta approach of accusing the viewer feels both unfair, given it has deliberately led the viewer towards theorising, and personally less compelling to me because it wasn't tied into character in any way.

the thing about rey's parentage in tlj is that the reason rian johnson chose to go for that reveal was that it was the only answer that was interesting. none of the theories - rey is a skywalker, rey is a kenobi, and even the eventually canonical rey is a palpatine - were interesting or satisfying because they brought nothing compelling to the table for the story being told. the only satisfaction to be gained from those answers was a fanbrained "omg rey is important because she's related to that guy from the other movie." on top of that, rey desperately wants her parents to have been important, to give her life and her abandonment some kind of significance. so them being ordinary provided the most compelling trajectory for her character because it was the thing she least wanted to hear. it forced her to do the most introspection and growth, as well as tying into the film's themes about the capacity of ordinary people to be special. it wasn't just a choice made to "gotcha" the viewer, it was rooted in character.

i don't think ruby's mother being ordinary accomplishes the same thing. by invoking susan, s14 is engaging with the most egregious example of the doctor's streak of abandonment, which has potential to be very compelling in relation to ruby (and now also the doctor's) own abandonment issues. theories that ruby might be susan, or be somehow related to susan, or somehow related to the doctor, weren't just fanbrained "omg she's related to that guy i know from the classic series." they were theories genuinely rooted in character and the potential to explore both the doctor and ruby's issues with abandonment. and this is something the show willingly led fans towards by invoking susan so much in the first place. so for the show to turn around and act like they were shallow out of nowhere ideas when they were not shallow and were based on potential character conflicts the show itself deliberately invoked, feels misguided.

as well as that, ruby's mother being ordinary does not require that same growth from ruby as it did for rey because it is exactly what ruby wanted to hear. she never wanted her mother to be important, she just wanted to know who her mother was and have a connection with her. so finding out she was a normal woman who still loves her and wants to be a part of her life is everything she's ever wanted. it doesn't introduce interesting conflict for her the way rey's parents being ordinary did for her, because they were written as different characters with different hangups over their abandonment.

tl;dr i don't necessarily dislike ruby's mother being ordinary as an idea but compared to the things it was inspired by - 7b and star wars - it is not nearly as compelling in terms of how it relates to the characters or themes. and the meta angle, while conceptually interesting, doesn't quite work for me because it feels a little manipulative of the audience.

[noxemma]

Dean

It takes Dean a long time to realize that it was gone. Partially because it was a new addition and partially because he was used to the old weight and heft of Baby’s keys. But all the sudden it hit him on a random Thursday afternoon as he, Sam, and Cas piled back Baby after stopping for gas on their way to investigate a case.

He blinks a few times at the set of keys in his hand trying to figure out what is different before he realizes that the silver mustache engraved with the words I'm your huckleberry is nowhere on the keyring. He's not sure how he could have lost it because there isn't even a dangling keyring or chain to indicate that it had been ripped off.

He pats his pockets first, not really holding any hope that it had magically fallen off on its own but needing to check anyway, before fully exiting the car. Ignoring the questions from his brother and the curious gaze of the angel in the backseat, he searches the floor and all the other crevices where lost items usually ended up collecting in Baby.

No luck. The keychain was simply gone.

He's more dejected than he should be at the realization that it's gone for good. After all, he can't remember the last time he'd seen it after adding it to Baby's keys several weeks ago, so he has no way of knowing when or where he'd actually lost the Tombstone memento.

Dean knows he could always buy another one, but it wouldn't quite be the same. It wouldn't be the one he'd gotten because he'd nearly combusted when Cas had quoted the Doc Holliday line to him in a cowboy hat, wouldn't be the same one he'd bought out of sheer giddiness at getting Cas back.

"Earth to Dean? Hello? Possible shtriga killing off kids?" Sam calls, hand on the door to get out and probably shake Dean if he doesn't respond soon.

"Shit, sorry. I just, uh, realized I lost something," Dean mumbles, sliding back into the driver's seat, quickly starting Baby, and pulling out onto the highway.

"Dude, please tell me you didn't lose your gun again!" Sam teases.

"First off, I didn't lose it, Bella stole it from me, and second, no I did not lose my gun," Dean scoffs back.

"Okay, so what did you lose?"

"... nothing."

"Oh, nothing?" Sam pitches his voice low and gruff in a bad imitation of his brother, "Mr. five-minute-break-tops-otherwise-you're-getting-left-behind got out of the car and did a deep sweep of the seats for 'nothing?'"

Dean remains silent but Sam keeps pestering, even going so far as to start guessing what Dean could lost.

"Pocket knife? Clip of silver bullets? MapQuest directions? One of the burner phones?" Sam lists normal things before moving on to ludicrous ones as Dean refuses to budge. "Pie coupon? Your Swiftie friendship bracelet? Lucky condom?"

Cas

"Lucky condom? Really, Sam?"

"Could be? Oh! Your favorite issue of-"

"A keychain, goddamit! I lost a keychain," Dean growls knuckles gripping the steering wheel tighter as he finally answers his brother's nagging.

Cas' hand instinctively goes into the pocket of his trench coat, fingers wrapping around the smooth metallic surface hidden in there.

Sam gapes at his brother open-mouthed for several seconds.

"All that fuss for a keychain? What? Was it made of gold?"

"No, it was just ... I got it when we had that case in Dodge City. It was, I don't know, sentimental? You know what? It doesn't matter. It was just a dumb keychain."

Dean says the words with a smile and a laugh, but Cas can tell from Sam's frown that he doesn't believe the older Winchester either.

"No, if it was important to you, I can keep an eye out for it. What did it look like? A cowboy hat or something?"

Cas' brow furrows in confusion as Dean adjusts his grip and pinkness begins to suffuse his neck and ears.

"Seriously, Sam. It's okay, I just had a moment when I realized I lost it. All good. Really no need to worry about it."

I should tell him, should give it back. I didn't think he really cared about it that much since he didn't notice it was gone, but he's acting oddly about it with Sam, Cas thinks as his fingers trace the curving edges and smooth over the indents of the engraving. Guilt begins to claw at his insides, especially as Dean slumps after a few moments when Sam is no longer scrutinizing him.

He hadn't meant to steal it. Or rather he'd meant to return it much sooner after he'd seen it on Dean's keys. He'd only really wanted to look at it more closely but Dean had come back and for some reason he'd shoved the small keychain into his pocket where it had lived ever since. He'd grown attached to the feel and weight and reassurance of it, though he wasn't exactly sure why the innocuous item should provide him any comfort.

That's not entirely true, I suppose I associate it with good memories. The case in Dodge City was ... enjoyable. I got to spend a lot of time with Dean and he bought me a cowboy hat. He was so excited and happy and ... and he said he was glad to have me back, that I was 'a big win.'

Cas knows that he shouldn't have been eavesdropping on the brothers' conversation, but it had been hard not to in the hotel room. And the spark of warmth and pride that bloomed in his chest from hearing that he, or rather his return, had been the cause for Dean's happiness hadn't faded. In fact, it had only gotten stronger, hence his attachment to the pilfered keychain.

He still wasn't sure why Dean had gotten it, and his confusion had only increased with the recent exchange between Sam and Dean. Because Cas knew that Dean hadn't gotten the Tombstone themed keychain in Dodge City. Which meant that he had gone out of his way to look for and purchase the small novelty, but Cas couldn't figure out why, which is the reason he'd held on to it for so long and not replaced it like he'd intended. Or at least, that was how he rationalized keeping the otherwise meaningless trinket.

It means something to Dean and I want to know what. I want to know why he looked so sad when he couldn't find it, Cas muses as the conversation dies in the car. Dean turns up the music but even the blaring rock is not enough to drown out Cas' next thought.

I want to know how to make Dean care about me as much.

---

He waits for the right moment to return the keychain to Dean or to tell him that he borrowed it for a while, to explain his actions, but no time seems to be right.

So, Cas decides that he'll simply put the keychain back onto Dean's keyring when they all head back to the motel to crash before beginning the return trip back to Lebanon.

He sits in the dark until he's sure Dean and Sam are truly asleep, sprawled on their respective beds. Sam, put together as always, is comfortably tucked under the blankets while Dean is haphazardly passed out, still dressed and with his boots on, snoring none to softly.

Cas takes just a moment to stare down at him fondly, dares to let his fingertips brush through the sleep ruffled hair before he makes his way to where the Impala's keys are tossed onto a coffee table.

He pulls out the keychain from his pocket and gives it one last appreciative caress before he begins trying to reattach it to the keyring.

"Cas?" Dean's slurred voice calls out, startling him into dropping the keys and keychain into a clattering mess on the floor.

"Cas, what are you-? Are you okay?" Dean tumbles off of the bed and makes it to his side where Cas is fumbling to try and hide the evidence of his reverse burglary.

"I'm fine, Dean. I'm sorry for waking you, I, um, bumped the keys off the table," Cas explains to the ground.

"Uh, what," Dean clears his throat and Cas clenches his eyes as Dean's hand closes around the mustache glinting in the low light. "Where did-? Cas, you found it?"

Cas has to tell him, can't bear the thought of Dean misinterpreting his actions as chivalrous, can't bear the joy and warmth bleeding out of his eyes and smile.

"I ... stole it from you. I had intended to return it, but I grew attached to it and so, when you didn't miss it, I kept it. I didn't know that it was that important to you until I saw your reaction the other day when you realized it was gone. And then I couldn't find the right way or right time to tell you and well, I'm sorry, Dean. It was wrong of me."

Dean

Dean's brain takes far too long to comprehend what Cas is telling him and why the angel looks so damn stricken with sadness and guilt. But once the words and their meanings finally penetrate his thick skull the only reaction he has is to laugh.

"Dean? This is not humorous. I stole from you; you should be upset," Cas hisses at him, sparing a glance to where Sam still sleeps soundly.

"Cas, man. How could I be upset with you over that? It's actually really cute. If I'd known you liked it that much, I would have given it to you and gotten myself another one."

"That makes no sense. You were clearly distraught about its absence earlier," Cas mutters, for some reason intent on making an issue of this.

"Okay, well, I probably would be upset if it was anyone else, but, shit, Cas I got it because it reminded me of you. So that's why it's kind of funny that you saw it and wanted to keep it. I guess it was just meant for you," Dean explains, trying not to devolve into laughter again when Cas tilts his head in confusion. "I, uh, ordered it after Dodge City, the gunslinger ghoul, remember? And um well, we were sitting in the car and I told you to act like the people in Tombstone and you thought I meant the city but I said, no the movie and then you, uh, you did a really deep voice and said Doc Holliday's huckleberry line and you'd just come back from the dead and I don't know. I wanted to commemorate it somehow? I mean, despite having to crawl through a nasty tunnel, it was kind of an awesome case. I mean we got to stay at that sweet hotel and you were there and cowboys and we got to wear cowboy hats and... and..." Dean tapers off his ramble with a wince as he realizes just how lovesick he sounds. "Anyway, you can have it. In fact, I want you to have it if it makes you happy."

Dean presses the keychain into Cas' palm, manually wrapping the angel's fingers around it when he doesn't move. Dean lets his own hand linger, bolder in the darkened room.

"I, it does, Dean. Thank you."

Dean looks up at Cas' thick whispered words, startled to find emotion welling in the other man's eyes.

"It, the reason that I liked in in the first place was because it reminded me of that case as well, of how happy you were with your cowboys."

"Hey, you're my cowboy too, my huckleberry, remember," Dean blurts, a little giddy with the way the moonlight filters into Cas' blue eyes and highlights his scruff laden jaw. A little drunk off the fact that Cas has let him continue his quasi-handholding

"Yes, Dean," Cas lets out a huff of laughter before staring straight into Dean's eyes, "I'm your huckleberry."

Perhaps it's the way Cas breathes the words like an oath, or the residual adrenaline in his system, or the moonlight pooling around them and glinting off the damned keychain peeking out of their tangled fingers, or maybe it's a combination of all those things that compels Dean to slip his hand from Cas' to reach behind the angel's head and wrap his fingers in the soft dark strands and pull surprised lips to his own.

Cas doesn't move right away, stiff and still against Dean searching kiss.

He pulls back, afraid he's just made the greatest mistake of his life, but then Cas is surging forward back into him.

Dean can't help but laugh into the kiss when he feels a cool length of metal swing into his neck where Cas' hands have attached themselves. Then he's not laughing at all because Cas takes advantage of Dean's open mouth to deepen the kiss.

Random SPN Prompt

Dean didn't know how he could have lost it.

Cas didn't know the best time to tell Dean he stole it.

[hecoxthirst]

we as a society are not talking enough about ian saying that one of the next bit city episodes has “something with anthony and i” and he like started giggling before he could actually say that but like we all know about his and anthony’s bit that looks like they’re younger selves because it was in the trailer so i feel like there’s something more to it and i can’t stop thinking about it.

bro... bro........ you're so correct. i swear so many things they do feels like a soft launch but at this point i'm inclined to believe they'll go the dan and phil route of never actually ~hard launching~ and just leaving it vague, implying, refusing to outright deny, without ever actually saying it. i SWEAR there's something going on, i'm not insane. you are not insane. we are not insane. hold my hand anon

[thelovers-thedreamers-and-me]

me: haha someone found my state post from several years ago that starts off with me saying "hey here's me being stupid because i'm high" maybe i will reblog it ha ha

my notes, instantly: HEY DID YOU KNOW ARIZONA ISN'T WET. DID YOU NOT KNOW WHERE MISSOURI IS. HAHAHA HOW CAN YOU NOT KNOW WHICH STATE IS WHICH IT'S SO OBVIOUS. HEY DID YOU KNOW ARIZONA ISN'T WET. THIS IS GREAT EXCEPT FOR THE COMPLETELY IMPERCEPTIBLE BEEFS MY STATE HAS WITH ANOTHER COMPLETELY IDENTICAL STATE AND I AM SHOCKED YOU DIDN'T KNOW ABOUT THAT. THAT'S NOT MONTANA. HEY DID YOU KNOW ARIZ

[alasy]

From now on, I declare The Mirror Visitor is a trilogy. There's no fourth book, trust me. Just enjoy the first three and move on <3

[gottagetshiver]

So sorry you had to deal with stupid idiots on twitter. Fwiw I thought your fic was amazing and didn't deserve an ounce of the hate it got. Honestly some people need to learn how to keep their traps shut.

Feel free to post your thread fics here on Tumblr and I'll happily read them all :) I've been cross-posting my own fics here and with no character limit it's so much easier. The people here are way nicer too.

Sending so many hugs your way 🫂🫂🫂

Thank you Pen!

Luckily I'm not someone who gets bothered by strangers on the internet taking their anger out on me or trying to force their morals on me (bless that good ol' autistic oppositional reflex LMAO it's fr a blessing in disguise) but it still gets a bit irksome having to click through to their page to block them (since apparently you need to go to someone's profile to block them now???? yet another piss poor change) and not something I really want to have to take time to do when I've got other shit I need to keep up with irl.

I may post threads here now but what I'll probably do is just post them on ao3 even though they're shorter than what I usually like to post there. Maybe I'll make a collection for short little fics that would have normally been thread fics or something!