#in due time and everything but man for a bitch who feels too much I never quite talk about anything I feel

[fictionalcreator]

This whole thing has given me such a specific vision of a scene please bear with me

(haven't started part 2 yet so setting this in a vague time before Cale and the family pull off their daring stunt to trick the White Star into coming to the Lands of Death. They key part is that Cale has acquired information on another ancient power that may come in handy, but more importantly, they need to keep it out of the enemy's hands—if another arc works for that, we can easily use that as well)

(Also lovecherish you are so right Survival would see Ron as an inherent threat. It can tell. This is a man who's honed his whole body into a weapon, a knife in the dark. The blood of his past will never be fully washed from his hands. Blood that is mostly from his fellow man, unlike Choi Han and the rest. But, unlike the young master, who trusts and treasures him as a person both in spite of and because of this, Survival only sees a killer. A danger.)

Parts in [brackets] are just sections I would've expanded on more if I wasn't writing this as a first draft in a post, perhaps with some dialogue or something written more in the voice of a character

Edit: that was the initial intent of the brackets and it's still kind of there but it also evolved into something of an artistic choice over the course of writing this excerpt so...do with that information what you will

Fuck.

Cale cursed to himself as the rock and silt settled above him with a low rumble.

He'd come down alone to challenge the trial of another ancient power, one that had been recorded in Choi Jung Gun's records as a potential earth-attribute. It didn't seem to be very strong (White Star would definitely target the Blood-Stained Rock first), but so long as there was a chance that it was an earth-attribute that the White Star knew about, Cale couldn't just leave it be. Cale was never one for leaving hanging threads, after all, especially when those threads had the potential to become their noose.

If the damn White Star managed to complete his collection and balance his plate, everything would become that much harder.

So, Cale and his companions had tracked down the location, compiled some information, and agreed that Cale would go alone, having the most experience with ancient powers, while the others would wait at a nearby town for up to 6 days. Even if it really was an earth-attribute and Cale couldn't acquire it (lest he destabilize his own plate), he assured them he had a way of depriving the White Star of it.

Of course, the others wouldn't be completely idle in that time. The Mercenaries' Guild and the Molans were still fighting it out with Arm for control of the Eastern Continent's underworld. Choi Han, Eruhaben, and the children would be providing some backup without straying too far.

That was plan. That had been the plan. They had been so confident that no one had entered before them.

Motherfucking bastards.

Cale had entered the cave system and made it to the temple at the end without any particular troubles. The ancient power spoke to him, as per usual, and like the others, the power had a bit of a strange personality and forced Cale to complete some test. It was a bitch of a test, requiring him to use his other powers to a greater extent than he'd expected for a power Choi Jung Gun had described as "trivial," but still, not as bad as the Sky Devouring Water's trial.

That is, until someone interfered.

The temple collapsed in on itself, and the power flared in anger.

—Another has influenced the test. The contract is broken. I shall not be moved from here.

Fuck.

Cale felt the power retreating as the ceiling crumbled. It burrowed deep into the earth, far from his senses, escaping as Cale was forced to throw up his Indestructible Shield to protect himself. He tsked, feeling low burning anger at the now obvious fact that someone had gotten one up on them.

The power had clearly said that this was due to "another," not any natural phenomenon. Someone set this collapse off. Cale could only hope that it was larger than they were expecting and that the bastards got themselves caught in it as well.

[He had no recourse for this, and feels like such a fool for it. His plate is already taxed from the trial, he can't summon the strength to break out on his own. The most he can do is shield himself. Even if they're nearby, his companions should all be busy with their own tasks, and his ancient powers are still suppressed, unable to speak. He'll just have to wait. To endure. And trust that they'll find him.]

[Lucky for him, he has experience in sitting very still and doing nothing for hours on end. He carefully controls his breathing, bringing in the bare minimum amount of oxygen. He doesn't think that the collapsed building is airtight, but it's not anywhere near well-ventilated. He shrinks his shield until it's a more economical size, sits, and stops thinking.]

[Or at least, he tries. He tries to stop thinking. It used to be so easy. It should still be easy. But it's hard. For some reason it's gotten difficult not to think about anything. Not to think about their faces and voices, how worried they'll be, how much they'll scold him for getting hurt again (even though he's perfectly fine), and how angry they'll be at the people who did this. He can almost hear a little dragon going, 'I'll destroy them all!' and he can't quite help the smile it brings to his face, in spite of the viciousness of the words.]

Yes, he trusts them. It doesn't even cross his mind that they won't find him. They'd flip over the whole mountain if they had to.

And so he'll sit, and he'll wait, for as long as he has to until—

His hand trembles. A wave of exhaustion washes through him, far too slow and comforting for the situation. His vision blurs. He's lightheaded from the lack of air. The silver thread tying him to the shield wavers, and with a harrowing sound, the rock inches nearer.

Cale freezes. He has to forcibly remind himself to breathe. There's something there, in the depths of his chest. Something he hasn't felt in years. A sort of animal instinct. A deep, instinctual fear.

The fear of death.

Funny, he'd thought he'd gotten over that a long time ago. He had gotten over it. How else could he casually curse at the God of Death and feel nothing from that god's Divine Item?

So why were his hands so cold now?

Never mind. He doesn't need to waste precious energy on questioning that.

He tries not to think. [who knows how long he spends like this] Tries to summon his usual detachment that allows him to look at things objectively. He doesn't need to be afraid right now. That's a useless emotion which will do nothing for the situation.

He assures himself that he carefully cut away and boxed up and thrown out his fear a long, long time ago. He doesn't need it. He doesn't want it. It's not going to come back right now.

But then the rock slips by another inch and he flinches.

His hands are shaking and it spreads up his arms and he scolds himself for wasting energy on such a useless thing.

It'll be okay. They'll find him. He doesn't need to think right now. Doesn't need to feel. They'll find him. They'll find him. But will they find him in time—?

Cale feels a wave of nausea overtake him.

Stop. He doesn't need to think right now—will they find him in time? He doesn't need to th—in time. Stop it. He can't be doing something like this—in time. Will they be in time? Stop it stop it in time STOP—

———

—i don't want to die—

———

In the meantime, the lackeys who infiltrated the temple from another route and initiated the collapse are having a rough time.

[Indeed, they hadn't expected the results of their sabotage to be so effective. To the point that it collapsed not just the lower floors, but both of the passages out, as well, leaving just the central chamber intact. Perhaps it wasn't a coincidence. Perhaps this was their punishment for interfering with the test.]

[Judging by the sounds, the tunnels should have only collapsed halfway, leaving the entrances intact, but they were still unequipped for the mining it would take to get themselves out. They cursed their luck and fiddled with their spells and video communication equipment, trying to get in touch with their allies outside.]

[As they were doing that, they didn't notice one of the flagstones in the corner shift and get pushed aside. By the time they noticed, there was already a slender man who looked to be more dirt than human pulling himself up through the crack.]

[How Survival managed to eke out a path like that, who can say. It simply finds a way. That can be said to be its specialty.]

[The lackeys froze. They looked at Cale. Survival looked back at them. Overcoming their initial shock, they shouted, "Kill him! Quick!" and rushed forward, blades pointed at the stick of a man.]

Cold, dead eyes analyze their every movement. Taking in every step, every tense of fingers on the knives' grips, every breath. It took them all in and calculated, perfectly, the right time to step to the side, reach, strike a joint, and effortlessly disarm the first one to reach it.

[Weapon in hand, it again moves with surgical precision to deliver a fatal blow. Then another. Then another.]

[Before a full 10 minutes had passed, it is the only living thing left in the chamber. The blood of the dead lies splattered on the floor, staining its hands and flecking its clothes.]

[Survival looks around. This is a decently secure place, but lacking in resources. It takes the food and water from the fallen and calculates that it can survive for at least an additional 12 days. This is not good enough. It must find a way to leave.]

[It attempts to break through the rock blocking the entrance. However, this rock is in much larger pieces, and is overall much sturdier than what it managed to break through below. Its attempts end up damaging its hands.] Undesirable outcome.

[It can feel its energy dipping low.]

Rest is required.

[Survival backs away from the entryway, finds a small alcove, and curls up inside. It will rest for the minimum required time before attempting to find another path to escape.]

———

[In the meantime, the others have not heard anything about the small quake. It was so deep in the earth that even those skilled experts didn't feel anything. It is only when time is up and they attempt to go down into the temple that they realize that something is wrong.]

[The path is blocked. They move quickly to avoid having panic set in.]

[Raon, Choi Han, Rosalyn, and Eruhaben move together. Eruhaben is a last-minute addition to the party, who was not scheduled to be in the area, but with his dust attribute disintegrating the rocks before them, they have a much easier time of it.]

When he finally break down the last stone in their way, Eruhaben clears away the lingering white-gold dust and looks up, across the large stone chamber. His eyes immediately find the all-too frail form of their most treasured person, curled into an alcove in the opposite wall.

Eruhaben sighs dramatically. "You unlucky bastard—?"

Before he can finish the thought, he stops short.

"Cale-nim!"

"Human!"

Choi Han and Raon rush forward, pushing past Eruhaben. Or, at least, they try to.

"Wait." Eruhaben's voice is uncharacteristically cold and low.

It freezes the two in place, and they both realized something that was so unbelievable that they hadn't even noticed at first.

Cale is pointing a knife at them.

Cale was sitting in an alcove, knees pulled up to his chest, as if he'd been sleeping. He was staring at them with a level, even gaze, but his eyes were cold and cutting, even more so than usual. There's none of the typical clever glint. No subtle, hidden warmth. No spark of life. No recognition.

Just a cold, hard stare. Analyzing them. Calculating the potential threat.

It reminds Choi Han of some of the animals he faced in the Forest of Darkness, the ones that had enough intelligence to size him up before deciding whether or not to fight him. He doesn't like that comparison.

Quickly, they take in the rest of scene. The bodies on the floor, presumably humans, surrounded by pools of drying blood. The large magic circle around what should have been the path further down into the temple, now also collapsed. The blood stains on the knife in Cale's hand.

"Eruhaben-nim," Rosalyn joins them in the cavern, staring at the scene with carefully contained horror, "the ancient power...can you still feel it?"

Eruhaben takes a shaky breath. "Yes. It's faint, but it's still free."

Rosalyn bites her lip. "He failed the test."

"Because someone interfered." Eruhaben's voice darkens with anger. If these people had not already been dead, he would have destroyed them himself.

Choi Han is gripping his scabbard so tightly that his hand is shaking, and Raon is looking back and forth between them and the bodies and Cale. "But...what does that mean? What does that have to do with why the human is—why he's—!"

Cale has apparently finished his evaluation and deemed them not an immediate threat, and thus, slowly lowers the knife.

"Human!" Raon doesn't miss the opportunity to dart to his side, pelting him with questions like, "Are you okay? Are you hurt anywhere? Who did this to you! I will destroy them all!" with Choi Han following with swift steps.

However, neither of them get a response. Cale—or whatever this animal in Cale's body is—hardly even looks at them. It keeps its eyes trained on Eruhaben. Perhaps it can sense that the ancient dragon is the strongest thing in the room?

"Could it be...a kind of backlash?" Rosalyn hypothesizes, keeping herself calm by analyzing the available information.

Everything seems to be leading to the conclusion that these outsiders interfered with the test, causing something to happen that was making the young master Cale act like a cornered animal.

Eruhaben draws a deep breath. "Right now, there's no way to know for sure. All there is to say is that our young master isn't in his right mind at the moment."

Eruhaben glanced over the bodies on the floor.

Indeed, while Cale was capable of defending himself when push came to shove, he always preferred the path of the fewest fatalities. Not to mention, if he'd actually had all his wits about him, he would have certainly left one of the attackers alive so they could interrogate them for information.

With the attackers not wearing the Arm uniform, they could only guess at if they were hired separately by the White Star, or if they were truly unaffiliated and targeted this place for other reasons.

Unlucky bastard.

Eruhaben sighed again. "At any rate, let's not linger here. We'll show the uniform to the Molans and have them track down any information they can."

Rosalyn nodded and finished his thought, "And in the meantime, let's get the young master-nim to a safe place?"

Eruhaben managed a slight smile. "Yes, let's."

"Did you hear that? Come on, let's go, human!"

[Raon tugs at his sleeve but Cale, or the power called Survival, doesn't budge. It doesn't trust these overwhelmingly powerful people who appeared out of nowhere. They aren't hostile at the moment, but their potential threat is unimaginable.]

[It doesn't let Choi Han touch it. It shrinks away whenever the loyal knight's hand draws near, and that's enough to stop him.]

[The stalemate continues, more and more anger filling Eruhaben at the thought of what his dear child had to endure down here, until Raon pulls out an apple pie.]

[Survival looks at it. When Raon offers it, Survival accepts it readily.]

High-calorie food source. Should be consumed sparingly.

[It eats two bites before grabbing a relatively clean strip of cloth from its "nest" and wrapping the rest.]

[The others watch, dumbfounded. Raon tries to offer more apple pies, assuring the human that he doesn't need to worry about saving them, but the words don't register. Survival accepts the pies, then proceeds to similarly wrap them in cloth and stash them behind itself in the alcove. When it shifts to the side, the others can glimpse at what else it has back there; food and water, likely taken from the attackers' bodies.]

[This was all...oddly sophisticated for a mere animal instinct. There was more happening here. Perhaps the backlash of the test damaged his memory in some way?]

[At any rate, after several rounds of manifesting apple pies and cajoling and trying very hard to remove anything from their bodies that could be considered a threat, they finally get Survival to, very reluctantly, trail behind Raon.]

[Ron, Lock, and the kittens are waiting for them outside. Survival does not like this. The minute it sees the wide open skies with the bright afternoon sun and the 4 new people, each with an aura that's terrifying in it's own way, Survival wants to go back in the cave. The cave is secure. It's dark and quiet and now there's even a way out if it needs to get more food or water.]

[They don't want it to go back but it tries anyway. It doesn't point the knife at them because they're still not showing open hostility, but when Choi Han catches it by the arm, it struggles. Survival is shockingly strong, wringing far more strength from Cale's lanky frame than any of them would be able to guess, but it's still no match for a sword master.]

[That said, it struggles hard enough to leave bruises on the arm where it strained against Choi Han's hand. Choi Han despises this. Deeply.]

[To their collective dismay, when it becomes clear to Survival that it cannot overpower Choi Han and make its escape, it instead flips and becomes incredibly docile, letting itself get dragged along without a sound. They know, off of some baseless instinct, that short of killing it, it would quietly accept anything they did to it right now. It makes them sick.]

[Doing exactly as you're told, making as little noise and taking up as little space as possible so as to not upset the person who holds your life in their hands...that too is a kind of Survival.]

When Cale was Kim Rok Soo, back at the company, he never scared anyone. Sure, they worried for him, they feared his Records or they felt a subconscious chill when making eye contact but-

Rarely has he ever scared them.

Except the week he disappeared.

He got trapped underneath rubble, like his first meeting with Lee Soo Hyuk, but no one was there to save him this time. Three days, he was trapped; an uncanny parallel, maybe even more than a coincidence. But on the third day… something changed. He gained a new ability, something that snapped inside of him like a key that forgoes unlocking the mechanism entirely and breaks the lock itself.

He lifted a building off of its foundations.

The metal holding together the crevice he was huddled in snapped and groaned, while the rocks and concrete scratched and shattered like glass. He forced his way out and walked.

He walked away from the company.

If he had been within his mind, he would’ve gotten help, accepted food and water and healed his injuries.

He wasn’t. Within his mind, that is. He was strong, his senses had heightened to find food and all of his necessaries, but he couldn’t remember anything from his life as Kim Rok Soo.

Kim Rok Soo at this moment had fallen asleep, and Survival woke up. For 4 days, Survival walked, ate, drank, and breathed the life of Kim Rok Soo.

If you could call it living.

Eventually he was found, wandering and dirty, and seeing his team members let Rok Soo wake up, and Survival fell asleep.

Cale Henituse hasn’t had to do that. No, not yet, but time catches up eventually and Cale found himself in a perilous situation again.

Trapped inside of a collapsing building with no way to contact his friends who are expecting him to be back in 6 days. They were in a different world, so Cale only had a portion of his abilities, but it should've been enough. It hadn't.

4 days inside of the building, which shuddered and broke multiple times around him, finally, Survival opened its eyes.

It had taken longer because of Vitality of the Heart, but with all of his abilities weakened extensively, he had no options for escape.

Survival looks around dumbly. Within its own consciousness, it’s doing calculations. The structural integrity. The state of his body. The nearest food source.

Lifting the building off of its body is easy, but it takes several hours to progress its way out of the collapsing caverns. Survival breathes heavily, but doesn’t hesitate as it finally breaks through the side. The building tips over and crashes on the opposite side of where it is. Survival blinks from the impact, but only because of the dust.

It wanders for 3 days.

Finally, it gets found. By bandits.

It massacres them and steals their resources.

Soon after that, news breaks out about the supposed single-handed wipe out, and Raon finds him. Raon tries to speak to it, but after it deduced that Raon wasn’t a threat nor food, it walked away.

As a smart and clever dragon, Raon observed Cale before being so abruptly insulted. Multiple attempts to bring Cale back into those eyes, all failed attempts, Raon teleports the unwilling stranger back to the empire.

It doesn’t speak, it doesn’t respond to touch beyond a stern glance, and it only does the bare minimum to survive. It tried to store food under its bed after eating “enough”, and no amount of begging convinced it to not store the rations. It hasn’t bothered to use its powers either- like it doesn’t know it has them.

All attempts to speak are futile.

Choi Han even tried Korean, but it didn’t show any sign of understanding.

Rosalyn does research with Raon and Choi Han on what could have caused it.

Then they hear about the collapsed building. They hear about the bandits who had supposedly died a few days afterwards. Raon figures out that- yes- the stuff Cale had with him at the time used to belong to bandits.

A week after becoming Survival, days after being found, Cale opens his eyes on a bed.

“… They found me?” He muttered it so quietly, whisper soft, but Raon- apparently sleeping by his legs, jumps up with wide eyes.

“Human!”

Cale wants to sigh. How long was he asleep this time? By Raon’s expression, it must have beaten his previous records.

“Is it you? Is it really you? Say something! Say my name!”

Cale blinks in confusion. Two minutes ago he was dozing off inside of a dark hole that was close to collapsing, now— Raon wants to hear his name?

“… Raon Miru? Are you okay?” Cale sat up, ignoring his stiff body and pulling Raon into his lap. He seems to have lost a little weight?

“Human you must absolutely tell me everything you remember!”

While saying this, Raon was ordering everyone to stay out of Cale’s room with the exception of Choi Han and Rosalyn, as well as informing Beacrox to bring up food and to prepare tea.

Cale observes Raon, who is earnestly distressed for some reason, and concedes.

“The last thing I remember was falling asleep in a collapsing building.” Rosalyn gasps. She just entered the room with Choi Han, who is staring at Cale with a cold gaze.

“Why were you in there?” A chill runs down Cales spine at Choi Han’s voice.

“The conmen didn’t expect the building to collapse, they had likely planned something else. It just happened out of nowhere.” He doesn't say that he got lucky. He was next to one of the buildings main supports at the time, and the crumbling structure formed a bubble around him by chance.

Rosalyn goes pale.

Raon shouts, “I will destroy those bastards that made you go in there!”

“They’re already dead.” Cale shakes his head. Rosalyn covers her mouth. He hadn't said he got lucky, but it's obvious that he did. Did they almost lose Cale, and hadn't even known?

‘Three times…’ He’s been lucky with collapsing buildings three times now.

“Cale-nim…” Choi Han places a hand on his shoulder and Cale freezes in fear. “After the building collapsed, a bandit camp was destroyed, single handedly, a few days after. Raon found you wandering- with their stuff on you.”

Immediately, Cale figured it out. It must be an ability. He recalls the similar event that happened in the past and the dots are easy to connect.

But- he can’t say anything about that with Rosalyn in the room.

So all he says, is…

“I guess some part of me really wanted to live.”

[morelikesin]

The amount of ideas I have that I'm too embarrassed by so I never post them. Sliving 🩷

[xiakato]

GISELLE- The Bitch In The Red Dress (M)

A/n: I've been playing too much resident evil lately

September 1998, you'll never forget it. The grizzly murders in the Arkley Mountains to the zombie outbreak in Raccoon city, her. She strung you along with little to no effort. Her beauty was something else, something not of this world. You and her got along per se, a kiss to stop your overthinking while you were in the thick of it. The hive was when everything went south. Her lies came out in the open due to the person you have been chasing with her.  The explosions destroy the bridge and they are desperate to hold her from falling. The slipping of her hand from yours. The sinking heart as you watch her fall with the metal bridge. You had to get out, the city was forfeit.

Years later

You got hit by an assignment, the president's daughter was kidnapped by a cult in Spain's countryside. Ever since Raccoon city, you've tried to get away from the fight with the B.O.Ws that Umbrella left behind and the ones that are hidden away from greedy eyes. The cult leader, Saddler, is an extremist. Possibly due to the influence of the plaga or perhaps he always had these ideals and beliefs and the discovery of the plaga allowed him to act on it. The countless lives of the villagers, those part of the cult and those who were experimented on were lost. You fought through the village, Castle De Salazar, the place where you ran into her, The one that stole your heart amidst chaos. The red dress is reminiscent of the one she wore all those years ago. The knife shines in the moonlight as it is pressed against her neck, her porcelain skin reflecting in the polished finish. 

“Use knives next time, they’re better for close encounters,” You take the handgun from her hand tossing it to the side sheathing your knife. 

“Y/n,” You look at the woman as she takes off her sunglasses, you thought she was dead.

“What are you doing here Giselle?” You ask her, keeping your feelings in check. You’re on a mission, you have to be on guard at all times. 

“Don’t worry about it, handsome,” She walks towards the window, “So cold to me after all these years apart.” 

“After your lies, you’re lucky I don’t shoot you here and now,” You stare at her, fighting the urge to soak in her moon kissed beauty. 

“Oh honey, I didn’t mean to lie to you, we both had a job to do that day,” You shake your head at her as she smirks,” Well see you around handsome,” She tosses her glasses causing a flash bang to go off blinding you as she takes off out of the window.  You stare out of the window she left from,shaking your head leaving to the maze below. The castle was something else, the castellan was an interesting character to say the least. Ningning got taken to an island off the coast. Chasing after the man that took her, he’s quick perhaps beyond human limits. Getting to the dock, seeing a boat with a woman inside. She looks at you, “Need a ride handsome?” 

The rough waters did little to deter you from looking at her, her hair neatly done despite the situation. You shake your head, getting rid of the excess thoughts. “Why Giselle?” 

“All these years and that’s all you can ask Y/n?” She quirks an eyebrow, “You disappoint me.” 

“I have something to ask you, but I won’t get a straight answer,” She chuckles as you sigh,”Raccoon City, after the incident. You try to save one, a hundred more die. The world changed and so have I. So the question is have you changed Giselle? or are you just trying to use me again?” 

“You? Changed? You only think you have, what do you think? Do you think I’ve changed?” She looks over as she pulls the boat over to the side off the cliff aiming her grapple gun, “Don’t think too hard, handsome,” She takes off rocking the boat, you react quickly, steadying the boat before leaning back in the chair and sighing. 

“Story of my life.” 

The island was just as you expected to be, until you ran into him, Krauser. The man that trained you, the sparks from the knives slashing against each other. He knocks you onto your back diving his knife for your neck, a gunshot rings out making Krauser jump back and look over where it came from.

“Well if it isn’t The Bitch In The Red Dress,” He smirks as she starts firing down at them, with his enhancements, he can run faster than humanly possible. Dodging the bullets and jumping towards her, she grapples out of the way with him still chasing. 

“What the fuck is happening here?” 

The island of horrors, abdominations, fucking lasers, a comfy throne. You are pretty sure you’ve seen it all on this island alone. Finding Ningning again, you managed to find a machine that can get rid of your plaga after Giselle saved your ass again. Sending electric currents into a certain spot at a single spot, for one fucking hurt, and two killed the plaga so You are free from the plagas control and Saddler has another thing coming. Rushing outside to see Giselle tied by her wrists hanging in the ai. 

“Y/n isn’t that?” Ning asks, as you nod.

“Stay here,” You tell her as you get into the elevator heading up, meeting Saddler as you ignore him tossing your knife cutting down Giselle. His form changed into a spider-like form with eyeballs on his legs. The fight felt like it took forever, Until you spot Giselle running over, “Y/n use this~” She yells out tossing a RPG towards you, you rush picking it up. Shooting it at Saddler as he recoils from the blast, his body sizzles away, you spot the vial, you grab it as you feel a gun press against your head. 

“Hand it over,” Giselle says as you hand it behind you, she takes as she runs off the side getting an helicopter, “The island is set to blow,” She tosses a key ring, “Better hurry up Prince Charming.”

The helicopter takes off as you run back to the elevator, grabbing Ning by the hand, “We have to go,” You rush towards the underground water way, seeing a jet ski waiting for you, you hop on with her and speed away dodging the falling rocks, you get out of the waterway with Ning holding on tightly. 

“Wow that was close,” She says resting her head on your back, “So um.. what do you think about some over time?” 

“I’m good,” You chuckle, “I have some one else in my mind.”

“Is it her?” She asks and you merely nod as you drive off, “I figured,” She mutters leaning her head down on your shoulder. 

You get a nice vacation after getting the president's daughter back to the states. You take in a breath of fresh air standing in front of your house, getting to the front door, you notice it's slightly opened. Immediately drawing your 9mm, turning the safety off you make your way through the living room. Clearing every room in the bottom floor before moving up. Clearing rooms up to yours. Opening the door, your laser lands in the middle of the forehead of the intruder.

"Oh my, what a welcome," she's says as she crosses her legs in her trademarked red dress.

     "What are you doing here Giselle?" you ask her holstering your gun, sighing.

"just thought I'll see you again," her eyes trailing your body in suit. "You look good like you always do, perhaps the president's daughter flirting with you did you some good."

“Don’t even talk about that,” You place your gun onto the dresser by the wall before looking back at her as she stands walking over to you, her hands trailing down your shirt undoing button by button. She pulls off your shirt and suit jacket in one swoop. She kisses your scars soflty, her eyes lock onto the gunshot on your shoulder. 

“I remember when this happen,” Her fingers softly glazes over the gunshot, “I was scared to be honest.” 

“Even though you say that, were you really?” You question her as you feel her fingers quiver against your skin

“I’m telling the truth for once, Y/n. I didn’t want to lose you even though I only just met you a few hours prior,” She kisses the scar, her kisses trail down your body as she gets to her knees undoing your belt. Pulling your cock out, she smiles licking her lips, “I missed this,” She pushes you towards the bed, taking off your boxers and slacks. She strokes your cock slowly as she spits on it, “I feel you throbbing already~” She kisses up your shaft, “Already needy for Mommy?” She takes your tip into her mouth, you feel her tongue swirl around it sending shivers throughout your body.She pushes herself deeper as your cock reaches her throat.

“Fuck,” You mutter as your hand reaches the back of her head pushing your cock deeper. She pulls back, her saliva cascades down onto your cock as she strokes it faster and faster, her other hand caressing your body, her hand going over your abs and scars as she sucks your cock.She pulls your cock out with a pop as she stands up, dropping her red dress onto the floor,  her naked poreclain body on perfect display for you as she straddles you, her thighs covered in her juices as she slides your cock into her, hearing her breath hitch as you feel her up. Your arms wrap around her waist, as she starts to ride you. Her ass bouncing on your cock, her tightness squeezing every inch of you. She wraps her arms around your neck as she rides your cock faster and faster. 

“Fuck me babyboy, Use me fucking use me baby,” She pleads with you as you thrust upwards, hitting her womb as you ravage her, her moans fill your ears. You hear nothing else other than her, she is in every one of your senses. Her juices dripping down your balls creating a puddle on the bed, “Give me that dick baby,” She moans out as her hands grip onto your hair as her hips meet your thrusts. You feel her walls tighten around you as she cums over your cock, her body shaking as you don’t stop chasing your own orgasm, “Fucking cum in me, fill me the fuck up with your cum babyboy,” She urges you as you feel it coming you fuck her faster and faster and you feel the first shot, you push yourself as deep as you could. You see her bright smile as she feels you fill her up, “So so much~” She giggles as she sits up, your cock still in her, “You filled up Mommy so well,” She moves her hips slowly, milking the rest out of you, “Surely you have more for me~?”

[winchesterwild78]

An Unexpected Friendship

Master List

Characters: Jensen Ackles x Reader, Reader’s daughter, Jensen’s children

Warnings/Trigger Warnings: Domestic Violence, Language, mention of death

A/N: This is a short story written in collaboration with @cheekygirl2309. In this story the reader is a widow who has a 4 year old daughter. She’s dating a very abusive man, so she enrolls her daughter in preschool to keep her as shielded as possible. At the preschool we find her daughter has made friends with a set of twins. At pick up one day the reader realizes the parent of her daughter’s best friend is none other than Jensen Ackles. A friendship forms, and decisions are made after a particularly nasty fight with her boyfriend. 

No disrespect to Jensen or his family. This is a work of fiction and does not depict real life.

*This chapter sets up the story-it’s a bit long due to this.*

Minors DNI 18+

You sat on the side of your bed rubbing your arm, trying to get the sting of the pain to go away. Another night, another argument with Robert, your boyfriend. You’d only been dating about 9 months, and at first everything seemed perfect. You felt the sting of the tears fill your eyes 

Knowing how much he hated when you cried, you fought to keep them at bay. Crying after he hit you only made things worse. You were thankful, however, your four year old daughter, Jazmyne was already in bed. 

You did your best to keep her shielded from the violence that plagued your life now. Your late husband, Josh, was a kind, gentle man. He wouldn’t lift a hand to you and was an amazing father to Jazmyne. Josh was so gentle that if a spider got into the house he’d scoop it up and carry it outside. He died unexpectedly after a workplace accident. Your heart was irrevocably broken when the two of you lost him. 

Now Robert was in your lives. You met him at a house party and he swept you off your feet. The first time he hit you, the two of you were arguing and things got heated quickly. Then he slapped you across your face, drawing blood from your mouth. You made him leave and told him it was over. 

For almost a month you kept him at bay. Then loneliness, apologies and manipulation took over. You took him back. Things were fine, and then a switch flipped again. 

The latest fight was over dinner. You’d come home late from work and he was mad because dinner was late. After picking Jazmyne up at your friend’s house you decided to stop and grab a pizza. When you got home, he was there and became angry when he saw the pizza box.

“What the fuck is that?” He growled as he motioned to the box. “It’s dinner, and I’ve asked you not to use that language in front of my daughter.” He stepped closer to you and grabbed your chin hard, “I’ll talk however the fuck I want you stupid bitch!” You jerked your face away and set the box down. 

Looking at Jazmyne you spoke softly, “Go play while mommy gets your dinner ready, okay?” Your beautiful little girl nodded and bounded down the hall to her room. 

You grabbed a plate for your toddler and started to cut up her slice of pizza. “You’re a lazy fucking whore, you know that. What kind of mother doesn’t cook for her family?” You ignored him and kept getting Jazmyne’s food ready. 

He grabbed your arm hard, pulling you around to face him and causing you to drop her plate. “Don’t you fucking ignore me. I asked you a question.” “Robert, I’m not in the mood to fight with you. I think you should leave. I’m exhausted and I need to get Jazzy ready for dinner and bed. I don’t have time to deal with this.”

You tried to pull your arm out of his grip, but it was too tight. “Let me the fuck go!” You yelled. 

Robert got in your face, his eyes dark with anger, “I’ll let you go when I feel like it. You belong to ME!” He let go of you, grabbed some food and went to sit in the living room. You walked towards Jazmyne’s room and found her crying.

You ran in and got on the floor, “Oh baby, what’s wrong?” “He hurt mommy.” She softly said. You scooped her up and held her tight, knowing you needed to make a change before it was too late. “I’m okay baby girl, I promise. Let’s go eat our pizza and we can play with your new bath paint tonight.” 

She smiled wide and nodded. You took her into the kitchen, put her at the table and got her a piece of pizza. You cut her slice and grabbed you one too. You noticed she kept looking towards Robert and you could see the fear in her eyes. You knew exactly what you needed to do. 

After dinner, you got Jazmyne in the tub and she played with her new bath paint. She talked about her new friends at preschool and how much fun they were. You had recently put her in preschool to help her socialize and to shield her from the crap between you and Robert. 

“So, Jazzy, what are their names?” You asked her as she excitedly talked about her new friends. “Arrow and Zeppy, they are twins, well his name is Zeppelin, but everyone calls him Zeppy.” She said with a smile on her face. You almost choked on air. There was no way these children are the children of the man you’d pined after, Jensen Ackles. You’d been a fan of his for years and watched everything he was in, at least twice. You were heartbroken when you heard his wife died during childbirth. She was giving birth to the twins, and there were complications. 

Jensen disappeared from public life after the death of his wife. He still acted on Supernatural, but his appearances in public and at conventions stopped. It wasn’t until recently he had started to make sporadic appearances and going back to conventions. 

After her bath you got her ready and into bed. Walking into the living room you saw Robert sitting on the couch. “We need to talk.” You said as you walked in. He looked up from his phone and his jaw clenched. 

“I’m going to record this conversation for my protection and yours. I don’t want any confusion as to what is being said tonight.” You told him as you hit record on your phone and he scoffed.

“I deserve better than to be with someone who puts their hands on me. My priority is my daughter, and she always will be. I don’t want her to grow up thinking it’s okay to be hit or grabbed by someone who says they love her. I want you to leave, and not come back. I’m not doing this anymore. We aren’t good for each other, so this, (you motioned between the two of you), is over.” 

Robert sat silently. The eerie silence sent a chill through your body. He sat up and started to speak low, “If that’s what you think, then I guess there isn’t anything I can do about it.” “That’s what I’m saying. I need your key.” He pulled out his keys and took the house key off his ring. Then he stood up, grabbed his stuff and left. 

You let out the breath you were holding and quickly went and locked up the house. You called your best friend and told her what happened. She was glad you finally kicked him out. “Do you need me to come over tonight?” She asked. “No, he left his key, so I’m sure it’s going to be okay.” You reassured her. “Okay, well I’m proud of you, if you need me, let me know.” “I will, I love you girl.” “Love you too, bye.” 

Hanging up you grabbed your pajamas and went to take a shower. Climbing in you felt the pain from Robert’s abuse. You cried. Your tears mixing with the water that cascaded from the showerhead. 

After your shower you climbed into bed and scrolled on your phone. You found yourself on Jensen’s Instagram page, smiling at the pictures he’d posted of himself and his children. A new post popped up and it made your heart flutter. It was a picture of his twins and he captioned it with “These two are rocking their first year of preschool. Zeppy has a new little friend he talks about all the time. He said she’s a princess because her name is Jasmine.” Your eyes went wide, was he talking about your Jazzy? You smiled and put your phone down, falling asleep.

The next morning you got Jazzy up and ready for school. On the drive there she was really quiet. “Jazzy, baby, what’s wrong?” You looked in the mirror and met your daughter’s big green eyes. They were full of sadness and fear, “I’m scared mommy.” A frown formed on your face, “What are you scared of baby?” “Robert. He hurt you.” “Oh baby, I’m okay. I made him leave. He won’t be back. It’s just you and me now.” A small smile formed on her face.

Getting her out of her seat at the school the two of you walked hand in hand towards the entrance. Your daughter squealed in excitement and dropped your hand, taking off towards two children. “Arrow, Zeppy!” She squealed. The two children turned around and smiled, running towards her. 

You continued walking and made it to the very excited children. Hugs were exchanged and giggles filled the air. Then there he was, Jensen Ackles. He chuckled as he walked up to you and the three children, “Oh this must be the little princess.” You smiled as your eyes met his. He extended his hand, “Hello, I’m Jensen, and these two are mine, Arrow and Zeppelin.” You extended your hand to shake his hand, not realizing there was a bruise on your arm or on the side of your face. “Hi, it’s nice to meet you, I’m Y/N and this little one is Jazmyn. I’ve heard so much about your children from her. They are really sweet to her.” 

You noticed his eyes kept scanning you and that’s when you noticed the bruise. You pulled your arm back and felt the embarrassment fill your cheeks. Zeppelin spoke up, breaking the silence between you and Jensen, “Daddy, can we have a playdate after school? Pleeease.” The three children were looking up at Jensen and you. “Well, how about we plan something for the weekend, that way you three can have longer to play, I mean if it’s okay with you.” He looked at you. “Oh absolutely. Besides, I have to work late today and Jazzy will be at her Auntie Nichole’s house.” 

Jensen grabbed the twins’ hands and started to walk towards the door, “We probably should get them inside.” He gestured. “Yeah, don’t want them to be late.” 

After saying your goodbyes, you and Jensen walked towards the parking lot together. “Hey, Y/N. Let me give you my number so we can work out the details of the playdate, and if um, you need anything, please call me.” You offered him a soft smile, “That would be great, Jensen, thank you. I know Jazzy will love it.”

The two of you said your goodbyes, and as you started to walk away Jensen stopped and called your name. “Hey, Y/N.” He stepped closer to you, “He’s an asshole and you don’t deserve that. I promise we aren’t all like that. If you need anything, please call me.” “Thank you, Jensen. For everything, and just so you know I made him leave and broke up with him.” Jensen smiled and lightly touched your arm, “good”. 

Hours later your shift was done. Nichole had picked Jazzy up from school and she was going to bring her home later. You pulled into your driveway and walked in your house. Putting your stuff down you decided you’d take a quick shower before Jazmyne got home. 

Getting out of the shower and getting dressed you walked into the living room and turned on the television. Just as you sat down the doorbell rang. You thought it was Nichole with Jazmyne, but you were wrong. Standing in front of you with eyes full of rage was Robert. 

“Robert, what the hell are you doing here?” Before you could get an answer he came into the house and punched you across the face. You fell to the ground and he started kicking you and punching you. 

You put your hands up to defend yourself and screamed and cried for help and for him to stop. After what felt like hours, he finally left. You laid on the floor, bleeding and in so much pain. You found the strength to grab your phone and pushed the call button. 

“Hello?” The voice on the other end said. You were in and out of consciousness. You started to speak weakly, “Help me…” “Y/N!? Is that you? It was Jensen. You accidentally called Jensen. “Y/N! Answer me, what’s wrong?”

All you could get out was “Jazzy.” Before you passed out. Jensen hung up, called the headmaster at the preschool and told them what happened. They told Jensen they would call 911, he asked for your address but they wouldn’t give it to him. 

Panic filled his body. He called Jared and had him and Gen watch the kids. He was heading to the closest hospital to wait to see if you were brought there. 

The ambulance arrived and Jensen saw you. He tried to get the nurse to tell him what was going on with you, but she wouldn’t give him any information. He paced the waiting room floor and tried everything he could think of to get someone to give him information. 

About 30 minutes later he saw Jazmyne come in with a woman who was close to your age. Jazmyne immediately saw Jensen and ran to him. Nichole tried to grab her, but she was too quick. 

Jensen scooped her up and she threw her arms around his neck, “Hey Jazzy, are you okay? You’re not hurt are you?” Nichole stepped closer, “Oh hi, um how do you know Y/N and Jazzy?” “Hi, I’m Jensen. Jazzy goes to daycare with my twins, and that’s how I know Y/N. She and I just met today, but I’ve known Jazzy.” 

Nichole stretched her hand out, “Hi, I’m Nichole, Y/N’s best friend. Do you know what happened?”

“Not really. She called me and all she said was “Help me, then she said Jazzy’s name. I didn’t know her address so I called the headmaster and told her what happened. I can only assume this was her ex’s doing. She told me she kicked him out.” “She did, but I think he came back over tonight.”

Just then the doctor came out. “I’m here for the family of Ms Y/L/N” Jensen and Nichole stepped forward. “Hi, we’re her family. How is she?” “I’m Dr Fitzpatrick and I’ve been treating her. She has multiple lacerations, some broken ribs, a broken nose and orbital bone, and lots of bruising. She was beat up so badly we have to put her in a medically induced coma to help her body heal. She will be in it for a few days.” 

Jensen and Nichole gasped, “When can we see her?” Nichole asked softly. “You can see her one at a time, but I don’t recommend you take her in there.” The doctor nodded. They both nodded, “Nichole, you go and I’ll stay with Jazzy.” 

Nichole nodded, thanked Jensen and walked to your room. About 30 minutes later Nichole was walking back into the waiting room with red, puffy eyes.

Jensen walked up to her and gave her a hug. She sobbed into his chest. “Jensen, she looks so bad. How could anyone ever do something like that to her. She’s such an amazing person.” Jensen just held her tight. “Do you mind if I go see her?” He asked softly. She shook her head. 

As Jensen walked down the hallway his heart rate sped up. When he saw you laying in your bed, bloodied, bruised and broken his heart ached and anger filled his body. Robert had to pay. He sat beside your side and held your hand, “Hey Y/N, Jazzy is safe. We need you to get better. I can’t plan that playdate by myself.” He chuckled as he held you tight.

Before he left the room, he leaned over and kissed your forehead. He wasn’t sure what made him do it, but he felt the need to do it, “You’re safe Y/N, and so is Jazzy. I promise you both will be safe.”

Jensen walked back towards Nichole and Jazzy. He gave Nichole his number and told her if she needed anything, or any help with Jazzy to give him a call or send him a text. She nodded and said thank you. 

Jazzy clung tightly to his neck, and Nichole had to pry him off. Jensen stepped closer, “hey, Jazzy, maybe Auntie Nichole can bring you over tomorrow afternoon so you can play with the Arrow and Zeppy, would you like that? She nodded wildly, “Okay, see you tomorrow then.” 

Then Jensen was gone. A few hours later, when she was sure you were out of the woods, she and Jazzy left for the night. 

She was worried about you, but Jensen, oh Jensen was worried about you, Jazzy, and wanted to hurt Robert for hurting you. He couldn’t shake the feeling, but drove home. 

You were left laying in the bed, listening to the sounds of conversations and unable to react or speak to them. You heard Jensen, felt Jensen, and above all you felt his emotion behind his voice. That was something you were thankful to have heard and felt, at least that and Jazzy gave you something worth fighting for. 

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@bobbdylan

[cantgetworsethanthistbh]

Ford getting jealous of his younger counterparts part getting horny over Stan kills me. Like, wdy mean man, he’s YOU!!!!

GOD YEAH i have the conclusions that ALL fords are ridiculously possesive over their stans while also completely delusional enough to believe they deserve to have every single stan out there. you put one ford in a room full of stans (across all ages mind you) and he'll be all well clearly i have a duty to take care of every single one of you

OH AND A BIT OF A TANGENT BUT YOU KNOW WHAT I HAVENT SEEN YET BUT WOULD BE FUNNY AF? a 2Fords that takes place in the present day PRE weirdmageddon. due to some rift or bottomless pitt bullshit it spits out a young teen ford randomly right infront of the shack. a young teen ford BEFORE stan broke his machine and even got offered a spot in WCT. they take him in, and to prevent fucking up the timelines they have to keep details of how the mystery shack became the mystery shack shut and spin a lie about how stan just found his calling and ford works downstairs.

teen!ford latches onto older version of his brother IMMEDIATELY— with no decades of resentment and "you made a MOCKERY of my lifes work" angst attached, he would actually be SO proud of Stan for finding his niche, when everyone told him his brother would be a failure, here stan is a thriving business man! him and his brother get to work together! ford is probably kinda famous and praised around these parts too if he's allowing stan to use his discoveries like that! and sure theyre not sailing around, but in his perspective this is a really good life for the both of them, especially when he hears ford went to college and got a bunch of phds. its not like ford ever let himself dream of anything besides stanley (because this is before the wct offer).

with this life its almost like theyre married, and ford with his still huge and untainted feelings on his brother is kind of giddy about it.

old ford is ofc an asshole who wants to burst his bubble so bad but cant do that so is pushing him away instead by locking himself down at the basement to send a way to send his younger self back. this ends up being so great for teen!ford and for stan tho. teen!ford gets to hang out with stanley— and moses stanley grew up incredibly well. all chiseled and huge and looking INCREDIBLY good in and out of the suit. especially out when he realizes stanley turned out to be an incredibly hot bear when he sees his belly out and hes just. not normal about it. hed be on stans side like glue and is just ENAMOURED by him.

and stan LOVES this ford, he loves him. this ford is, while still a nerdy brainiac know it all, is the ford he knew and loved before everything turned bad. they have a fucking blast together, this ford makes him feel young again and looks at him like hes begging to be pounced on all the time. he wont because he cant taint the kid like that but! who knows! he thinks the best part is lowkey how much it pisses off HIS ford too. Ford would be glaring at the way stan has his arms around teen ford across the room while hes yapping and teen ford is looking at him all heart eyes, or how stan has him close all the time and how his younger self is such a clueless .selfish brother stealing bitch as if his hands are completely tied.

the eventual climax being that hes gonna catch them making out (initiated by ford ofc) and either doing the correct thing to do (telling teen ford the whole truth) or the smart thing (fuck stanley right infront of his teen self and claim that it doesnt matter what happens, stan you only belong to ONE ford at a fucking time and in THIS time itd me and istg i will travel back in time to fuck you in the past for revenge for this while teen ford is both mad cockblocked and super into it)

sorry again for the tangent but this 2fords au kinda grabbed my brmy the throat while i was answrring dhdbdhdb

[historygirlie]

Me to Odysseus in this:

WHOA AWESOME MAN I LOVE YOU GET BACK TO YOUR WIFE YOU ARE STANDARDS!!!

Me to Odysseus in these:

Oh my motherfreaking gods this bitch is such an idiot I hate him so much.

So lately I have come to the conclusion, that although Odysseus and the Odyssey are most probably works of fiction, due to the “males are the best” mentality of that time (also in our times too)they make us see the characters as heroes, as the good guys who are justified for everything they do. (Yes we often use the term WELL IT IS ANCIENT GREECE WHAT DO YOU EXPECT?! But we never use that on females do we 😭?) my point is that the Illiad and the Odyssey are so male orientated that we get the idea that the characters are heroes despite EVERYTHING they do. Yes I like that lately many have come to the light that Achilles was really kind of an asshole and Patroclus was actually an arrogant man etc but we need to realize that there are many versions of the story and tbh after reading Circe and the Penelopiad I kinda feel that Ody was a good guy in the male POV’s but in the female ones he was js a liar and cheater 😭🤚🤚. I LOVE EPIC THE MUSICAL AND JORGE RIVERA HERRANS (our Mr. Jalapeño) also Ody’s portrait in it has taken creative liberties and it has turned him into more fictional than close to the actual Odyssey but more people should know that out of the fictional world of Epic the Musical Ody wasn’t such a good guy in many interpretations.

[bloopitynoot]

Reading TGCF: Prologue

For those who don't know, I am reading TGCF for the first time and sharing my thoughts!

If you have not read it, there will be spoilers! Consider this a warning.

Also- if you want to follow along, I am aiming to post updates daily. You can find all the posts in the tag Bloopitynoot reads TGCF. You can also check out the intro post for context on my read BUT if you followed along with my SVSSS read, the rules and vibe are the same.

Welcome welcome!

There is a method to my madness with the beginning half of this post on every chapter and the tea pics. I try my very best to make sure to minimize spoilers so the real content will be below this.

What I know (or don't) going into this series

Don't correct me, it's more fun if this all turns out to be wrong:

it is a love story across lifetimes

one of them wears disguises?

heavenly realms

it is painful AF

I am expecting many deaths to be honest

That's literally all I know, I didn't even really read the back cover until after I read the prologue (below) I am going in so blind.

With this all in mind; Let's gooooooooooooooooooooo:

Okay starting off strong with "the laughingstock of the Three Realms" p11

Oh god, "how to describe the prince...'unique'" p11

This man sounds so sweet "I want to help the common people" p11 but also him over here rescuing babies falling off the walls p13

Oh, I can see how the rich bitches with power would see this as problematic. The audacity of them trying to punish him for doing good. pp13-14

omg this guy, just casually meeting the Heavenly Emperor p16

this is a side note, I will say, though I have 0 experience reading actual heavenly realm lore, I feel well prepared for this due to the sheer amount of MXTX fanfics I have read that are probably crossovers with TGCF but I just didn't even know.

Good for him for ascending! Though if this is one of the protagonists of the story, I am worried for how naïve he seems p16

Well, the Rich Bitches were not wrong to fear the inauspicious start to the ceremony pre-ascension. 3 years later and ofc they are invaded AND the prince is not even there due to his ascension. p17

Poor buddy. I already know this series is going to hurt. He just wanted to help but made everything so much worse by getting involved in human things. p18

"to speak harshly, was he not just useless trash who could not do anything right?!?!" p18

What a tough blow. From god of protection and peace to God of misfortune. p19

AND banishment

Not the double ascension AND immediate banishment. p20 But i do want to know how he lasted like 30 minutes the second ascension. I'm just picturing him up there throwing hands for a hot second before being shunted back to earth double birds flying.

I also love that he's like a little weird. just a queer little man putting on street shows and acting odd as hell.

ooof. Bro. not only was he The Laughingstock for a minute, he also wasn't even memorable enough for people to recall him after a while. This story is going to ruin my life I know it. I already want to adopt this immortal man and wrap him in soft things. p21

A THIRD ASCENSION??????? p22

The canon has been FIRED

The way in which this story already started at 100. Blasted into the universe with this prologue, we had a weird little guy, he ascended descended too many times to be okay, and now we are shunted into chapter 1.

[arrowettexx]

DC CHARACTERS THANOS SNAP HCs :

KON-EL :

-Kon-el to nobody’s surprise infact DID NOT survive the mf snap.

- thanos put an order out for Kon-el to specifically be snapped out of existence.(due to pure annoyance)

- bro would lie and say he survived and was just “In HiDInG”

- bro would be in sm denial

-gaslight people into believing he was a threat to thanos and that’s why he was snapped 💀

CISSIE KING JONES:

-cissie king Jones DID survive the thanos snap

-Girl did NOT care that half of the world was gone.

-ends up finding roy harper and Jason when deciding to try and find Tim and any other batfamily members at the Wayne manor

- news flash… bitches were nowhere to be seen so. Ykw that means ? NEW CRIB!

-they all just don’t care that half the world is gone together

- then it hits her. HER MOM IS GONE!?

-she celebrated and in fact again did.not.care💀

- 5 years later everyone came back ..

-bitch.was.PISSED.

-her mom was there to annoy her once more 🥲

ROY AND JASON

-roy and Jason some how SURVIVED the thanos snap.

-they were together when it happened and let me tell you these two boys DID NOT NOTICE FOR A ANTIRE MONTH.

- found out only when jason called the wayne manor for money with no response .. cissie randomly answered with a voicemail saying “hoe the moneys gone. We all poor out in this bitch now” a day later

-but Jason and Roy had already BEEN broke so they took this as a middle ground and went on with they’re merry lives

-Roy and Jason want to the manor because.. they know where home at😖

-5 years later everyone re appears BROS DID NOT NOTICE AGAIN. they were just like “yo”

- Let’s just say the boys weren’t too much help with letting everyone who has vanished in on what tf happened.

BARRY ALLEN

- Barry Allen DID NOT survive the thanos snap

- honestly thank god tho. I don’t think bro could handle another issue.

- bro had to deal with the speed force.Flashpoint,doomsday, and apocalyptic war. Bro took this one off

- when he’s back tho.. awh man. . The boy feels awful

- had to process the fact that he left iris again during that 💀

- besides those factors, he takes the news that he’s been magically gone for five years pretty well, he’s no stranger to time jumps.. just this time it wasn’t on his own accord 

- he sure as hell does everything he can to help anyone and everyone get things where they were before.

-he reunites with the Justice League and force them to help in any way possible

-they agree

-he’s so sweet I love him.

SHAZAM AND JOHN CONSTINTINE

-Billy batson DID NOT survive the thanos snap…

-shazam on the other hand DID!

-Billy was starting to vanish and in a panic yelled “SHAZAM”

-no more vanishing!

-5 YEARS HE WAS STUCK IN THE ADULT BODY…

- boy was terrified to say shazam again..

- to his luck Constantine had survived, and begged him to put a spell on him that made him unable to speak the word shazam so he could never turn back on accident.

-John allowed Billy to come back with him to the house of mystery, after all, Billy was technically a magic user

- the world of magic technically had nothing to do with earth and the snap so Billy came in handy when it came to Constantine’s deals and quarrels with demons.

- Constantine saw the snap as natural selection and was okay with it.

- until he found that zatanna had been on earth and did not survive the snap.

- he drank a lot after that.

- five years later Billy got the spell removed and was able to BE Billy again

- Billy was over joyed at seeing everyone again.

-Constantine was… well ..Constantine.

STATIC SHOCK

-Virgil Hawkins DID SURVIVE the thanos snap!

- Virgil was lucky asf in this case bc the power/electricity was def not 100% working

-Virgil was going around using his energy to provide light to homes, power to hospitals ect,

-believe it or not he chose to stay on his own during the blip.

- he figured it would be better not to get attached when the chabce of survival was now somewhat lower

-didn’t even try to contact anyone

-(boy didn’t wanna face the facts on who he would never see again)

-at year four he kinda gave up and ended up somewhere in bloodhaven.

- a part of him was praying that Barry Allen was alive and would (selfishly) turn back time

- when everyone came back? He was kinda angry?

-he lowk was mad that everyone had to suffer through those 5 years and the blipped ones didn’t.

- he found nightwing (he was blipped aka DID NOT survive the snap) and tried to pick a fight with him for being so joyful during all this (granted he didn’t know-).

- he understood it wasn’t the worlds fault tho and just tired to do his best with helping explain to everyone what had happened.

- (at the end of the day he’s just a teenager )

- he took some time to re adjust to everyone being back. But eventually found peace

SELINA AND DUKE

-selina Kyle and duke thomas DID both survive the thanos snap!!

-they were with eachother on a bat fam mission when all of a sudden *POOF* they were all gone except for duke, Selina, Kate and Damian

-Kate and Damian almost immediately went their separate ways without notice

- Selina didn’t panic, in fact she was pretty calm with all of this

-Thomas on the other hand.. HE WAS A MESS

- full panic mode on his part

- after a little calming down they went to Wayne manor to find nobody they’re either.

- they stuck together travelling to metropolis to once again find nobody except for Lois lane who did survive.

- they all co existed together (lot easier to live there than gotham without the bat so)

- when they came back DUKE WAS SO HAPPY he cried .

-Selina was calm as always as they made their way back to gotham where ALL HELL WAS BREAKING LOOSE ON THE STREETS

- people were so confused

- everyone went back to Wayne manor (dick, Tim, Steph, babs and the rest of the blipped batfam) to find Cissie , Jason, and Roy living there and those three were SHOCKED.

- “awh man now we gotta move out!!”

- big family reunion for the batfam 💗

[rubra-wav]

Various Adam headcanons

A/N I'm not an Adam simp, I just have been thinking abt him since the last post I did.

A lot of these are just things I feel in vibes and are completely baseless haha.

Cw: SFW, angsty in parts, misogyny, slight reference to disordered eating, uhhh idk man it's mixed

He's very messy and his house is like a bombsite of unwashed dishes and laundry.

Think messy roommate horror stories: that's him, and he doesn't give a single damn about it. Thinks he shouldn't have to clean up his house because that's a 'chick thing'

He's naturally really warm and overheats a lot because of it. Due to this, he has his house cold so he isn't sweating his ass off at all times.

He's really good to sleep next to during cold weather, but is God awful during hot weather.

Will not stop bitching about it being too hot when he's slightly uncomfortable and laughs at people who are easily cold, calling them weak.

His favourite things to watch are shitty b grade movies - especially comedy ones.

Prides himself on knowing current lingo, memes, and jokes (and actually pulls off not sounding like an old person trying to be 'hip with the kids' and cringey)

Follow up: makes deez nuts and ligma jokes out of everything and finds it hilarious. Sera sent him out of a meeting for doing this to Emily one time.

He's the type of mf who is pretentious asf about beer being superior and believes any guy who likes sweeter drinks / doesn't like beer are pussies.

He secretly doesn't believe this in the slightest and actually hates beer, he'd never admit it though. He has a sweet tooth and actually really likes drinks like Baileys.

Constantly talking, even if it's just to himself.

He likes AC/DC a lot. Ironically, 'highway to hell' is one of his favourite songs of all time.

He always wears his mask because he feels more vulnerable without it.

If you're close with him, he'd likely feel more comfortable to take it off around you - would fight to keep it on at all times if he doesn't trust you or feel safe with you.

I headcanon he put on weight after getting to heaven because after he was kicked out of Eden he didn't have nearly as much food, so he began binging when he finally had it again. It kind of just stayed a comfort for him.

He's really insecure about his weight gain too. If you point it out he's gonna get really upset. (Like how Lucifer does in ep 8)

Follow up: he literally always has snacks and is an absolute bitch about sharing them. If he does share them with you, he expects you to be really grateful.

His masculinity is fragile as it gets.

Would physically wilt if you even slightly imply he's not masculine and then become extremely angry and try to prove he actually is.

The main reason he is misogynistic is due to his experience with Lilith.

Before Lilith ran away from him, I think that Adam actually had extremely high respect for women.

His whole purpose was to reproduce. Women do a hell of a lot more then men during the whole process of reproduction and dude worships pussy even now (he named his best soldier after it. Not after dick, vag)

I imagine that it was a much larger appreciation for women in general before Lilith screwed him over.

This soured into misogyny, though, after she ran away and likely grew much, much worse with Eve due to her actually being made from him.

Eve then proceeded to eat the apple given to her and resulted in them being kicked out of Eden, which made it even worse.

He's the definition of that one reddit incel who had bad experiences with a handful of women and now is an absolute misogynistic cunt lmao

Hella abandonment issues.

Also hella jealousy issues.

Doesn't matter if you're a friend or a partner, he's going to be grappling to be number one and the only one in your life.

He's not manipulative or slick about it even a little though, it's obvious as it gets. Will vy for your attention by being literally as obnoxious as possible constantly.

Literally so clingy.

If you ever point it out, he'll deny it though and get very flustered.

Bro needs reassurance so bad you aren't gonna leave him if you're his partner.

Will sometimes just get really quiet and ask if he did something if he even slightly senses a tone shift to negativity.

Pretends it never happened afterwards and will downplay his fears massively if you call him out on it.

He's the type of sleeper who moves around a lot and ends up upside down somehow. Also a sleep talker.

Is the type of mf who has the skill to transcribe songs into guitar simply by ear.

He never shuts up about it, so although it is actually a really incredible skill, you want to not praise it because of how annoying he is over it.

Follow up: can play most types of guitar.

One of those extremely annoying rock fans who scoff when you put on anything but rock.

Also acts like he knows more about rock than anybody.

If you put on country music around him, he will forcefully grab the aux from you to turn it off.

He knows he actually isn't very smart at all and is super insecure about it.

He's had it used against him time and time again by people like Lilith and overcompensates to deter this by acting like he is actually the smartest person at all times.

When someone treats him like he's stupid, especially about something he actually knows/is knowledgeable about, he's extremely defensive about it (like when Lute points out the shield to him in ep 8)

Would be the type to go "Mansplaining means 'man explaining things'" to you with complete lack of self-awareness.

I need to draw Sera looking absolutely horrified as he screams the lyrics to highway to hell so bad.

Got possessed with the energy I had to suddenly write this omg.

[j0elmill3r]

Man, I Hate Golf.

Pairing - Joel Miller x Daughter!reader

Summary - Joel has a newfound hate for golf after Abby leaves him traumatized.

Warnings - Major character death, violence, sad Joel, diverges from canon, spoilers for the last of us part 2

Word Count - 1.4k

A/N - I am...so sorry for this, this could be sadder than my previous fics.

Joel Miller Masterlist

You knew this was too good to be true, things had been going too smoothly since you and your dad had joined your uncle Tommy - Joel having stopped talking to Ellie after their argument. You'd saved a girl younger than you - Abby, her name was - from a horde of infected. You were freezing, the blizzard that had swept through Jackson drastically lowering your body heat, your dad had given you his jacket to try and keep you warm - Even though you were now in your late twenties, Joel was still hellbent on looking after you as though you were still a small child.

You should have trusted your gut instinct, which had told you to take all of Abby's group out. They had acted as though they knew your father and uncle, which then resulted in your leg being shot, and Joel and Tommy both being knocked out.

"Y/N Miller," Abby seethed, crouching down in front of you as she held her gun. You struggled in the grasp of the two men holding you against the window, but you wouldn't have been able to move very much, the makeshift tourniquet tied around the gunshot wound on your leg seriously restricted your movement. You couldn't quite make out the girls face, the place was dark and grim, illuminated by the white glow of the snow outside.

"Do I know you?" You asked her through heaving breaths, your chest rising and falling as you gritted your teeth in pain. She shook her head, you could see tears in her eyes as you looked over her face - Shit. You did know her. Abby Anderson.

Ellie, the hospital, your dad killing the doctors before they could kill Ellie. They were fireflies.

You remembered now. You let out a sigh as you shook your head, giving her a hard glare as your dad and uncle Tommy started to wake up. "Why don't you just give me whatever speech you've been planning and get it over with?" You said, your gaze hardening on the girl in front of you. You let out a scream of pain as they tightened the tourniquet around your leg, the two men beside you letting go of your arms as they fell limply to your sides. The two men moved over to where Joel and Tommy were slowly waking up, they held them back, rendering them unable to move in their tight grip.

You watched in slight fear as she raised a golf club, but you stayed composed, even if you couldn't see how panicked your dad now was. Joel feared for not only his and his brother's lives, but now yours - He knew the girls cause, and you didn't have anything to do with it, it was him that she wanted, not you.

"You stupid bitch," Abby spat at you, pointing the golf club she held tight in her hands at your head. "You don't get to rush this." She told you harshly, giving you no time to react before she swung the golf club at your head, a sickening crack echoing throughout the room as you crumpled to the floor with a pained groan. You couldn't feel your legs any more, and everything felt all muffled, both your sight and hearing.

"No!" Joel cried out, trying to get out of the man who held him's grasp. No. This wasn't happening. You didn't hear your dad and uncle Tommy screaming out for you to keep your eyes open, you were tired. "I'll fucking kill you!" Joel yelled at the women who stood over your limp self, the only showing that you were still alive being your shallow breathing, and your eyes lazily looking up to meet his. Joel could tell that you were tired, watching as your eyes lethargically rolled around, a lazy smile on your face as you met your dad's eyes.

Why was he crying?

You were no longer aware of your situation, your brain slowly shutting down due to the strong blow that had been delivered to your skull.

"Pin him down," Abby ordered, watching as they moved Joel to be laying on his front, kneeling on his neck to make him watch. He felt tears rising as he realised you weren't getting out of this, your blood splattered across the window where you were once kneeling. "I wanna make him watch." She spat, looking down at Joel in spite before she turned back to you, gripping the golf club in her hands tightly.

"No, Y/N, baby, please get up," Joel pleaded with you, he knew that you still had to be in there, despite the blood seeping out from the crack in your skull. "Y/N fucking get up." He cried, now begging you to get up. "Please stop, don't do this, it's not her you want." Joel was no longer begging you, but begging Abby, who held your fate in her hands in the form of a golf club.

Joel's begging fell on deaf ears, as he watched Abby swing her golf club down on your head.

Cracking your skull open with a sickening crunch, which echoed throughout the room - feeling deafening towards your father, it was all he heard, over, and over, and over again.

"No!" He cried, not realising that Tommy had yelled out at the same time at the death of his niece. Joel struggled in the grasps of the men holding him down, watching as your blood dripped from the club "I'm gonna fucking kill you," Joel threatened throughout his sobs, ignoring the man that came towards him, a gun pointed at his head. He just stared at you - laying there, bloodied and lifeless - As if trying to will you to wake up. Everything became muffled to Joel as he continued sobbing, mourning the death of his youngest daughter. He gave one last look towards the woman who had so brutally ended your life, before he was kicked in the face, everything turning to black once more.

He woke up to shaking, his eyes opening to make out the blurry face of his brother, who's face was marked with tear stains after witnessing your traumatizing death.

"Joel," Tommy watched as his older brother finally came around, once more looking over at you. Tommy had moved you away from the pool of your own blood, trying to trick Joel into thinking it wasn't as bad as it looked, going as far to manoeuvre your head to hide the hole in your skull. "Come on, we should go." He advised, helping his brother stand as he limped over to you. Joel held your hand gently, fearing that if he held you too tightly then you would turn to dust - Even though no matter how gently he held your hand, your blood still coated his. Gently, Joel picked your lifeless self up, the way he did when you were a young child at the start of the outbreak.

"I wanna take her back, bury her in Jackson," Joel spoke quietly as he studied your face, stained with blood. Tommy nodded in understanding, he knew Joel had taken Sarah's death badly, but now you were gone too, so he was unsure of how Joel would handle your death. He watched as Joel let out an angry heave. "And them I am gonna kill, every single one of those girls friends, and save her for last."

Tommy couldn't say he had ever been particularly scared of his older brother, but this, this was Joel at his most unhinged. He knew that Joel wouldn't stop until he avenged your death, and that he wouldn't take any prisoners in his quest to avenge you - He would also, show no hesitation in his violence in dealing with them. If they wanted to make your death a brutal one, he could double it.

And make sure it was painful.

Taglist - want to join? fill out this form!

@mrvlxgrl @white-wolf-buckaroo @sunf1owerrq @change-the-world-someday @sleepylunarwolf @mand1ora @kobiiblog @rrickgrrimes8 @wxnderingthoughts​

[anika-ann]

Back and Forth - part 4.2

Part 4 - Setback 2/2

Type: series; agent!reader, inhuman!reader

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader    Word Count: 12600

Chapter summary:  In which you're hurt - but at least you're not alone.

Series masterlist

Warnings: pain and descriptions of pain, blood, gunshot wounds, canon-typical violence, mentions of death and dying (Steve and 'reader'), very questionable medical treatment, comic book science, unholy amount of swearing, brief raised voice by a man, selfworth issues, crying, and believe it or not, fluff

A/N: ALWAYS MIND THE WARNINGS; dividers by @firefly-graphics 💕; moodboard is for the vibes and does not necessarily reflect reader’s appearance

A/N2: As you might have noticed, this is… another long chapter. I could split it, but I like how it works now. If you do wish to split it, I suppose I can recommend do to so at the divider (about one third of the chapter).

Breaking through the darkness usually felt like swimming in molasses, thick and sticky substance surrounding you, heavy limps slowly forcing their way through; the progress was achingly slow despite your muscles burning with effort, dampened senses gradually clearing up as the layers of thickness grew thinner and thinner.

Pushing through this white darkness felt strikingly different. It was but a split second, the moment of breaking through the water surface; all your senses were assaulted at once, lips hungrily drinking every molecule of air after seemingly endless hours under water. Except it wasn’t your lungs that burned; it was everything. Cacophony of images, sensations, sounds and pain consuming your very being.

As you tasted and smelled nothing but blood, both of which you knew too well, as your vision drowned in tears, the one other familiar sensation became prominent: the burning in your legs. That and the sound of Steve’s shouts and rattles of chains, the violent noise swallowing the barely-there sneer of the man who had shot you.

“Stay down,” the fuzzy figure dressed in all black ordered, as if you weren’t curled on your side, clutching at your wounds and rendered motionless bar the rapid rises and falls of your chest.

Steve’s voice, distant and yet so close, was growing clearer by the minute despite the ringing in your ears.

“Leave her alone! Don’t hurt her! Spectre?!” he shouted, insistently tugging at his bounds if the brutal cry of metal was anything to go by, followed by a heavy thud and a clank. The last sound was followed lovechild of a groan and a gasp; then, a somewhat frustrated growl.

“It’s not your time yet,” the man uttered, almost floating out of the room in your hazy vision.

You squeezed your eyes closed as the door clicked shut, feeling your face damp with both the sweat gathering in your hairline and the tears staining your cheeks. It was nearly impossible to swallow your sobs with every gasp for air, but god were you determined not to give them the satisfaction of letting them hear. Because they could hear, there was no doubt now.

Fuck Hydra.

The sound of your name, your actual name, spoken softly at first, with an edge of what could only read as desperation, had you blink your eyes open; then, twice more, called out in almost a plea to be answered.

You licked your lips before biting your tongue, recognizing that whatever would leave out now would be a deafening scream. Steve didn’t need to hear that; you didn’t need your direct superior to hear that.

There were other, much more pressing things at hand, in your hands. In your hands, shaking violently as your gaze fell on the awfully real red blood staining them with no chance to escape it. You were no stranger to injuries, not at all, but in the past months, you had gone soft. You got used to knowing that while your spectre’s injuries hurt like son of a bitch, while you bled from them, while the pain of them lingered, you couldn’t bleed out from them; you’d snap back, unconscious due to the contradiction in your mind and the shock to your body.

But there was no coming back from this and the pain was no lesser; the pain was more if possible.

Two fundamental instincts raged in a battle inside you as you tried to will your hands to press against your wounds – the survival instinct and the instinct to not cause yourself more pain. You knew, by logic, that the former should always win; but your muscles didn’t seem to listen, until you gritted your teeth to not release a single whimper and finally applied enough pressure to stop the bleeding effectively. A pitiful sound fought its way out anyway as the pain struck you like a bolt of lightning.

Okay, fuck that hurt.

Over the deafening thump-thump-thump in your temples, you heard your name again, in frantic whisper.

“Say something. Anything,” Steve’s voice demanded, a strange husky quality to it you couldn’t remember hearing before. Any other day, it might pique your curiosity, but you had genuinely no capacity, too focused on keeping silent; besides, you and Steve didn’t talk that much. Not to mention that the loud thud you had heard before could have been him doing something very unwise and reckless, resulting in whatever you were hearing in his voice. “Please, just let me hear that you’re-- just make a sound.”

Well since he said please, you snarked in the back of your mind, fresh tears rolling down your cheeks nevertheless. Ever the gentleman, wasn’t he?

You eased the pressure on your thighs – and wasn’t it funny, you must have looked like some kind of a fucked-up bride of the underworld, with torn gown in the colours of approaching night and crimson pouring down your skin, through your fingers, making the fabric dark as the night itself – and you allowed yourself to utter a single word.

“Captain.”

“Oh thank god,” he responded in kind immediately, his breath of relief so loud it was almost comical. The way his voice seemed to crack a bit less so. He must have hurt himself trying to fight his bounds; you had no doubt he’d tear a muscle trying, hearing the gunshots. Fighting to rush to the rescue, like the proper hero he was. “What-“

“Thighs. Both,” you reported dutifully, hearing his sharp inhale and a curse on his lips – one you echoed with your own, forcing your eyes to stay open as you tried to tell yourself that the pain was fading and it was time to stop being a baby. To act like an agent, to focus on survival, yours and Steve’s, on your Captain’s survival, on the vital member of the Avengers. You just needed to press against the- “Holy fuck that hurts-”

“Spectre. I know it hurts, but put pressure on that. Right now,” Steve barked, and it was like a switch had been flipped. Mission alert, goal-oriented – the Captain indeed. Too bad; maybe you had liked the Steve better. Then again, maybe the Captain was what you needed to get your head straight. The gala, whatever pretence it involved, was long over after all; this was a mission. You were an agent. “That’s an order, you understand?”

“Yeah, I’m trying.”

“Try harder!”

Your head snapped back with a frustrated growl, a flare of anger igniting your body – you really, really wanted to snap at him to try it himself, to fucking try to at least imagine what it was like to be in your skin now; but he actually had been there before. He had probably fought off pain like this more than once, and he had done so as if it was but a minor inconvenience. He knew exactly what it was like. Andhe must have known that you realized that and that you couldn’t throw it back to his face and he was truly getting on your nerves.

“Always so damn--- bossy,” you hissed, but obeyed, dark spots dancing in front of your eyes as you did so.

“Sorry.” What? “Talk to me. Tell me what to do. How can I make it better?”

The switch had flipped again; his tone urgent, but less commanding indeed. And yet, what was more interesting was his words. He was chained – and without his strength which you had stolen, he couldn’t do a single thing. His offer, however sweet, made no damn sense.

Not that all the things he had ever done did make sense; it was often the opposite, but you supposed you were one to talk.

A chuckle escaped you, bitter but no less amused at the situation. After all, what he said might have just been the funniest thing ever. You couldn’t afford to cry anymore and break down – so you fought to take one of the opposite routes. As usual. Grasping at whatever straw you were offered, even if it was a suggestion as tempting as hilarious.

“Me tell you what to do? Well, damn, that’s a first,” you chuckled again, realizing that the pain had changed; the pulsing seemed to slow. Cold sweat of horror covered your back, but you refused. You refused to even consider that it might be a bad thing. It would be with this kind of injury in an ordinary human, but this could have just been some protective reaction of the serum. It had to be. “Is that my Make-A-Wish foundation gift?”

“Shut up. Don’t you dare to even-- don’t.”

The temperature in the room dropped at least twenty degrees with how frost-covered Steve’s words were despite their white-hot edge and even as you scoffed, you felt guilt gnaw at your gut.

He was right; the last thing either of you needed was your attitude. Then again, his own wasn’t exactly stellar, so at least it was fair.

“Talk to me. Shut up. Make up your damn mind, Rogers,” you spitted out, rolling over. Pressing harder to the wounds sent a brutal tug of pain through your whole body, but you bit down on your cheek to stifle the cry; that wouldn’t help anyone.

“Why are you always so-” Steve lamented, but cut himself off, his weary sigh washing over you. For some absurd reason, the sound brought a ghost of a smile on your face for a split second. “Okay. If—if you somehow have my abilities, there’s a big chance you’re going to start healing soon. Not instantly, but soon. Did the bullets go through or stayed lodged in?”

There was something in his voice, something very familiar, something that usually brought comfort along.

A plan was forming in his head, you could almost hear the gears in his brain frantically spinning.

The problem was that you had a slight inkling as to what the plan was and the mere idea had your stomach. But you had no reason to lie – as much as you hated it. As much as you hated even inspecting the signals of your body i you a very clear answer to that question.

“In.”

“Okay. That’s both good and bad. Only one point of entry means less bleeding.”

Really Captain Obvious?

Also, you weren’t quite looking to increase the suffocating feeling squeezing your chest, but there seemed to quite enough of blood, alright. You wished he could see it to reconsider his words, since he sounded like Mr. Expert himself. Maybe he had a medical degree he had forgotten to mention.

“But it also means that with the bullets still in… I know it hurts like a son of bitch, but you need to dig them out.”

The shudder than ran down your back was everything but tender; it seemed to rattle your very spine.

You knew he was right.

Deep down you knew, because it made sense with everything that was happening, but you snapped anyway because there was no chance in hell you’d dig around in your leg for a bullet. Twice. You were in enough agony as it was, thank you very damn much.

“No fucking way. They tell you to never do that because the bullet works as a stopper if it’s lodged.”

Ominous silence.

It felt like Steve counted to three at least before he answered; when he did, his voice was absurdly soft, as if coaxing a baby deer from under his tires and you were having none of it. If you were the deer, you’d rather have him run you over, because there was absolutely no way that what he was suggesting was happening.

Ever.

“Yeah, it does,” he said, the regret lacing his voice only adding to your desperate need to shut him up. “But, well, I’m an exception-”

“I know, aren’t you fucking always-”

“Oh for fuck’s-! Forget about hating me for a second!” he snapped at last, starling you when he actually raised his voice. “Forget that you think I’m--- the arrogant Captain Perfect who doesn’t deserve an ounce of his fame, that I’m just a glorified science experiment or whatever you think and listen to me! I’m—” He took a shaky breath, swallowing heavily and when he spoke again, the urgency remained – but the volume did not. “I’m an exception because the tissue can start healing over the bullet and it might cause it to start moving and do more damage as it does and-“

“I know,Steve!” you cried out.

As you finally pushed to prop up on your hands and sit up, the world swayed with the sudden movement. However, you didn’t pass out, so you’d count your blessings. That was if you could call the opportunity to play doctor without proper tools or medication with your own body a blessing.

“I mean… I know.”

The silence that settled over the room – both his and yours – was only interrupted by your own harsh breaths. Steve’s own must have caught in his throat; but the figurative sound of the neurons in his brain firing had turned high-pitched as he was probably trying to decipher if you were saying what you were saying.

With a sigh and shaky hands, you pushed away the fabric of your dress from your legs, instantly averting your gaze at the sight of the blood still oozing from the gunshot wounds, nausea swinging your stomach.

Against your better judgement – and grateful for any distraction – you went to confirm Steve’s suspicions.

“I’m sure you’re aware that all agents go through first aid courses on the regular. I… asked. If there are any specifics.”

“You… asked about specifics about me?” he asked reluctantly.

He sounded much timider than you had ever imagined he could, let alone when speaking to you. If you had any energy to do so, you’d smile; because the image of his face when he spoke so softly, even as you had never seen him like that so it was only a figment of your imagination, was endearing, sending a flutter through your pounding heart.

Too bad you only found energy to sigh, risking another glance to your injuries. That was not a good idea, but it sure as hell made you press against them to reduce the bleeding further. The flow was weaker now; which was both a good thing and a bad thing, as Steve had pointed out. The healing process was slowly starting. You had no time to waste.

You’d love to have some.

“Yeah, well, as you so aptly pointed out, Captain, you too feel pain and get hurt and get shot sometimes. I know to get the bullets out to kickstart the healing and ensure it heals correctly.”

Doesn’t mean I want to do the same for my body right now.

“…thank you,” he said.

He sounded so stunned you wanted to laugh; so stunned it was almost insulting. Did he really think you were such a monster that you didn’t care how to save his life specifically, when you had learned how to save everyone else’s? Maybe you should take it as flattery – you had kept your distance so well he would have never guessed you cared, or how much. You should consider going undercover.

“Now get the bullets out.”

Your hands automatically covered the wounds as if to protect them from his hands, sending a throbbing pain all the way down your feet. Yeah, that was not happening. You were not about to dig into that. Fuck everything. Let it kill you. At least you’d go out in what used to be a pretty dress with and Steve’s voice in your ear; you imagined there were worse ways to die.

“No way in hell. You weren’t kidding about the pain.”

You could almost hearthe ‘Yeah, no shit’ screaming from his mind despite your own starting to buzz with thousands of whispers, but he clearly swallowed the remark. His voice was like a steel when he spoke up again; strict and uncompromising.

“Spectre. Do it. Now.”

A lump grew in your throat, the instinct to follow his orders – because he really was just trying to save your life for god’s sake, you knew that – forcing you to press your index finger of your dominant hand into the pulsing tender flesh.

The fresh tsunami of white-hot agony slammed into you, goosebumps erupting all over your body as you swiftly retreated your shaking hand; tears sprang from your eyes, rapid breaths giving way to a choked sob. And then another one.

And another one.

“No. Can’t.”

The countless memories of feeling almost as helpless and weak and incapable of standing up after being kicked down flooded your brain, wrapping you in a fog and making it harder to breathe, your own voice a distant pathetic echo. Begging never help, it only brought laughter or profound disappointment, from others, from yourself – but you couldn’t, couldn’t---

“Please, please don’t make me.”

“Hey, hey! Okay, easy,” Steve called out gently, his tone only making you squeeze your eyes shut. How did he not sound condescending, but genuinely compassionate and alarmed at once? You were being a fucking baby, but god, did it hurt- “Easy, doll.”

Another sob fought its way out before you could hope to stifle it, the endearment like a caress you knew you didn’t deserve and never saw coming.

Pathetic.

You were being pathetic and you needed to do better and you could work with pain, you worked through so much pain before, so why was this one instance so damn hard? Why were you scared like never before? Why were you shaking so bad? Why did the red on your hands felt so much more violent than all the time before combined?

“I know it hurts and I know--- I probably can’t imagine how much, but you have to do it so we can get out of here. And I know you can do it too, even if it seems impossible now. You… you’ve done amazing things and barely broke a sweat. You’ve pushed through a lot. You can push through this too.”

How? you wanted to ask, but couldn’t catch your breath.

You could hear his words, you would agree with some of them, hell, you’d revel in him saying that, preening at the praise, especially from the barely human person he was, but you weren’t him. You weren’t perfect. You bled, you hurt, you felt fear, you failed, and you… you felt really cold.

You were, despite Steve’s words, drenched in sweat despite the goosebumps raised all over your skin; and yet, you were shivering, feeling not only your hands having grown cold, but you whole body too. Cold that came from within.

That was not good. That was not good and the brain fog was growing thicker, with no way of fighting it. Your adrenalin must have been wearing off. You licked your lips, a bitter salty taste on your tongue, your eyes fluttering open. Heavy eyelids. You were crashing out; and you wouldn’t bet a single penny on waking up from that.

“I’m… I think I’m cold now,” you admitted shakily, only to be met with a resolute protest, contrasting sharply with Steve’s previous comforting words.

“No. No, you are not.”

“Don’t fucking gaslight me, Rogers,” you hissed in return, feeling a rise of spite in your gut. What the hell did he know? “I know what I feel.”

The frustrated noise from behind the wall might have as well been a wolf’s growl. “Okay. Okay. If you won’t do it, coach me through astral projection and I’ll do it for you.”

That had you sit up straighter, like a lightning bolt striking mere feet from you and raising instant alert.

“…what?”

“Think about it. We still don’t know what exactly happened, but there were two parts of the artifact. We both felt the jolt upon touch. If you feel the effects of the serum, if you became a supersoldier, and at the same time, if you couldn’t project before, maybe I have acquired your abilities.”

You blinked, allowing yourself the luxury of pondering his words.

He thought that you didn’t… steal his powers? You exchanged them? It was almost embarrassing you haven’t thought of that, because as he said it, it made the perfect sense. If you ignored the fact that it sounded completely insane, it was, in fact, an entirely plausible scenario. Yes, your and Steve’s mutations were very different, came from different sources, but it would explain why you couldn’t project and felt so detached from your spectre; you no longer had it. Steve did.

Still. It was completely crazy that the Kree would create an artifact that could cause that. Sure, they had created an Inhuman who could control all of the other Inhumans, but power swap?

The blue idiot alien race had to be joking.

“What, like some kind of a supernatural Freaky Friday?” you breathed out, still doubtful – and feeling like an idiot yourself since you made a reference Steve was very unlikely to understand.

Then again, the man lived not only to irritate you, but to surprise too.

There was a smile in his voice, even if brief. “Yeah, a bit like a supernatural Freaky Friday. Maybe. It would be worth a try.”

Would it really?

“Steve, I-“

“Tell me how to use your powers,” he coaxed, the undertone of urgency still present, causing the lump in your throat grow – and another essential issue arise in our mind as your gaze flickered to the fluorescent lamp and the small device attached to it.

“They’re listening,” you said lowly, hoping he’d hear. “If we-“

“I honestly don’t give a damn at this point,” he said matter-of-factly. “We can deal with that once I know you’re not bleeding out.”

Gulping, you eased the pressure on your wounds, for the first time grateful you had something to focus on besides the conviction in Steve’s voice when he basically said your life took precedence to Hydra finding out Avengers’ secrets and the feeling it stirred in your belly.

“So, would you please let me help? Tell me how it works. Can you do that, doll? Can you describe how big the room is, what’s in it and most importantly, can you tell me what to do to get to you?”

The soft deep commanding timbre felt like a warm hug, the irrational certainty of everything working out just fine in the end because he’d make it so with your help choking you when you tried to resist one more time.

“Steve, even if you’re right about this whole… power switching, it took me months of hard work to perfect it and it’s still not… perfect.”

He sighed.

“I know it did and you did perfect it. But we don’t need perfect now,” he pressed before making a pause and when he spoke up, it was an unyielding power of a gentle command. “The choice is yours. Remove those bullets yourself or tell me what to do.”

You huffed. You had to say, one of those things sounded a lot better. You could just really do without the former following the latter either way.

And maybe you could.

You blinked through the fog as the realization hit you. Gritting your teeth, you sat up straighter and moved your legs to have better access despite the sharp pain it elicited. You could do this. You could do this. You had been through worse. And now you had – at least to some extent – the power of a supersoldier. You had start acting like it.

If Steve damn Rogers could work through pain like this, you could too – even in a much more pathetic tear-stained way. He was here with you. Which meant that not only you weren’t alone in this mess, but you also weren’t alone in this mess. Captain Rogers didn’t have his usual powers, meaning he couldn’t get out on his own and he was left dangerously vulnerable.

You’d be fucking damned if you’d be the reason the world lost its most inspiring hero.

You could do better.

“Spectre? Are you-“

“I can do you one better,” you announced flatly, almost laughing at your stupidity, at not suggesting it before.

“…how?”

You weren’t sure if the bewilderment you could hear in his voice was caused by the sudden clarity of your own or by your words.

There were at least two other options if Steve was right.

God, you really had the blood loss short-circuit your brain, didn’t you?

“If your hands and arms were free, would you be able to break out from the chains?” you demanded, the fog in your mind dispersing as fresh adrenalin, fresh hope flooded your veins.

“I don’t think so. Not without… my usual strength?”

You hummed. That was the worse option; then again, if had he been able to project himself just outside of his bounds and attempted to free himself, he might accidentally touch himself and, much like you had done the first time it happened, proceed to pass out at the contradiction of simultaneously initiating and receiving the same touch.

The other option it was then. Still far from useless.

“Alright then…”

“What are you thinking?” he asked cautiously and the wary tone almost made you smile. Almost. If it only wasn’t for what you had to do while his spectre could explore wherever you were being held, hopefully able to send some kind of signal to the team.

You had no doubt he would find a way; he was crafty like that when he wanted to be.

In fact, projecting to the hallway might be the better option of the two after all; if it was only his projection sneaking around, his physical form would remain mostly unharmed if he ran into trouble.

“I’m thinking that… I’ll try to the extremely insane thing you suggested I do, that being digging into my own quadriceps, Jesus Christ--- and to distract myself form it, I’ll tell you how to appear outside of my cell. And yours too. I got a good glimpse when-” they shot me, Hail fucking Hydra, “the door opened.” 

Two beats of silence; two beats of silence in which Steve Rogers probably wondered if you had finally lost your mind completely and frankly, you were doing the same as you hiked up your skirt properly, taking a deep breath though the fresh wave of nausea rising up your throat.

You could still back out. You could still tell Steve to project to you, to do this instead, and then you’d have a perfectly good excuse to have complicated feelings about him. Hell, maybe you’d convince him to knock you out, provide you with the oldest form of anaesthesia.

Maybe-

“…okay,” he said at last, halting your absurd thoughts and maybe, just maybe you tried to steal some of the determination in his voice for yourself. “Okay. Tell me.”

Breathe.

In. And out. You bit your cheek hard enough to draw blood as you forced two of your fingers slide into the wound on your left thigh, the wrench of pain strong enough to blind you for a moment; but the pain was soon but a dull echo of the sharpness that had come with the hit. That or you were already too close to death to actually feel anything.

In and out. Breathe.

Nice and slow.

“Okay. Okay, Steve. Have you ever tried meditation?”

Of course he had managed to project.

You should have known.

Within minutes, he figured out what had taken you days to achieve. Sure, that was the goal – to have him create his spectre so he could inspect the hallway for any possible escape routes or anything else remotely helpful – but that didn’t make it any less irritating that while you struggled with his powers, he took yours as his own as if they had always been exactly that.

Steven damn Rogers projected into another room like it was the easiest thing in the world, while you had to will yourself to do every minuscule movement, near hyperventilating by the time he had tried to open the door to your cell – to no avail, of course.

In fact, the whole projection turned out to be a dead end. The hallway was as plain as your cells, bare walls bar the lights and cameras and three doors lining one of them – one door to his cell, one to yours, one to what you assumed was another cell, all locked without a key in sight. And at the end of the corridor, one large heavy door opening in Steve’s direction, locked as well, and so completely unyielding that neither you nor Steve thought it would be a good idea to try the same stunt you had attempted to pull with yours.

But there was one positive outcome, you supposed – or two, if worked really hard to look at the bright side.

One of them was that your theory was confirmed now – you had clearly exchanged your abilities when you had touched the artifact, as improbable as it sounded even to you, a person who received her original powers though a transition initiated by an ancient alien artifact.

The other was that next to your shaking thighs now lied two blood-stained pieces of what you assumed was lead-aluminium alloy; two bullets dripping blood. Your vision zeroed on them with sick awe as you couldn’t quite believe you had pulled that out of your body with your bare hands, the fact giving the ordinary pieces of metal almost a supernatural glow. The rest of world was a blur, shaking due to your own exertion; you had returned to lying on the floor a long time ago, your muscles having given out as your body tried to save the last remnants of energy to actually stay awake. 

You knew that in theory, removing the bullets should have helped. But having trouble keeping your eyes open, with your head spinning at the mere idea of as much as propping up on your elbows, you weren’t so sure it worked the same way for you as it usually had for Steve.

Steve. That gorgeous talented bastard. He could probably project and bring something back with him when he snapped back, so fast to learn that he could probably break the limits of your powers with his left pinky alone, and achieve the one thing you had never achieved yourself.

He was simply perfect at everything.

You wished you had enough strength to despise him for it.

“Okay, so… I’ve never made it work so far, but… try the Tower. You’re clearly a natural,” you drawled, not sure if he could actually hear you, let alone understand you.

Were you talking quietly or screaming? Were you genuinely suggesting he did that or just talking, having gathered a little bit of spite to sass him? It was getting harder and harder to tell.

Scoff came from the other cell; Steve apparently had not only heard you, but disagreed.

“Don’t oversell it. I had you to coach me through it, knowing exactly how it works, getting step by step instructions. And still, I barely made it a few metres. I don’t have a tenth the level of your skill,” he said, frustration bleeding into his voice.

You supposed you couldn’t blame him – despite the fact he had outdone himself, again, it was no use in the end and here you were, still asking more of him.

It didn’t help that some of the dread that had gathered in your stomach resided in him too; you were getting out of options and the clock was ticking, for you more than him.  He might not care that much for you personally, but you weren’t that much of an idiot to think he didn’t care if someone, let alone someone on his team, bled out on his watch; or in this case, in his earshot. You tried to ignore the ice-cold feeling creeping up your spine as it became clear that it was likely with every passing moment.

Physically, you were beyond drained. But mentally, you were growing tired too; of helplessness, of waiting for a miracle. You didn’t see anything you could do to make for a miracle of your own.

Maybe Steve could. He could do fucking everything, even if he might be grumbling as he did so.

“Even if I was half as good, even if I could reach the Tower, I’m not leaving you here. Not without any chance of knowing what’s happening while I’m out, I’m not leaving you here just hoping for the best,” he said, growing more agitated by the minute. “There’s no place I could lead the team, since we still don’t know where we are and I wouldn’t be able to bring anything back, nothing that would track or location, so how on Earth would projecting to the Tower even help?”

One, two, three… four frantic beats of your heart, spent in stunned silence.

Then, a sudden roar of rage growling inside that you took you by surprise – and so did its potency.

Your fist hit the floor hard, sending dust and smashed concrete flying before you even knew you had raised a hand. You sure felt the bite of pain as the impact broke your skin though – but you didn’t care.

Because seriously?

Seriously?!  

“I don’t know, Steve, okay?!! Just because I have your abilities it doesn’t mean I have all the answers like you always do!” you exploded.

Your own voice came back to you in a dull echo, blood buzzing in your ears. The sudden movement of your upper body had your head spin violently, nausea pulling at your insides and causing you to heave; it only fed the vertigo as one of the statements repeated in the biannual first aid courses filled your head with panic and stuffed your ears with cotton.

In case of approaching critical blood loss, the bloodstream redistributes blood from non-essential organs such as extremities and digestive system to support the vital organs, which might cause intense nausea and vomiting.

A whimper fought its way through your lips even before you even allowed the thought to take root.

“Spectre?! What’s happening?”

Nothing, you wanted to snap back, realizing you didn’t seem able to form a single word.

When had your tongue started to feel so heavy?

When had your lips turned so numb?

When had the pain became but a slight nudge in the back of your mind? Even as that was something you had trained for, to get the pain you often felt to exactly the stage where it moved to the background so you could function and just keep going, you didn’t think it was a good thing now.

This wasn’t your will. This was your body shutting down.

“I… I think I’m going to pass-“

“No! No, you aren’t! That’s an order!” Steve spat like a child demanding his toy back with a stubbornness that would make a mule seem like a pleasant opponent in discussion. “You stay awake, goddammit!”

Perhaps your brain wasn’t a vital organ either, because it illogically supplied you with an image of Captain Rogers closer to throwing a tantrum that you had ever seen. An image of Steve long before he became the hero the whole world knew; a hundred-pound short man, a ball of righteous rage, swinging around his bony fists to protect those who didn’t have the strength to do so themselves and spewing countless colourful curses around in the process. You heard he had been like that; the image was almost endearing.

And it wasn’t that you never heard Steve Rogers curse at things these days; you had just never heard him swear as much as today.   

“Wow… another swearword… how many is that… in the past hour?”

“Oh for god’s--- Spectre. Do not close your eyes,” he ordered again, a funny edge to his voice you couldn’t be bothered to decipher.

Instead, you closed your eyes despite his command, eyelids as if made of lead.

What was the point? It wasn’t like you could see anything nice in the empty room, not like you needed to have a visual. You could stare into the void with your eyes closed just the same.

And yet. The faintest ghost of a smile tugged at your lips as Steve’s words didn’t make any sense.

“It’s a myth, you know,” you muttered, words getting harder to form with every shallow breath. “If your body… decides to crash, you--- no amount of yelling… helps… to stay conscious.”

The sigh that reached your ears carried exhaustion of a hundred-year-old man who actually looked and felt his biological age; one who was worn to a bone and sure as hell did not look as good in a suit as the Steve you knew did.

“Yeah, I know,” Steve replied, voice having turned much softer; but still with the undertone of that something you were too tired to investigate. “I know first aid too.”

Who would have thought Steve Rogers could sass you back in a situation like this? Who would have thought he would agree with you as he did so?

You might feel cold still, but the insistent tug on the corner of your lips felt warm. Like reconciliation and absolution at once.

“So why bark orders?” you asked half-heartedly.

“I don’t know. I… I need you to talk back, okay?” he whispered sincerely, and this time it was not your lips that felt warm; it was your very being. Warmth you’d normally shield yourself against, no matter whom it came from, because it was not safe to let it in. But you were tired of fighting; and it felt so good to let it wash over you, felt so good to let the illusion pull you in. To allow yourself to think, for a moment, that he genuinely cared for you. “Need you awake and snarky. I’d miss that.”

“Hm… such flattery.”

And it was.

I’d miss that that didn’t sound like I’d miss your abilities on the team.

I’d miss that that sounded like I’d miss you.

And the forbidden fruit tasted damn sweet against the bitter tang of long-lost adrenalin on your tongue. Maybe, just maybe, you’d allow yourself to believe that that was what he was saying: I’d miss you.

That was a sweet thought, wasn’t it? That anyone would miss you for you in the first place.

“Just… keep talking to me, alright? Tell me… everything about the room you’re in.”

Your felt your features twist a bit at his request, the faintest confusion. “It’s plain… told ya’.”

“I don’t care. Tell me again. Everything,” he demanded with sudden urgency and you huffed, opening your eyes with effort, squinting against the ever-present annoying fluorescent light.

The illusion could have lasted longer, you thought bitterly; you could have rested while willingly in its clutches. Apparently, there was no rest for the wicked anymore.

“Bossy…”

Despite the single uttered word, the instinct to obey was stronger; and your heart did flutter a bit as you realized why Steve had asked you to do that. Why he pressed you for every detail, the dimensions of the room, the colour of the walls, where in the room you were lying curled up.

You knew it was a trick to keep your eyes open despite the fact you had both stated that it wouldn’t have helped you to fight off unconsciousness, but you accepted the game anyway. If you kept your mind focused, if you talked, Steve knew in every moment that you were still conscious.

You could grant him that much of a professional courtesy.

It really was nice, you thought distantly, to see he truly cared about the well-being of his team, about bringing everyone home, no matter how he felt about them. It was nice to feel it too, even as it was barely any news; it had always been in his every gesture, in his careful planning of missions, in his observant gaze in training, in everyday life, especially in his care for his friends – always watching, always seeing, always doing his best to fix the situation, to fight demons that weren’t his to fight, but he felt like they were, because they bothered someone he cared for, someone he felt responsible for.

He always stood in the light; and where there was no light, he fought to bring it himself. Despite your differences, there was no denying that even merely basking in that light felt like a privilege; that despite feeling the pressure, the unshakable drive to be at least half as good, to measure up, to be better than you thought you could ever be, the light his presence emitted was a pleasant one. Obtrusive at times, but kind and warm.

Not like the lamp.

The lamp, dammit. You didn’t realize your eyes had slid shut again until you heard a whisper of your name, horrified almost as if he could see you cheating.

It was funny, truly; because when you opened your eyes again, there he was, in all his glory as your mind had conjured him, kneeling by your huddled form, his perfectly fitting three-piece still on even if dusty, scruffy and torn, the annoying light shining from behind him making him look like every bit of an angel who was sheepishly hiding his wings to blend and yet standing out among the crowds anyway; large, magnificent and ready to protect.

It was no wonder you would have hallucinated him like this, down to the suit. He had looked so damn handsome the night of the auction – it felt like forever had passed since then – although you had been reluctant to say it even under the veil of a common courtesy. He had smiled when you had done so, a little crinkle in the corner of his eye, adding to his glow.

Now, his handsome features were twisted into the mask of concern and damn near horror. He spoke your name again, gently touching your ankle.

And you felt the touch.

A very, very realtouch that made you jump and scramble away even as you elbows gave out and you nearly cracked your head open as you fell back down; except the back of your head never hit the ground, Steve’s hands quick to catch you, brows furrowing further at your breathless cry of pain.

“Careful-“

In an instant, you felt like you had never been more alert in your whole damn life, eyes wide open, vision clearing – and mind as well.

Your body had really had to decide brain wasn’t important if you hadn’t used it to figure out why Steve had wanted to know about the room. You should have known it had had nothing to do with you staying awake; it was about projecting to you. A feat which he, naturally, managed without a single issue, this time without any further instruction on how to do it.

God, that crazy, infuriating bastard, with his firm grip on your shoulders and entirely believable concern. You couldn’t believe him.

What the hell did he think he was doing? And why were you so happy to see him anyw- no.

This was a cardinally idiotic idea.

“Steve… get the hell out. This isn’t helping us get out and you’re left unprotected-“

“I’m chained in there, there’s literally no difference,” he hushed you, eyes roaming your body, his Adam’s apple bobbing, face gaining an ashen undertone at the sight you made. “I can take care of you at least. Come on.”

You really wanted to be pissed – you wanted to scream because this was exactly the kind of thing you knew Steven damn Rogers would do. He’d get the perfect handle on your damn superpowers mere minutes after gaining them, because of course he would, he was perfect at everything, ready to walk en pointe with few grands jetés en tournant thrown in when in your shoes; and he’d be a hypocrite again, leaving himself even more vulnerable than before.

But it was so so hard to be truly mad at him when he did all that to treat your wounds, to make sure you were as alright as the situation allowed.

When he touched you so damn carefully, gingerly sliding one arm under your knees, the other under your arms.

When he gritted his teeth to lift you, but made no comment, no sound, not besides a breathy apology for causing you more pain as he did so.

When you hummed it was alright, more of an instinct than anything else, and it occurred to you through the fresh wave of pulsing pain that he was used to putting in much less effort, now missing his strength – but he didn’t complain.

You could tell due to the slight tremble to his muscles that it was a strain for him; you could tell because he had carried you countless times before, even if you had been barely conscious and thus barely aware of it. But this you remembered. You remembered because it haunted some of your dreams; much like the combination of his cologne, musk and something distinctly him.

The loss of the warm solid muscle as he manoeuvred you to rest your back against the wall almost hurt more than the process of putting you down; but if you’d ever get a chance to dream again, you were certain your subconscious would recall it with startling clarity. 

You still winced unwittingly at the pull at your thighs as he stretched your legs with utmost care, staying on his knees by your side.

“There we go,” he hummed soothingly, meeting your gaze, eyes serious and sincere with a promise. “I’m going to take a look at the wounds, alright? I promise to be as quick and as careful as possible.”

A barely-there nod was the only confirmation he needed if he had been looking for one in the first place.

He dropped his gaze and moved his hands to your skirts, hiking it up again as it had slid back, tearing your already destroyed thigh-highs for better access.

The pulse of heat in your abdomen as his fingers slipped under the thin fabric and ripped was all kinds of inappropriate and indecent; but despite the scolding in your mind, you had to regretfully admit you were only human and the memory of another dream, where he had done this in completely different circumstances, with his lips at the shell of your ear whispering filthy praise and with his deft fingers teasingly sliding considerably higher than they were now, snuck up on you before you could fight it off.

You distracted yourself by watching his face instead, the wrinkle between his brows as he frowned, lips in this line with their corners turned slightly down. A bruise was forming on his cheek under his right eye, a small cut above his brow – small injuries that would have normally been long healed had he still had his powers.

Your hazy mind still had trouble processing this was real, the scene so absurd and surreal that it was hard to believe this wasn’t just another figment of your imagination; on the other hand, this was the kind of shit Steve would pull.

And the pain shooting up all the way up your spine as he tugged at something that reached deep into your flesh felt terribly real and had you release a pitiful whine you had no chance stifle since you hadn’t seen it coming – because you were too busy staring at Steve Rogers’ goddamn pretty face.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I have to do this,” he whispered frantically, a true apology in his tense voice.

You couldn’t see his expression now, eyes squeezed shut as whatever he had done happened again, causing you to recoil and try to push his hands away as you bit down the hiss this time. His hand, sticky with blood, caught yours instead, pressing something very thin and relatively small – a piece of thread? – into your palm.

You blinked your eyes open, morbid curiosity getting the best of you; it was indeed a blood-soaked thread, probably from your dress, that must have caught in the wound. One that had probably begun to grow into the tissue as the healing had started.

You stared at it mutely, the throbbing pain in your left leg pulsing in sync with your heartbeat, dark spots in your peripheral vision. In your head, you admitted you understood why would that have to be done; but you truly didn’t want to say thank you for that even as you felt you should have.

You winced when Steve’s fingers moved to your right leg, as gentle as his touch to the flesh was, your eyes snapping shut again, lips pressed into a thin line.

For a brief second, you wondered if in some twisted sense Steve took sadistic pleasure in digging into your wounds with the excuse of treating you, but you dismissed the thought as soon as it nudged your mind.   

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, it’s all done now,” he whispered, the regret lacing his voice only confirming the absurdity of your fleeting thought, offering you a whole new surreal thing to ponder.

Did he just-

“The other shot seems clean,” he added, as if he hadn’t just confused the hell out of you.

You should have probably focused on the good news of him not planning to poke in your flesh anymore, but your brain zeroed on a completely different word he had said before that.

For all the swearwords he had graced you with today, this was the second term of endearment, even sweeter than the last one.

You had heard Barnes call women dolls before, a slip of a tongue in most instances, a glimpse of the flirt he had used to be in his time if the stories you had heard were at least half truthful; nothing but a dated word they had used daily back in the late thirties and forties.

But never Steve.

And definitely not like this.

“Sweetheart?” you questioned lowly as his touch disappeared at last, his gaze snapping to yours half-lidded.

Unless your eyes were deceiving you, there seemed to be a tinge on pink in his cheek; a hazy memory of the same image flashed through your mind, a memory of him complimenting the dress you had chosen.

Except this time, something mildly teasing twinkled in his eye even as his small smile appeared sad.

“Would you prefer sourheart?”

Your own huff of laughter took you by surprise, but it was certainly worth it since the corners of Steve’s lips rose slightly higher.

“Feels more accurate,” you hummed, your heart skipping a beat as he began to shrug off his suit jacket, revealing the white shirt and vest underneath.

If you weren’t mistaken, his shirts normally barely stretched over his wide shoulders and large biceps; the muscles now seemed less defined, the little trick the artifact had done having actually taken a toll. Not that you had spent a lot of time observing Steve Rogers’ arms. It was simply… a vague observation made in order to further analyse the artifact.

But you were probably focusing on the wrong details; you had no idea why Steve was taking off his clothes.

“Maybe it would have, if you hadn’t told me you didn’t mean at least half of the things you said,” he said, lips curling up in a brief smirk as he shook the jacket before dropping it next to him. “No takebacks.”

Your eyebrows jumped, another chuckle – mildly insulted – bubbling in your chest.

Anyone ever told you you’re a little shit? you almost asked, biting your tongue last second.

He was being friendly, joking even, to distract you from the pain; the same way you had thought he had wanted to keep you talking before. He was being his perfect self again – but for once, you could forgive him for that. You were grateful. Because god knew you needed that, even as you shouldn’t have, even as you should have handled this just fine on your own and shouldn’t have needed a knight in a three-piece suit to come to your rescue.

You nearly sprang forward to stop him as the reached for the fabric of his left sleeve covering his bicep and tugged roughly, an irrational don’t ruin the expensive shirt scolding on your tongue; but you bit down again, settling for frowning. It was a real shame to tear such fine piece of clothing, almost as much as ruining your dress; the shirt, even with the stains of the blood and ash, still looked superb on him.

He managed to tear off the sleeve at last, ripping it further at the seams to create a long strip – an improvised bandage, you finally realized. He repeated the action with his other sleeve, revealing a few cuts on his arm.

He had shielded you when you had hit the glass display; and he paid for it dearly, his cuts never getting a chance to heal. Regret coiled in your gut along with anger; he had told you he wasn’t hurt. Of course he fucking had. As long as he wasn’t bleeding out from at least three separate gunshot wounds, he was all breezy, wasn’t he? That stubborn piece of-

Damn him. Damn him and how handsome he was despite all that, even with cuts and bruises and torn off sleeves, once again seeking your gaze to tell you what he was about to do.

“I don’t exactly have a tourniquet on me to stop the bleeding but it would probably be counterproductive at this point anyway. This will keep the tissue edges near each other to mend easier,” he informed you, adding a half-hearted smile.

Not knowing what to say, you made a non-committal sound and braced yourself for more pain, even as it was evident that he was doing everything he could to minimize your suffering. As he began to wrap the fabric around your thigh, he was so careful about moving you as little as possible it was almost laughable given your situation.

Except you weren’t laughing; tears gathered in your eyes as you watched his face instead, your gut clenching, a suffocating weight settling on your chest. Now that he wasn’t talking to you, the traces of worry were clear in his features again; he seemed laser-focused on his task, only taking a glance on your face every now and then to check you weren’t giving into the exhaustion you had felt earlier.

You weren’t. You tried to keep as awake as possible even as the sleepiness slowly returned with your nerves calming and firing at once.

Worn to a bone and probably looking like hell, you still felt alert, even as you had leaned back to the wall, your head lulling a bit, eternally grateful Steve had propped you so you could relax without lying on the floor. Your gaze remained sharp despite the tears – and full of him.

He was painstakingly beautiful from such proximity when he wasn’t yelling; and if it were possible, kindness shone from his eyes more than ever.

You knew he was good – irritatingly, untouchably so – just like you knew he wouldn’t do what he could have. Yet, it still stunned you.

He could have taken sick pleasure in your agony indeed, because you weren’t friends; if anything, you resembled frenemies, reluctant colleagues at best, ones who had clashed more than once.

He could have got quite a few kicks out of seeing you like this, could have punished you for your incompetence, displays of weakness or insubordination – could have easily made you hurt.

But he didn’t.

Like the angel he had appeared when you first saw him materialize in your cell, he would never.

He did the exact opposite; his large hands, bar the moments he had tugged at his shirt sleeves until they tore, were almost delicate in his touch. A touch of an artist.

A ghost of a smile settled your lips, two tears running down your cheeks as you recalled the times you had caught a glimpse of him with a sketchbook. Those moments made you smile too; it was the most gorgeous way of passing his downtime. You wished you could see his sketches, even if you might find out he was only drawing people as stick figures, which you knew he didn’t – he was no doubt talented.

He was gifted in everything; it truly was annoying.

But god, he was so profoundly good, breathtakingly handsome and unbelievably tender as he wrapped the fabric around each of your thighs, wary of touching you higher up your legs than was strictly necessary, because of course he would be so damn respectful even in a situation like this.

There was only one person in the room who had indecent thoughts about the other before, because even if Steve Rogers ever had indecent thoughts, they certainly didn’t concern you.

He didn’t seem to mind your staring, glancing up once he was done with a soft smile on his lips, carefully laying your leg down again.

“There you go. You should feel occasional tug in the wounds, but that only means the healing process started,” he explained lowly, speaking slow, making sure you registered every syllable as your eyes closed again, a soundless thank you on your lips. “You’re welcome. You did a really good job, you know? Not many people would have been be able to do even half of what you just did.”

The weight on your chest only grew, heart quivering – and briefly, so did your lower lip, the sincere praise breaking something deep within you. You felt like you had done everything but a good job. You had needed handholding through survival. That was the opposite of a really good job since survival and saving other people was literally what you had been trained for.

But then there was the fact this was Steve Rogers. Steve, who rarely said things he didn’t mean; Steve, who was practically perfection personified; and he told you that you had done well. One did not dismiss that and scoff over it. When someone like him praised you, you couldn’t but feel the words sink into your very bones, a whole another part of you than your legs healing a fraction.

“Hey…”

A soft sound of your name, a painfully gentle touch to your forehead, a strand of hair, sticky with sweat and blood as you had tried to push it away earlier, moved to side; another touch, this time to your jaw, pushing your chin slightly up to sit straighter, calloused thumb pressing against the tear rolling down your cheek.

You blinked your eyes open, this time certain you were dreaming. But he was still there, as real as you, cradling your face and watching you with intent gaze, a tight-lipped concerned smile.

You needed to pull yourself together. He had already crossed almost every boundary there was, pushing himself lightyears out of his comfort zone just to support you in any way he thought you needed; both verbal and physical. And technically, spiritual too, even as his astral projection was more tangible than he himself had ever felt.

“You’re being very brave, doll. But stay awake. You’re doing great.”

“So why am I bleeding?” you questioned breathlessly with a slightly arched eyebrow.

It felt ungrateful on your part; but handling so many kind words at once was becoming unbearable, a suffocating feeling in your ribcage.

He grimaced at your question, retreating his touch hesitantly as if he was worried you’d collapse entirely if he stopped supporting your head for even a few seconds.

It wasn’t a completely invalid concern; and perhaps it was the blood loss speaking, but you’d consider doing just that if it only brought you a few more seconds of this treatment.

Alright, you really, really needed to get a grip.

Mentally, you patted your cheeks harshly, forcing your eyes wide open – it was time to stop daydreaming about things that were to never come again.

“Are you still cold?” Steve asked, already reaching for the suit jacket he had discarded before you could answer, the action bordering on mother-henning.

You couldn’t stop the quirking of your lips despite the tug at your heartstrings.

“You gonna cuddle me if I say yes, Rogers?”

It was meant to sound like a tease, putting distance between his seemingly genuine care and your heart, but the sarcasm got lost in translation, the words sounding more like a plea.

Luckily, Steve let it slide. He simply shook his head, something akin to a proud smile adorning his face at your attempt at spite.

“Not sure, Spectre. You’re the one who goes through first aid courses on the regular. You tell me whether sharing body heat helps…”

Your lips twitched further. Sassy bag. It was honestly difficult to keep your head straight when he was like this. Too good to be true and yet so painfully solid.

He really was the most infuriating man, wasn’t he? Helping you slide into his jacket, the scent of everything that was him replacing the ever-present smell of blood and sweat. Smoothening the sleeves, a small smile still playing on his lips despite the crinkle of worry returning, bringing the word cute at the forefront of your mind.

He indeed was scandalously, unfairly pretty.

No one should look so charming with blood and smudges of ash on their face, hair messy, dressed in a now-sleeveless dirty shirt with and an unbuttoned vest. No one should be able to convey such warmth in their gaze; especially not when it had to be a lie if they were looking at you, not when you knew this was him and he probably considered all this a common courtesy, the jerk, just so casually, irritatingly kind-

“Better now?”

The same warmth that shone in his eyes, the same warmth his jacket offered, was in his voice. His hands were warm too, a sheen of sweat glistening in his hairline, so you supposed he wasn’t cold and would indeed be willing to share some of his body heat.

Jokes aside, a cuddle sounded most lovely; definitely crossing a line, entirely inappropriate, in the worst possible place and probably with the worst possible person, but still heavenly. Against your better judgement, you’d trust him; you always trusted him. You trusted him with your life and you had a distant feeling you could trust him with anything; the problem was you couldn’t afford to take such leap, not when every time you had taken a leap of faith, there was no one there to catch you in the end, the landing breaking what you thought couldn’t be broken further.

Protect your heart. Protect yourself. Especially from men like him, a voice whispered in the very back of your mind, pushing through the sea of musing to be heard.

A man like him wouldn’t want anything less than perfect. He’d deserve nothing less either.

And yet, when his hand brushed over yours, the rapid beats of your heart could not only be blamed on the blood loss, nor could the way your pulse thundered in your ears. The cold of your skin might have though and it clearly bothered your companion; Steve moved to cover your bare legs with your skirts as much as he could before taking off his vest as well, spreading it over your shins and feet.

“You’re going to be alri-”

The sound of footsteps reached your little bubble of surreal reality too late – barely a second before the key rattled in the lock and the door was swinging open just as the startled cry erupted from your lips.

“Steve-!”

He only managed to whip his head around, moving but a fraction.

As the time seemed to slow for a long moment and you became a mere observer of the scene, you noticed, much to your irritation, that Steve’s minuscule movement was towards you. To shield you again.

He never got that far when the sound of a gunshot tore through your very soul, his body thrown backwards at the impact.

A single bullet to his chest.

You choked on the scream of his name, tears springing from your eyes as you tried to launch forward – but his body never hit the ground.

It disappeared into thin air.

You panted, violent shudder shaking your body, your eyes squeezed shut as you failed to get the scene you had just witnessed from where it got burned into your retinas.

The only thing you achieved was that it was now replaying behind your closed eyelids, claws of terror digging into your flesh, tearing at your heart.

The shock of the pain must have made Steve snap back into his body. That was all, that had to be what happened.

It had to.

You knew, rationally, that Steve was likely fine, because such was your experience with the powers: his physical body remained unharmed bar the pain, as unpleasant and exhausting as it was. He was alright, because you would have been.

But fuck.

The horror of seeing him shot in the chest right in front of you. Steve Rogers, who – except for the past few minutes – had only ever been in his physical body, tangible and real, to whom getting shot in the chest meant real damn consequences which could and would equal death.

And what if it doesn’t work for him the same way it does for you? a tiny but very loud voice screamed in your head, causing your hands to shake harder, the dried blood on them now a pleasant sight in comparison of imagining Steve’s own blood oozing out of his chest.

You hadn’t taken all of Steve’s enhancement – you hadn’t grown two feet taller or gained a hundred pounds of muscle and he hadn’t changed back into the state before given the serum. What if your abilities in his body worked differently? What if he managed to project and now snap back, but the injury stayed with him, transferring back to his actual body?

What if he was bleeding to death?

What if he was dead?

You swallowed the sob fighting its way out over the lump in your throat, desperate to grasp at any resemblance of rationality instead of panic. Gritting your teeth, you willed yourself to focus on the sounds on the other side of the wall with all your might, hearing nothing but the rapid thump-thump-thump-thump-thump of your own terrified heart.

Breathe, breathe, breathe, dammit.

Breathe, Rogers, or I’m going to kill you myself!

Could you hear his ragged breaths of was it just your wishful thinking?

He had to be still breathing. There was no time for his spectre to lose blood – the most likely outcome was that Steve’s chest hurt like hell, but hopefully he was still alive and conscious. And more importantly, he wasn’t bleeding to death.

Right?

Right?!

“In case you still need it,” a rough voice hummed from the doorway, causing your eyes to snap open.

You caught a glimpse of an object flying your direction from the corner of your eye, a dark one, then a transparent one. One landed with soft thud, the other with a hard one; a small first aid kit and a bottle of water.

You didn’t give a damn, even if water – or anything to drink really – sounded like salvation. Instead, your glare snapped to the man. The first proper look at the bastard who had the fucking audacity to shoot Steve.

For someone being so daring and such a pain in the ass, he was desperately boring. Average height, dark hair, dark eyes, no expression at all on his face; dressed all in black, the Hydra emblem sitting proudly on his biceps, as if that was the only thing that could have separated him from the pain of being so awfully ordinary.

Someone should really tell him that joining Hydra to achieve being extraordinary had been a step in the wrong direction, because ethe only thing it had made him was an extraordinary dick.

He glanced at you without as much as mild interest, already moving backwards; eyes still on you.

But you didn’t give a damn. Let him see you as you gritted your teeth and pushed up on your arms, Steve’s vest sliding down your legs as you tried to get to your feet despite the sharp protest of your damaged muscles.

Sometimes people just needed the right motivation to outdo themselves; and the desire to snap the asshole’s neck was plenty motivating.

You still couldn’t tell if the echo of Steve’s harsh breaths was your own imagination or a real thing. You’d deal with that later.

The Hydra man arched his eyebrow, stopping mid-step, something akin to faint amusement on his face.

“I wouldn’t do that. You’re hurt. Lost a lot of blood,” he reminded you as if the smell of copper didn’t tickle your nostrils with every breath, as if you couldn’t feel muscles shaking with exertion when you as much as tried to fold your legs under you to stand up. The surge of adrenalin was potent, but not almighty. He tilted his head a you managed to rise up. “Not to mention that one word and the Captain won’t live long enough to say as much as a goodbye. If you stay down, we’ll just make sure that he’s not… able to jump around this compound. Maybe.”

Your breath hitched, relief flooding your veins.

He was alive. Steve was alive.

This excuse of a human being had plenty of reason to lie to keep you obedient; but you didn’t think he did. If they hadn’t killed Steve until now, they had no reason to--

“Mitch?” the man called out, giving you precisely one second to wonder who the hell he was talking to or what kind of a signal that was and then it became terrifyingly clear.

Another gunshot rang in the air, this time from the other room.

The helpless cry of NO erupted from your throat, your blood turning into ice, heart stunned. You didn’t realize your hand flew up to cover your mouth until you tasted the dried blood on your lips.

All but a hiss of pain from behind the wall.

One second ticked by. Two.

And then you were urging forward, a pathetic but wholehearted attempt to charge after the bastard despite the blinding pain and weakness.

You were back on the ground before you could take a single step, pain exploding in your nerves in burning circles heading straight into your open wounds. Your head pounded, a soundless scream on your lips, the figure once again disappearing from sight, at the very same angle like the last time; with you on the floor, shaking and unable to get up.

But this time, you lied closer to the wall; and were terrified for your Captain. For Steve. Kind idiotic Steve who had insisted on taking care of you and had caught two bullets for his trouble; one to his chest and the other… you had no idea.

Unsure how to control your movements, hands and feet twitching in the aftershock of the taser shot, you managed to all but creak Steve’s name.

You weren’t sure if it was him or the heavens above who heard you. But when he responded, you thanked the latter.

“Yeah. I’m… I’m here,” he choked out in between heavy breaths.

You could hear it clearly now, every ragged breath; you prayed his troubles was caused only by the lingering pain in his chest and not the other gun--- you swallowed, blinking away tears, guilt twisting your stomach.

They hurt him. They hurt him because he had been trying to help you. How was that fair? Hydra didn’t play fair, people like them rarely did, but they had really crossed a line there. 

“Steve? What-”

“Just a shoulder. I’m fine,” he assured you swiftly.

You truly wanted to be mad at him and yell the fuck you are, you the relief and guilt bulldozed the anger quite effectively.

They shot him because of me.

You hoped he couldn’t hear your absolutely embarrassing sniffle even as that was the smallest of your concerns right now.

Just a shoulder. Just a shoulder. Not the chest. The injury didn’t transfer back to his actual body.

“They--- I’m so sorry.”

“Not your fault. In fact,” he panted, a breathy chuckle escaping him and you didn’t know whether to hysterically laugh or scream, “you warned me. Feel free to tell me I told you so. Are you-“

“Just a taser,” you mimicked his words, hearing his sharp inhale. Propping on your elbows, you tried to shuffle closer to the wall so you could sit up again. With his jacket still on, you could feel fresh sweat trickling down your back. But at least his scent was comforting in certain way. “Definitely not cold anymore. Not feeling peachy enough to say I told you so. Is there a way you can put pressure on that?”

Please say yes. In fact, but a pressure on that right now. That’s an order, you wanted to throw back, managing to only groan as you pushed up and let your back hit the wall again with a blissful relief.

Steve sighed in between his gasps. “Not really, no. But I think it’s just a graze. And it serves its purpose. I’m don’t think I can project again.”

You couldn’t exactly say you blamed him. It was unfortunate though, projecting now would work well for him – if he projected to the room he was in, he might still not be able to free himself, but he might be able to put pressure on that wound. Maybe. Unless he’d pass out.

Jesus fucking Christ, how had you gotten into this mess again?

Don’t say it-

“That’s okay,” you said instead, taking a deep calming breath, realizing your roles were reversed now. As strange as it was, he needed your support now. Or maybe he didn’t need it, but you’d be damned if he wasn’t going to get it. “Just hang on, okay? I know it hurts like son of a bitch…” and you didn’t only mean his actual gunshot wound, “but I know you’ve pushed through worse.”

“Yeah, sure.”

His chuckle, no matter the scoff that followed it, made you smile a bit and eased your nerves. He’d be fine. He had fought off worse.

The question was, how long he could hold on without the serum?

Stuck now more than before, you prayed to every god you knew, including the Asgardian ones, for the Avengers to somehow be on their way even without your trackers at hand.

Because the scary reality was your body might be healing, but Steve was only about to lose more blood. And you had no idea if he wasn’t downplaying his injuries in his very own Steve Rogers fashion – after all, you had seen it happen just five minutes ago.

And lastly, despite having too many theories circling through your head, you were terrified at the fact that you no idea what the Hydra’s real plan was; what was it they were wating for, why the only thing they had done so far was hurt you both and observe.

You had no idea how much time you had before they changed their mind about letting you idly sit in a cell and chat and bleed, and moved on to something considerably more deadly.

Next chapter

Series masterlist // S.R. masterlist

Hurt and comfort let's goooo.

Not going to lie, as much as I enjoy their bickering, I was very very much looking forward to some more soft&protective!Steve🥰

Also, some of you guessed the plot-twist (some of you shared it too). Now I can finally admit that the initial title of the fic was meant to be “Walk a Mile (in My Shoes)” but that would have been just too revealing right away, wouldn’t it? 😁

(I can also disclose where the inspiration came from (except for the obvious one Freaky Friday and it being a trope) – from this ancient TV series called Charmed, where Piper and Leo just fight and fight, until the Elders have them switch their roles/abilities for them to find more understanding for each other again. In another earlier episode, the three sisters accidently switch powers, and one of them actually calls is a Supernatural Freaky Friday. Just for reference.)

Thank you for reading and potential feedback💕

And please, let me know if you feel like I missed a warning, I'll add it :)

[clowningaroundmars]

Hobie1610 pt. 2

after god knows how long (months tho tbh), i am happy to present: hobie1610 part dos! In this installment, we see how Miles eventually rounds right back to Hobie Jones to apologize after pt. 1's gigantic blunder

hope y'all enjoy! :)

>pt. 1 here<

>pt. 3 here<

It was several weeks into the first semester-- with winter just right around the corner-- before Miles finally got around to confronting the little Hobie Problem that he had.

Being laden with pounds upon pounds of assignments to get done before the holidays and then trying to keep up with Spiderman duties on top of it all, managing his parents’ overwhelming expectations once again, and trying to survive as a teenager in general forced his first day blunder onto the back burner for much longer than Miles would have liked.

Sure, his anxiety is a bitch sometimes, and it holds him back from directly addressing a lot of issues in his life, but Rio didn’t raise any neanderthal. Miles knew that when he messed up, he messed up.

Problem is, every time he’s tempted to just reach a hand out to his dimension’s Hobie Br-- Jones, pat his shoulder lightly, pull him into a corner somewhere during lunch maybe, and finally man up and apologize… that’s when some crook starts some problems downtown, or some mad scientist finally snaps somewhere and starts to wreak havoc with crazy gadgets a bit too unnervingly close to his neighborhood.

Or Miles gets back to his dorm room and sees that he has an assignment due the very next day that he hasn’t even had the chance to hop on yet, because of aforementioned crooks and mad scientists.

It was all driving him crazy.

And so now here he was, up on a rooftop in the middle of a chilly fall day, hanging out with his inter-dimensional besties (who he lightheartedly calls the Spider Squad but he hasn’t quite brought that up to them yet).

They were on a lunch break after pummeling and restraining some prisoners-- who somehow got out of the Raft-- that tried to make their way across the Brooklyn Bridge. Miles sure appreciated the help, which was one of the many positives of letting Hobie Brown make dimension watches for everyone, mostly so they could all help another Spider shoulder the burdens that usually befell them.

But the teens-- being teens, of course-- also used their watches to just pop into an open portal and hang out with each other as often as they could. Who could blame them? Being a superhero and a kid was overwhelming most of the time. Sometimes they needed a listening ear or a supportive shoulder to cry on every now and then, and getting the opportunity to chill and explore a whole new world for them was always a thrill.

(Miles himself could never deny the excitement of getting to go to Mumbattan for shopping trips every so often, either.)

So with all of that in mind it was tempting to, after seeing the long and lanky punk Spiderman climb through his own multi-colored portal, ask Hobie if he could go back to New London with him. He needed to get something off of his chest.

Hobie, languidly as ever, hikes a skinny shoulder up in a nonchalant shrug and goes “ye’ sure, mate. Somethin’ up, or?”

Pavitr leans forward from his conversation with Gwen-- the little snoop, goddamnit-- and swallows a particularly big bite of his sandwich. “Oooooh, Miles and Hobie? Alone, in New London? Wow!” He elbows Gwen, who shakes her head and snorts into her bottled juice.

Miles puffs up. “Hey, it’s not like that! We just need to talk. In private. Nothing’s wrong, I uh… I just need some advice. That’s all!”

Hobie’s grin is full of teeth. “Waidaminnit. Miles Morales... Thee Great Miles Morales, needin’ my advice? Interesting!” His freeform locs bob and wiggle teasingly with every movement of his head.

Feeling put on the spot, Miles pouts as he picks at some lint on his spider suit and finishes off his soda as quickly as he can manage.

Gwen, bless her heart, notices his discomfort and scooches closer to him on the rooftop ledge. “… Is everything alright, by the way? It isn’t anything bad, is it?”

Miles glances at her before returning his gaze to the concrete several stories below. “Uhm, nah. Nah, it’s… y’know, it’s just more inter-dimensional weirdness. But I’m sure I can fix it. I think,”

He then shoots her a grateful smile for her considerate check-in, and pulls his mask back down over the lower half of his face. Gwen understands this as his “I’ll be back for another check-in later,” behavior and simply nods back. She knows not to push him.

“Well,” Hobie unfolds himself from his position on some scaffolding on the side of building, straightening himself up to his full height and stretching, “I’m all finished, then. Prob'ly not a good idea to go swingin’ on full stomachs, though. Let’s take a quick walk before headin’ home, yeah?”

Miles grabs Hobie’s hand and helps him hoist himself up over the ledge, and the teens all gather their trash into one plastic bag together. They chatter and slip their masks on as they casually walk down the side of the half-constructed building, finally touching down onto the concrete alleyways and relishing the quiet of an empty block before heading to the congested streets of downtown Brooklyn.

They all eventually bid each other their farewells after a few quick photo ops from excited New Yorkers, but of course not before Pavitr leans into Miles’ ear conspiratorially and whispers: “Let me know how it goes, bro! Good luck!”

Pav punches Miles on the shoulder lightly and winks at him, then he does a backflip into his golden-bright portal and blinks out of existence.

Miles rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “Does he want me and Hobie to be together, or me and you? I can never tell with that guy,” he groans at Gwen, whose shoulders are shaking with badly-concealed laughter.

“I think he just watches too many of those soap operas, honestly. Trashy daytime TV will do that to a guy sometimes.” She quips just as humorlessly.

Miles gives her a sidelong glance and a smirk. “Right. Rots your brain. Poor Pav!”

Gwen and Hobie laugh at that as Gwen pulls up her own portal.

“I’m thinkin’ we need t’ stage an intervention, really.” Hobie adds.

“Yes, and soon,” Miles points out.

“I’ll see what I can do to pull him away from those shows, but you know how his aunt is,” Gwen snorts. “Plus, I’m pretty sure Pav is just a huge romantic anyways, soaps or no soaps.”

“When I’ve got relationship issues, I guess I know the guy to go to, then,” Miles shrugs, then throws Gwen a casual salute goodbye.

She stands in front of white and multi-colored splotches of watercolor floating out from her dimensional portal as she salutes Miles back, giving Hobie a quick wave. “Let me know how your little inter-dimensional weirdness problem goes too, Miles! Talk to us in the groupchat every once in a while!”

And like that, she’s gone.

So now Hobie and Miles were left alone together.

Standing in the middle of a dirty alleyway on a cold autumn afternoon wasn’t Miles’ exact definition of a good time, though… why wasn’t Hobie opening his own portal right now? Miles turns his mask’s gigantic white eyes up to his dimensional variant (and boy was that a weird thing to think about when Hobie brought that up one day during a Spider Sleepover at Gwen’s) and gives him a pointed stare.

Hobie’s own painted eyes meet his.

“So…” Miles says.

“So…” Hobie says, his grin evident in his voice.

“Are we or are we not going back to yours?” Miles stuck his fists on his hips impatiently.

“First,” Hobie says as he holds up a long skinny finger, “I gotta know what this is about. ‘Cause we all know you, Miles. I don’t wanna enable any avoidant behaviors, mate. You know how it is.”

“What?!” Miles throws up his hands in the air. “Dude! SO not cool! You are not my dad.”

Hobie shakes his head. “You know I’m right, though. This ain’t about your parents, is it?”

Goddamn Hobie and his parental instincts. When is this guy ever going to get off of mom duty?

Miles huffs. “No, Hobie. It’s not. Look. I just, uh… if you don’t wanna go back to your dimension, then can we get away from like… this area in general, please?”

Hobie hummed in thought, then shrugged and shot a web up to a nearby street lamp. Together, the two Spidermen swung through the concrete jungle that was earth-1610’s New York City until they ended up somewhere near the Financial District in Manhattan, happening upon a sort of indoor rooftop terrace party that a bunch of corporate yuppie-looking people were enjoying behind giant glass windows. A few of those yuppies were out onto the actual rooftop smoking and talking amongst themselves in the cold while the party bumped along behind them.

The sun was setting quickly, and darkness descended upon both Spiderman as they scaled a nearby building and sat on a water tank to secretly watch the party from a little ways away. Miles took solace in the dark most times, and drank up the view of what few stars could be seen in the New York City skyline.

The clouds were scarce on this particular fall evening, so the red and yellow hues on the horizon were completely uninterrupted. Miles’ dimension took on an almost ethereal glow sometimes, and during this time of day, he was more than grateful for it.

Hobie was silent as he watched the sun set alongside Miles, until the entire city was enshrouded in darkness and the stars of the cosmos seemed to have fallen from the heavens and landed right onto the buildings and bridges laid out all before them. Lights from cars making their nightly rounds and tall buildings glittered all around them, and just beyond the skyscrapers, bits of the Upper Bay could be seen shimmering and reflecting the glittery light right back.

It was breathtaking. Beautiful.

But time was running out. They couldn’t sit here and watch the scenery and the people from several hundred feet away forever. Miles also knew Hobie had stuff to deal with in his own world, a million miles away from anything he could ever know. With a world-weary sigh, Miles finally takes his mask off fully and winds it up and around his hands, over and over.

“Your problem botherin’ you that much, Mi?” Hobie grins at his friend, taking his own mask off and running a hand through his locs.

“It’s just… I…” Miles chews on the inside of his cheek, wondering how to proceed.

It really was a weird problem to have, all things considered. There aren't many instances where someone pisses off a dimensional variant of their friend, and they have another version of that very same friend right by their side to ask how to even go about fixing the rift they caused in the first place.

“It’s just that I... like… I messed up pretty badly, right? And I know it’s totally my fault,” Miles is speaking quickly now, bottled up words now spilling forth like water, “but my anxiety started spiking up randomly out of nowhere and I just blew it, man. I wasn’t really thinking. Well, actually, I was. I was overthinking but I didn’t really mean to leave this guy hanging for so long afterwards and--”

Hobie throws a leg over his other one, propping himself onto an arm and leaning back to face Miles. “Okay. Okay, Miles, that’s cool. Thanks for the disclaimer, bruv, but we’re gonna have to start from the beginning.” He chuckles.

Miles laughs nervously. “Right, right. Yeah,” he takes a breath, licks his lips and tries again.

“So… on my first day of school I bumped into… you. I mean, not you, I mean like my dimension’s version of you.”

Hobie raised a pierced brow. “Wait, there’s another me here, too?”

“Yeah, yeah and I just almost crashed right into-- wait.” Miles’ brain took a second to buffer. “What do you mean too?”

“Ehhh, we found another me in some odd dimension or another. Y’know, like, one of those ones we don’t go to often. It was whatever,” Hobie shrugs casually.

Miles had a couple of questions about that but he decided to stick to the topic and not get distracted for now. “... Right, cool. So yeah, I almost crashed into you at Visions, except it wasn’t you.”

Hobie nodded. “You almost crashed into Not Me. Got it.”

“… Because I was late for class and not really, uh, thinking. Like at all. But it was you, you know what I mean? Not You is super bad at directions and navigating buildings, I guess, so I helped him out. Annddd I guess he wanted to be my friend afterwards, but.”

“Mhmm,” Hobie hums, in a tone that sounded a lot like him saying go on, then.

“Did you, uh… did you know your name is Jones sometimes?” Miles scratches at his ear awkwardly. “Hobie Jones, not Hobie Brown. It was weird when I found out, because another student said his full name and so that’s how I found out in the first place,”

Hobie inhales. “Hmm! Interesting. Dunno that I like the sound of that, if we’re gonna be honest here. Doesn’t really roll off the tongue the same, I think. But alright. Why’s that so important?”

“Uhhh,”

Hm. Shit. This was the part Miles dreaded getting to in the first place.

How was he going to put into words the weird dread that befell him upon learning that this Jones character might very well be this dimension’s version of his MJ? How could he possibly explain the thrilling electricity that races up and down his spine everytime he totally does not think about dating, kissing, possibly even having children with this other Hobie? How was he going to get that across to this super-cool, super-hot, super-put-together version of him?

Speaking those kinds of words out loud right to Hobie’s chiseled face made Miles slightly nauseous. He opted to circumnavigate that little problem altogether.

“Listen, don’t ask, okay? Seriously, man, I’m not playin’. Buuuut… if I pissed you off real bad, how would. Like, how could I make it up to you, theoretically speaking?”

Hobie exhaled a laugh. Miles could see his bright grin even in the low lighting of the night. “Huh? How’d you go from helpin’ Not Me out to pissin’ ‘im off all of the sudden? We’re missin' a step there, Milesie. C’mon now,”

Miles laughed too. “Ho-biieee, I already told you, man!” He hated how whiny he sounded, but this really wasn’t the time. “You cannot ask me about it!”

Hobie tossed his head like a horse. “Oh my god, mate. I can’t give ya solid advice when I don’t even know what the hell I’m givin’ advice for. I gotta know what happened, bruv, what’d ya do?”

“Just--! Ugh,” Miles deflated. “I maybe sorta... ditched him all of a sudden. Like, out of nowhere. When he, uh, when he needed me.”

Hobie’s glittering eyes bore holes into Miles’ hot face. “Mhmm? Why for?”

“Hobie, for the love of all that is good in the world, just--! Throw me a bone, here, man. I am dying of embarrassment right now!” He buried his face in his hands as Hobie rocked back with laughter.

“Why’d ya ditch ‘im?! That doesn’t sound like ya, Mi. Sounds like a real wick thing, but not a Morales thing to do. C’mon, what did Not Me say to you? You can pretend I’m him and I’ll apologize an’ everything.”

“No no no no, Hobie you don’t get it,” Miles sighed. “He didn’t do or say anything. That’s the thing. I just… I freaked out I guess, when I looked up his name and saw that he was a super accomplished model and everything. He’s got thousands of followers on Flickstagram, even. But I just…! I dunno what my brain was doing to me, once I saw that. I guess I just had a mini panic attack and just… bounced. Then, obviously I had tons of homework and Spiderman stuff to deal with, so ever since then, we’ve just been avoiding each other in the halls and I haven’t had any time to even tell him anything. I really messed up, man.”

Hobie was unnervingly silent as he thought for a good minute. The night had really fallen thick onto the city and the temperatures were dropping fast. Miles could barely see his own breath clouding in front of him or even Hobie’s face now that the darkness completely enshrouded them both, and it made him a little nervous.

“So…” Miles prodded carefully.

“Super accomplished model and everything, eh?” Hobie quietly asked after a little while. Miles couldn’t see Hobie’s expression, but he could hear the rhythmic rubbing of fabric against fabric as Hobie rubbed at his arm with a gloved hand.

“Uhhyup.” Miles confirmed.

“Hm. Utterly fascinated now, mate. Tell me more about this other me, then. He cool like me, or a total neurotic space cadet?”

Miles rubbed the back of his neck. “I mean, I can’t tell you much. We haven’t gotten to talk much. I guess you can be the judge, here’s his social media here...”

He then pulls his phone out of a recently-added pocket he found the time to sew onto his suit, taking inspiration from his mother’s own yoga leggings that she got as a birthday gift a few months before. The fact that spandex was able to hold so much but still stay so snug against your body was nothing short of a modern miracle, in Miles’ opinion. He was grateful for it now as he unlocked his phone and tapped on Hobie M. Jones’ page right out of the search history on his phone’s Flickstagram app.

Once he hands his phone to his friend, he has to resist the urge to suck in a breath as he watches the bright light from his screen illuminate Hobie’s features in ways he’s never seen before.

Hobie takes a second to scroll for a bit and Miles watches as the light plays across his features with just a bit more rapt attention than he normally would. Must be getting late, and Miles’ brain has historically been known not to work very well when he was tired.

Then, Hobie handed the phone back to Miles and folded his arms across his knees.

“Interesting, interesting,” was all he muttered. Thankfully, he did not comment on the “M. Jones” part of the username.

Miles tried lightening the mood. “Let me guess. You hate him because he’s not a fascist-fighting punk like you, huh.”

“I can’t be th’ judge of that, Miles. You know social media ain’t real life, and all that just looked like his portfolio to me, if we’re gonna be honest.” He checked his spiked bracelet in the light of Miles’ lit up screen. “I think that this other me doesn’t really feel too comfortable openin’ up and lettin’ other people see who he really is, though. So if you do go off an’ apologize to ‘im, I don’t think it’ll be very easy to gain his trust back.”

“Hold on,” Miles shakes his head and tucks his phone away again. “You got all that from looking at his Flicksta for not even a minute? How do you even know all of that?”

“’Cause he’s me, bruv. I know that look on his face, on those candids. Even them professional shots look… like, well, I dunno how t’ explain it. I guess it’s just sort of like--”

“If you know, you know?” Miles puts in.

“Mm,” Hobie smiles and nods. “Yep. That. He’s… withdrawn. Held back. I ‘unno… doesn’t seem like he has many friends.”

Miles sits back to think about the distant and carefully-put together mask that Hobie Jones slipped onto his face back when an annoying student butted into their conversation just before 2nd period that fateful day. Not to mention how famous he seemed, that the whole school wanted to pull him into a million different directions just for some selfies and autographs in general…

“He’s famous. He has a billboard up near the school, even,” Miles says without thinking.

“That explains it, then.”

Miles thought aloud for a bit. “He told me that I was the only person in the world who didn’t look at him like he was made out of solid gold. Hmmm,”

“Right then. That’s a start, eh?”

Miles sighed. “I-if… if someone who you thought could be like, your only friend in the whole world. Your only real friend… if that person abandoned you out of nowhere, with no explanation… how would I go about making it up to you?”

Hobie doesn’t comment on the phrasing of that question, either. He lays a warm hand on Miles’ cold shoulder and squeezes.

“Listen, Mi. You’re real special, you already know that. If he liked ya enough to wanna be your friend the very same day you two met, then I bet you can come up with somethin’ that’ll stick eventually. That being said… a little food ain’t never hurt no one.”

They stare at each other in the dark for a second.

“Uh, what?” Miles asks.

“Y’know. Like a peace offering. Bring ‘im a peace offering, make your apology, and then leave the poor kid alone. Let ‘im sorta… well, let ‘im kinda just chase you a little bit, right?”

Miles’ brow was raised high now. “What, like. Just leave some food and a note for him at lunch or something? Dude, that is so lame!”

“It’s about the mystique, mate. Trust me. Gotta keep the intrigue up, don’t crowd him too much or else you’ll scare man away, right? I hate when people grovel at my feet if I’m gonna be dead honest with ya. Don’t make too much of a big deal of it, and he just might forgive ya. You two'll be holdin' hands in no time,”

“Is that it? Is it really that easy?” Miles was skeptical.

Hobie shrugs and removes his hand from Miles’ shoulder. “Hell if I know, but if he’s anything like me, it just might work. Just be prepared to take it on the chin if he doesn’t forgive you in the end, though. Gettin’ ditched like that with no warning’s a bit hard on someone who’s never had any friends to lean on in the first place.”

Made sense to Miles. He shrugged, nodded, and then had only one question left to ask.

“… Cool. Got it. So, uh. What kinda food do you like, anyways?”

♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧

And that was how Miles ended up making a quick run (swing, really) over to his favorite Jamaican store for a dinner plate with some beef patties thrown in during the next day’s lunch period.

He couldn’t afford to be seen by security, so he suited up at his usual place on the rooftop of the school and sailed down to retrieve his peace offering as quickly as he could before lunch was over.

What luck, that he had the same lunch as Hobie Jones! Made this whole run a pretty easy thing to do at all, which was always a bonus.

Once he made his way back to the school, he hurriedly stuffed his mask back into his bag and practically jumped back into his uniform, not even taking the time to stop and check if his suit was properly hidden. No time for that, when the period was almost over and he hadn’t even gotten a bite to eat for himself.

Miles also took the time to write up what he hoped was a sufficiently appropriate apology note the previous night after getting back to his dorm room at a late hour, and he tucked that into the crinkled paper bag as carefully as he could manage. A grease-stained apology note was definitely not a cool thing to receive, especially from someone who wronged you out of nowhere and wasn’t even man enough to say that apology to your face.

He arranged everything as best he could while flying down several flights of stairs down to the cafeteria.

Once Miles pushes past the double doors into the large cafeteria area, he feels the tightness in his chest and the heat radiating from his gut outwards intensify more as he gets closer to his target.

It takes a bit of wandering to finally spot Hobie, but then Miles sees him: sat at a table near the center of the room. He’s surrounded by a bunch of fake friends all talking loudly over one another and trading phones over their meals. Hobie Jones himself looks forlorn even when in the middle of a group, surrounded on all sides by bodies he doesn’t even look directly at, even when he turns his head slightly to speak to them.

Well, shit.

Miles was not expecting Hobie to have fallen into so large a group of friends so soon. He spotted the same girl who pulled him aside for a selfie that one time sat at the same table, and her and her little posse were just gossiping loudly about any and everyone.

Miles found his feet stuck to the floor upon finally laying eyes on the scene.

Ugh. God. A bunch of preps poking their noses into his and Hobie’s business while probably begging to read the very private note that Miles wrote for him was absolutely not anywhere in his list of things he’d like to experience today.

So Miles did a sudden about-face and walked away quickly, before he was even spotted.

Plan B was set in motion, then: give the bag over to Hobie before the next period.

Miles always dreaded the class he and Hobie shared right after lunch. The awkwardness subsided after a while, since it was kinda hard to feel so bad about The Incident when the entire class had to cram for quizzes and do research for essays, but the pit in Miles’ stomach as he purposefully averted his gaze away from that corner of the room was never easy to ignore.

But now, after weeks of gloom and doom, Miles found himself actually being excited for the bell to ring. He quietly made his way upstairs to the top level and slipped into the classroom as gracefully as he could manage.

Sure, he was nervous as hell about it all, at the end of the day. But he wanted this little problem that’s been put away for far too long to just… finally be done and over with. If for nothing else, he just wanted one less student at Visions hating his guts, really.

He placed the paper bag onto Hobie’s chair and scooted it underneath the desk to hide it from the rest of the classroom. The last thing he needed was some other nosy student swiping it up and rifling through the contents before Hobie could see it.

Miles ate part of his sandwich in the peace and quiet of the classroom, enjoying what precious little minutes he had until the bell rang and everyone-- including the teacher-- filed in to start the class’s lessons of the day.

♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧

Miles’ simple plan was a success, just as his buddy Hobie Brown had predicted.

Hobie Jones had read the note quietly in his corner of the room and hastily shoved the dinner plate into his backpack soon after.

Miles didn’t know if that meant he was forgiven or not, but at least he took the (probably cold) food with him and read the note without tearing it up into a million pieces, so at least Miles had that going for him.

There was one last step to really clinch the victory, though; an invitation to meet up at the rooftop later that day, before the last bell finally rung and let all of the kids out of the school for the day. Miles still had a lot to get off his chest that he couldn’t quite lay down on paper, and he needed to properly apologize to Hobie’s face to finally put his conscience at ease.

Whether or not Hobie took the invitation was left up in the air, really.

Miles made sure to try and get a head start so he could make it up there before Hobie could, but he made sure to add “be up at the rooftop by 3:30pm if you’re coming or I’m bouncing” to the end of the note, because as much as he wanted to make amends with his dimension’s Hobie, he was not going to let petty school drama get in the way of Spiderman-ing.

Miles was a man of standards, and he held himself to some level of professionalism, thank you very much!

It was cold that day, very cold.

Miles was lowkey regretting his decision to meet outside now as he tucked his chin deeper into his big puffer jacket, warming his hands with his warm breath before shoving them into his pockets.

He hoped Hobie had gotten used to getting around the hallways a bit more now, and that he could find his way up to the roof level without becoming completely lost and just giving up entirely.

As the minutes crawled by, Miles found himself unlocking and locking his phone multiple times, checking the time, checking for any notifications to distract himself, and wondering just why he decided on the roof to meet instead of, say, his dorm room hallway or whatever.

Then, the roof access door slowly swung open, and there stood Hobie M. Jones in all his six-foot-something glory.

Miles sucked in his breath as Hobie’s big brown eyes scanned the roof and fell upon his face, and the both of them stood rooted to their spots for a split second like deer in headlights.

Then Hobie grunted, tugged at his ponytail to let it loose, and his long dreads fell all around his face in one graceful movement. Miles felt his mouth go dry.

Miles’ feet moved on their own. They met in the middle, and a strong wind rushed through to tousle Hobie’s impressive locs some more as they both stared each other down.

Miles finally opened his mouth to speak, feeling his voice catching in his throat for a split second, before being interrupted anyways.

“You don’t need to apologize,” Hobie says quickly, tucking his own chin into his expensive-looking jacket’s collar as well.

Miles’ brain bluescreened. “Wait, wha?”

Hobie huffed out a laugh, the vapors of his breath being carried away in the chilly wind like dandelion seeds. “I’m being serious, man. It’s… it’s cool, honestly. I get why you ditched me. It happens all the time,”

Miles’ heart sinks. “N-no, Hobie, look. I really messed up and I felt like I had to-- wait, what do you mean all the time?”

Miles had a sweeping feeling of déja vu overcome him then.

Hobie chuckled ruefully, shrugging as he shoves his hands deeper into his own pockets, mirroring Miles. “I mean, like… you think you’re the only one who ever ran for the hills after seeing how famous I was? It just happens. That’s my life, I guess.”

Miles’ lower lip stuck out a bit. “But that’s… dude. That is so depressing!”

Hobie shook his head, tossing a loc out of his face. “Sure, but it’s… it’s just my life. It’s just how things are when you’re a model around here.”

They looked sadly into each other’s eyes before Hobie averts his gaze to his shoes, scuffing the toe on the roof floor for a second before looking back up and continuing.

“… You, uhm. How’d you… how’d you know that I like Jamaican food, though? I’ve never told anyone about that before. Nobody but my family, anyways.”

“Uhh, lucky guess?” Miles offers him a lopsided grin.

Hobie smiles for real this time, the corners of his eyes crinkling just like his earth-138 counterpart. “You really are a weird guy, just like you said before. What else did you want to tell me, before we both gotta bounce?”

Miles gaped at him like a fish. “You… you have to let me apologize, though. Like actually. Before we both have to go.”

Hobie nodded. “Okay. I’m all ears,”

Miles took a deep breath. “I…!" His voice caught in his throat for a second. "Uh. Do you wanna maybe… hang out, like outside of school sometime? Maybe grab some more Jamaican food from my favorite place?”

Hobie looks at him with an unreadable expression on his face. “You… that’s your apology?”

Miles sighed. “I’m bad at conflict management, man. Just let me treat you to some more lunch and then… maybe we can just let this whole thing go, yeah? You won’t ever have to talk to me again after this, I promise!”

“You are seriously sending me mixed signals here,” Hobie says. But he doesn’t seem opposed to the idea.

“I know, I know! But please, just humor me, man. We can do it this weekend, even. I just… feel like a total dick after what I did and I wanna be able to actually make it up to you.”

Hobie directs his shy smile back down to the ground. “Jesus,” he mutters.

Miles holds his palms forward. “What? Is that a no?”

Hobie laughs, full and bright and it-- fuck-- it fills Miles with a dizzying thrill that makes him laugh, too!

“Fine… but if you ditch me again this time, you asshole--” Hobie grabs the front of Miles’ jacket and yanks it towards him, putting the both of them closer together and making a complete heatwave roll through Miles’ nerves, “I will-- uh,”

Miles doesn’t register why Hobie stops speaking all of a sudden until his eyes slowly follow down to what he’s looking at, and then both of their hearts stop at the same time.

In Miles’ earlier haste to jump into his clothing after his meal run, he forgot to button a few buttons on his shirt, which left his very visibly black and red suit out in the open with just one small yank of his coat’s zipper. The top of his red spider emblem shone bright against the dark spandex.

For a second, the world stopped. The wind stopped blowing, the cars down below stopped honking, Miles stopped breathing.

Then, he hastily took a step back and cleared his throat, hoping against hope that Hobie would not recognize the spider suit so easily.

“S-so, yeah? You’ll go? I, uh, promise I won’t stand you up if you do. We can, uhm. Exchange numbers if you want--” here, Miles starts fumbling around his pockets for his phone, a device that he clung onto like a lifeline moments ago now almost completely forgotten in the excitement of the situation.

Hobie swallows and takes a step back also. “Y-yeah… yeah, sure. Let’s uhm. Let’s link up later, then.”

Miles lets Hobie input his digits into his contact list, and then bids him farewell.

“I’ll text you later, okay? Gotta go now, bye!”

Miles almost wants to throw himself off the roof of the school just to land on the concrete sidewalks below with a splat. A flattened spider. It’s what he deserves, honestly.

But he swallows his embarrassment and rushes down the stairs towards his own dorm room, instead.

He seriously, seriously hopes Hobie didn't recognize his spider suit, goddamn!

Once Miles gets to his room, he sags against the door with a sigh and shrugs off his puffer jacket. Then, he fishes his phone out of the jacket’s pocket and flicks the screen on, which now has Hobie Jones’ digits input into it under the name of “MJ (from Visions)”.

Miles throws himself into his and Ganke’s shared computer chair and twirls over to the window.

It’s Miles. I am not ditching you this time, PROMISE, he sends over to the number.

A few minutes later, he gets a response and his stomach flutters with the chime.

You better not, Hobie playfully teases. I know where you sleep…

A few more knife emojis accompany the texts and Miles laughs out loud. Then he bites his lip.

Fuck… damn. This really is earth-1610’s version of MJ, huh. The name beamed straight into his eyeballs from where it sat right at the top of his messages and it continued to haunt him as he got his laptop out for the night to finally make some more leeway on his English essay.

Miles went to bed that night dreaming of him and a red-headed Hobie Jones holding Mayday.

[volivolition]

If able, could we get an update on any of your writings? I loved hearing about them (Not forcing, ofc!)

YOU SURE CAN ANON!! again, as with all of these asks, thank you so much for being interested in my work??? i LOVE talking about my silly fics <333

here's a rough timeline of all my fics btw!! i thought it'd be fun to visualize hkgj i'll be talking a little about all the ones i haven't yet talked about!!

Preface, here's all my fic wips as explained before!! and all my writing can be found in my #inland drabbles tag! ask 1, ask 2!

Message to All Bitches: Please Survive - This funny title has been the name for a while, but I think if I had to choose a serious one, it'd be "Should the Stars Go Out" :3 This is my most ambitious project of all my skill wips, I think, due to the medium i intend on telling it in (it is. technically not a fic?? hkjg) this is also my most secretive project hkgj <33 word count(?) is 2908!!

Meet the Parts that Make You - Kim meeting the Skills fic, though it's mostly been abandoned by now hkgj well, not abandoned, i still really love the concept? but I need to get a bunch of these other fics done first (Let's Make It a Home for worldbuilding, Swept Up for character studies) so I can get everything correct, before introducing it all to Kim hkgjg <33 Nevertheless, word count is 5459!

The Sunrise Momentum - Mostly abandoned, but i still froth at the fuckin mouth thinking about it RAUGHHH. HOLY VOWS. waking up, getting out of bed with depression, that part of you that wants you to live, caring about you so so so fucking much. this hypothetical fic hits very close to home <3 i promise i will keep you alive, as long as you're there to wake up every morning. willpower and devotion. volition is kind of everything to me did you know that? hkgjg current word count: 331 <3

Who Are You, If Not... - Esprit De Corps centered fic! i wrote a lot about it in this ask, but basically: hey, if Harry leaves the RCM, what the fuck happens to Esprit? i have some personal feelings about leaving a community that only used you for what you could give them. to keep going back, trying to check on them time and time again, even when they hurt you. it's cathartic to put it in the perspective of this fic, i think :] also i just think the psyche group is fun for discussions hgkjg esprit, my darling community skill!! current word count: 1497

When Two Skills Love Each Other Very Much - again, funny silly title hgkjg but i think its serious name would be, like, Summer Solace or something? brightest day of the year, sunrise parabellum. hypothetical child of volition and echem, she's hope, y'know? small and trying to grow. something to carefully tend to, to keep alive, and in turn she will keep you alive. this fuckin. symbolism raguguhh i love you baby solace you are MY ANGELLLLLLLLL!!!!!! <333

I THINK THIS FIC IS SO SWEET I LOVE THE SKILLS TRYING TO RAISE A KID HGKJG im so.. it's like how Let's Make It Home redux, the skills are kinda dysfunctional, but they've grown and they're getting better too and they're trying to work together towards a common goal, and together they can do it. i think they've gotten a lot better about working together!! and they all care for this kid a lot <333

Here's a snippet because oh my god i am fond of them (not in AO3 ready format though hkjg)

ELECTROCHEMISTRY presses a tentacle to his cheek to prop up the grin on his face - Hey, man, we've never raised a kid before. Give us *some* credit, at least. VOLITION holds Solace to his chest. She sleeps peacefully, starbright face pressed to his armor at his heart - I am. I think -- despite all the mishaps -- we've been covering all our bases surprisingly well. We wouldn't have been able to do this when we woke up in Martinaise, is all I'm saying here. VOLITION looks up and exchanges a fond glance with Electrochemistry - We've... all grown a lot, haven't we?

^ like hey. if you uh. compare that last volition line to the last volition line in the snippet i shared for unstoppable force? where now volition cannot only meet echem's eye, but LET HIMSELF FEEL AFFECTION FOR HIM?? oh my GOD the parallels, the character growth, i WILL PERISH.

i still do think this fic would be better as a comic hkgjg it feels like a good story to cap it off, and if i ever get the rest of these fics done, i'd want to end on it if i could hkjgg <33 LOOK AT THEIR CHARACTER ARCS. LOOK AT THEM FINDING JOY. GIVING THEM A HAPPY ENDING HKJG

that's about it, i think!! thank you for reading!! (and holy fuckin shit if you've read all of these i will. die for you now. i really appreciate anyone who takes the time to read my rambles, i love you hgkjg <33)

[v-era-18]

Red Licorice

Chapter Nine: Bloody Press 

“One day you’ll fucking regret crossing the wrong bitch Weathers! And there’ll be no fucking flowers on your grave!” - (Y/n) (L/n)

9

The smell of freshly cooked bacon and eggs filled the Riley kitchen with a surge of hope for a new day. The atmosphere was warm in comparison to the other night that will surely be remembered for the rest of their lives.  Mrs. Riley had made it her priority to fill the kids stomachs as much as possible before the day got started. They needed some sense of normalcy before heading into the school doors. The campus was already swamped with the press, there was no doubt that the students were restless as well. 

“I know they let you guys have a day off yesterday but do think you should stay home,” 

Tatum dug into her pancakes with a grimace, “Your objection is duly noted.” 

The girl had preferred if they didn't talk about what could happen at school today. The cheer team had blown up the house phone non-stop yesterday to talk about Sid and (N/n). She understood the curiosity and the drive for gossip, but privacy was what was needed for the both of them at the moment. There were lines even she didn't cross when she had enough sense. 

Although her best friend wasn’t showing any signs of fear she could sense it wafting off of her. And who could blame her, with the killer calling again the other night saying she had pointed the finger at the wrong guy again? The Cotton Weary case is still being talked about even with the serial killer at large, and it did truly make her wonder if the man truly did kill Sidney’s mother. 

The town talks alot about drama and rumors, and Tatum has heard a thing or two in regards to Mrs Prescott during cheerleading practices here and there, but it wasn't something she would rely back to her best friend. She didn't want her best friend to think she was  gossiping about her family, that simply is horrid. 

“I want to be around a lot of people, mama Reily,” Sidney mustered up a smile, “Plus I want to see how (Y/n) is doing today. I should've called but I wanted her to be able to process everything going on.” 

It was mainly the truth. The other reason she didn't call is because she would feel inclined to tell her the phone call she received the other night from the killer in question. (Y/n)’s names rolled off that sick man's tongue as if it was second nature— a blessing to be able to utter it. And the possessive crossroads of his tone with calling her his— Sidney could only shiver at the thought. 

As if sensing her discomfort, Tatum placed a hand on her shoulder. She too was worried for the girl, but she was with someone who didn’t have family around her right now. There were still no signs of Sidney’s dad according to the police officers and not to mention she was practically alone due to having no mother. One that was brutally murdered. Just like her alibi was the other night. 

Whoever this man was needed to be stopped before he could do further harm. 

“She's fine Sid,” Tatum tried to reassure, “Stu went to visit her yesterday to make sure she was alright.” 

Sidney's eyebrows shot up at the news, “Stu went to visit? Where was her Aunt?” 

“He said something about her not having enough hours at the hospital. I wonder what's going on,” The strawberry blonde pursed her lips in worry, “You don't think they're running out of money do you? I thought their house was fully paid off. Or do you think something happened with CPS—” 

A whack to the head was sent over by Mama Reily in response. In the morning gossip wasn't allowed at the table…only at dinner time. 

“Now don't you go talking bad about that woman! She works a lot harder than alot of people in this town trying to provide for (Y/n),” The mother placed the fresh stack of pancakes just in time as Dewy rushed in his brown shirt of his uniform untucked from his trousers. “I still remember the night that the girl's parents were pronounced dead with no leads. It had to have been an armed robbery, but who honestly would be that desperate for money and kill a loving husband and wife.” 

The town knew about how Gia (L/n) immediately took up the task of taking care of (L/n) after her brother's murder. She made sure (Y/n) was always on time for school, had the best packed lunches and even made sure the girl had enough movies and comics to keep herself occupied. As an aunt she was still considered young even though she was only twenty nine years old at the time. She worked day shifts when the girl was younger and switched to night shifts recently when (Y/n) turned sixteen. 

Gia has been giving (Y/n) the world as much as she can. There's only so much you can do to give someone who has unfairly lost their parents.  

It was honestly disrespectful the way the town looked down upon them with no man in the home. It was a mindset that needed to be changed that had a male running the home and the woman at times to stay with the children. The fact that Gia wasn’t married and had no husband was a jab here and there the Woodsboro housewives would talk about. But it seemed like Gia didn’t mind or wasn’t worried about that fact. In fact she took strides in it. 

Sidney wrinkled her nose in distaste at the memory of Billy coming to her house with a bloody nose one afternoon to study over her house. Her concern for him was genuine at first then shattered when she learned what it was for. 

“Billy! What happened?!” Sidney followed the Loomis boy down the hall to her bathroom with a towel in hand. Her body was rigid from the sight of her boyfriend's nose bleeding on the white tiles floor.  

Billy simply grabbed the towel out of the girl's hand wetting it underneath the sink, “Some dipshits were talking about (Y/n) and Gia. I had to put them in their place.” 

Sidney’s eyebrows creased in agitation, “You got into a fight over (Y/n)? Why would you even-“ 

“Why wouldn’t I?” 

The silence in the bathroom was deafening. All she could do was take in the boys' aloof expression as if he did nothing wrong. And in a way he didn’t-although the bruises and busted up knuckles said otherwise. 

At the moment she shouldn’t be thinking about that. She should be thinking of a way to gain evidence against a convicted murderer who was coming after her and (Y/n). Since she was proven wrong she would at least need to apologize to Billy-her own boyfriend for causing him. 

But her gut. It was telling her something wasn’t right. 

 “You don't think it could've been the man that attacked them do you? He does seem a bit obsessed with (Y/n). Do you think he sees her as ‘the one that got away’?” Tatum theorized, she missed the way Sidney tuned back in from messing with her pancakes on the plate. 

“That wouldn't make any sense,” Sidney muttered, mouth full, “(Y/n) was home with her grandmother when it happened. They were walking home from date night when they were killed on the street corner-two different places. The killer wouldn't even be considered a suspect because (Y/n) never saw him.” 

“Aw thats right….maybe he's a weirdo that likes her because.. she's —ya know—-” 

Mama Reily gasped, “Tatum-”

“What—?”

“There's no talking like that in this house! I taught you better than that!” 

The blonde sent a nervous expression her way, “I wasn't saying that in a bad way. Her race is very beautiful—” 

Sidney nudged her roughly, before quickly changing the subject, “H-hey Dewy what do you think? Is it possible the case involving (Y/n)’s parents should be opened back up? Especially since the man has an obsession with her.” 

Dewey frowned, his mustache bristled with crumbs from the jelly toast he ate. “Hell if I know. The case was first introduced when I was simply a rookie, armed robbery happens all the time, nothing abnormal. And the street corner they treat didn't have cameras or witnesses. I will admit-,” The phone rang in the living room drawing their attention, he held up a finger, “I will admit that something doesn't seem right about it though. Something happened more than an armed robbery. I just can't prove it.” The deputy went to answer the phone letting the news blare into the kitchen cutting off the awkward tension. 

“-This is not the only thing that this reporter has in story for you in regards to Sidney Prescott, who escaped the vicious attack last night  was the daughter of Maureen Prescott who was brutally killed last year when convicted murderer Cotton Weary broke into their home and savagely raped and tourchred the deceased. Cotton Weary is now currently awaiting an appeal for the death sentence handed down after the young Sidney testified against him. She was the key witness to the states prosecution-” 

“It's never gonna stop. Is it?” Sidney frowned at her pancakes. 

Tatum started to rub her friends back in comfort until Dewey emerged from the living room off the phone. 

“Turns out Billy was released yesterday without my knowledge. His phone records were clean. He didn't make those calls to you guys the other night.” 

Sidney looked utterly baffled and upset with the news, “Somebody called us Dewey! Me and (Y/n) aren't making it up!” 

“I know,” Dewey reassured, well at least attempted, “We're checking every cell tower in the county for a ping around the time the call happened. Any calls made to you, (Y/n), and Casey are being cross referenced. Now it's going to take time, but we'll find him.” 

Hopefully. 

“And my dad?”

The male only shook his head in guilt. 

“Breaking news! From the press papers this very afternoon written by none other than our latest news reporter Gale Weathers, has called it the latest ‘break in the case’ in concerns of Casey Becker and (Y/n) (L/n)! As you all know Casey Becker was murdered Tuesday August and Miss (L/n) was attacked by the same killer only forty eight hours ago. The paper has pointed to Becker having romantic feelings for her best friend and tried her best with keeping it a secret going as far as to document her feelings in a diary. The papers this morning have shared entries of evidence of possible fingers being pointed in many directions of who could be responsible behind these crimes-” 

“What the hell?” Tatum stood up along with Sidney in shock. 

Casey had feelings for (Y/n)?

“ Although Miss Weathers  has said it is very unlikely that Miss (L/n) is a suspect behind these crimes we cannot ignore the fact the killer has interest in her and even pointed out the murder of her parents many years ago that was ruled to be ‘armed robbery’-” 

“Oh my god,” Dewey ran out the door onto the steps to grab the morning paper. He fumbled to unroll it at a fast pace as Tatum and Sidney came up behind him watching the man's face go from shock to utmost horror. “Oh my god. Every entry from Becker's diary is here.” 

“Why is she doing this? Isn't it a crime to publish evidence like this-” 

“Yes—no—well—”

“Yes or no it's a simple answer Dewey!” Tatum hissed, snatching the paper from her brother's hands, “How did they even get it out this fast?! Did they work overnight?” 

The older Riley seemed at a loss for words. There was no way that a publishing company would work late at night willingly unless the details were that good or if they were going to be paid a hefty sum for the trouble. Dewy’s bet was on the ladder. 

Still he couldn't believe the work done in front of him. What kind of sick story was this? And who in their right mind would hand over the diary for Weathers to take it to the printing press? The male frowned to himself in disappointment; he thought he would have a chance with the women after their discussion yesterday in the department hallway. He’s not a jealous man of course, but seeing officer Montana come up behind her and lead her out the door-. 

Dewey paused, staring at the scene as Tatum started screaming and hollering in agony in the living room. Sidney was trying to calm her friend down but the teenager was inconsolable. 

“I knew it! I fucking knew it!” Tatum rocked herself back and forth in her mother's arms as her mascara ran down her face in unruly ways, “ Why couldn't he tell me the truth! I knew he wanted her! What does she have that I don't?! What does (Y/n) have?!”   

“Tatum,” Sidney hovered over her friend uneasily. 

The strawberry blonde turned to her best friend in fury, her eyes were wide and bloodshot, her face matching her hair. She was scanning her friend's face widely, taking in her cautious approach and uneasy eyes. She could tell what Sidney was thinking-she didn’t have to even say it. 

Yes. She was inevitably jealous of (Y/n) and the fact she was unaware Stu was wrapped around her finger. And she fucking hated it. 

It wasn’t like she could copy everything the girl did. She watched every horror movie with him, gave great sex, sometimes she would dress down like the girl in order to get longer glances, only to see the disappointment behind his eyes shortly after. She didn’t understand. Did she have to fully change her appearance? 

Tatum didn’t have to say it out loud her actions in the past as well as now we're telling enough that she practically wanted to be her. She was mortified and terribly embarrassed. 

“Did you know?” She directed to Dewey. 

“Tatum—'' Mrs Riley tried again to pull her daughter to the hallway. 

“No! Did you know?! My own flesh and blood about what happened in that diary?!” 

The living room grew tense by the minute as the Riley siblings looked at one another. Slowly Dewey tried to approach his sister only for her to take a few steps back in return. It was a hurtful sight but honestly what else could be said at that very moment? This has quickly changed from precessional to personal. 

Dewey shuffled on his feet awkwardly, “Tatum-“

“Did. You. Know?” 

The older male let out a huff. Before letting out the words he knew he was going to regret. “Yes” 

It was then and only then did Tatum Riley lose her fucking mind. 

~ ☿ ~

Bus rides were usually so loud and obnoxious to the point where (Y/n) would be able to tune it out, but today…it seemed like the world had other plans. The moment she stepped on the bus along with the others on her street it seemed like the whole atmosphere grew strained, heavy she even dared to think. 

One of Casey’s fellow cheerleaders, Autumn, had insisted she sit with her while Jonah sat in the other seat beside them like it was some sort of protection protocol of some kind. She knew about Jonah’s girlfriend although she heard more about her from Casey’s point of view. They did have their moments here and there when discussing what was best for the team and (Yn) had to listen so she wouldn’t blow up at the wrong moment.

She would glare to stop other people from talking to her ‘which in itself wasn't normal’. Otherwise the conversation seemed fair, she asked how she was doing and what she had got on her recent exam in English. The girl was so tired in all honesty, but she was able to get some studying in for the history exam that’s for today's quick quiz. If the teacher was lucky she 

Sure people would talk and bother her from time to time on an average day, but this day seemed different. Their eyes were bugging out in desperation for answers like she was the only one who had them. 

Upon arriving at the school it was no surprise the press was all lined up harassing students for their teenage mindset with a serial killer on the loose. It wasn't like they were going to miss out on a scoop like this. She could see the headlines in next Thursday's newspaper; “Teens Thoughts on Horrid Murder of their dear Classmates”. 

The one thing that worried her was the cameras and whispers going on around her whenever she walked passed. There was a reporter here and there that would ask her random questions about Casey and their relationship. Or if “the murder seemed familiar” “did it seem like he was only targeting teens”.  

The one thing that stuck out to her was the mention of a diary. As soon as the question left the reporter's mouth Autumn had steered her in another direction and flipped the man off. 

They made their way through the courtyard after that, students whispers of gossip getting louder and louder with each step to the front doors. It was twisting the girl's stomach in knots with how the stares seemed to clawing at her. She could only imagine how Sidney felt since they were in the same situation, although the girl had gone through the same thing only a year before with her mother's murder. 

Bad luck was following the both of them. They were now dealing with two different scandals and murders on their backs. Talk about trauma bonding. 

Autumn suddenly shoved a girl out of (Y/n)’s permitter a scowl on her face, “Move along Candace! She doesn't need your craving to solicit gossip.” 

The tall cheerleader popped her gum with an eyebrow raised. Kandace was one of Casey's favorites and made sure to tell (Y/n) to go to her with any issues if she wasn't around. Just by the look of her she could see why. Jean short skirt, with a cropped airbrushed tee and new balance sneakers to tie everything together. Her long locs casted over her shoulders and rested along her front nicely. She was pretty by the current beauty standards, but regarding her soul it radiated big sister energy. 

Kandace simply gave what would be assumed a sympathetic smile her way. Her hands were raised up in surrender, “I'm not trying to start anything. It won't do any good after everything she’s experiencing. My only solid remorse is that I couldn't give our dear cheer mate some advice to snag her-“

“(Y/n),” Autumn cut off the girl quickly, “why don’t you go ahead? I think I see Randy over by your locker.” 

This caused (Y/n) to immediately snap her head in the direction and sure enough through the crowd of students she could see Randy leaning up against her locker reading the paper from this morning. The boy looked to the side, his eyes widening when he saw her before quickly waving her over. 

(Y/n) smiled to the redhead in thanks before she made haste in the boy's direction with a smile. The two cheerleaders watched as the crowd quieted down before parting for the girl. They felt themselves stiffen as Randy started to frantically talk to the girl placing the newspaper behind his back. 

“She doesn't know,” Autumn hissed quickly to the blonde. 

This caused Kandace to go from sympathetic to utterly mortified. “Y-you’re -you’re going to let her go inside not knowing-?”

“I’m going to let her friends handle it. She needs to find out from them. no one else  has asked her about it this morning. I made sure of it.” 

The brown skinned girl frowned, “I hope you know I’m very disappointed with your decision.” 

Autumn rolled her eyes, “And I’m very disappointed with almost all of yours. Especially letting Tatum still be on the team. ” 

“Randy, for the last time I’m fine! Are you feeling alright this morning?” 

Meeks perished his lips together in inner agony. It was clear that no one had told her about the news from this morning or the paper. And he hated it, he fucking hated it because she was already going through so much already and now she had to worry about reporters dragging her friend when she hasn’t even had the chance to go to her funeral yet. 

Randy looked down at the paper, then back up at (Y/n). If he was being honest he would rather be the one to tell her everything going on than anyone else. She deserved to know those closest to her. 

However, before the male could hand over the paper it was abruptly snatched from his hand. Turning around he came face to face with Stu Macher, his face red and chest heaving up and down in panic. Randy honestly has never seen the boy so out of sorts before. Sure there were a few moments where he lost his temper but he was usually seen as the easy going one most of the time. Although now his secrets were laid out all on the table glide to the morning paper. 

Randy snarled at the boy remembering how his stomach sank reading the entry where Casey and Stu discussed having a threesome with (Y/n). What kind of sick fucker would want to take a girls virginity in a fucking threesome? With her best friend watching no less! Where was the intimacy? The seclusion and the patience? 

Is that how low he thinks of her? After all these years of them knowing each other? 

Yes. Randy was not only angry because the girl he has feelings for is being disrespected, but because she had been through enough already. And Stu was showing he wasn’t fit for her. 

“Give it back dick face-“ 

Stu’s heated glare cut him off like genome, “who are you callin’ dick face ya twink?! I bet you were so excited to hand this over! It was a frickin’ drunk conversation it didn’t mean anything-“ 

“Didn’t mean anything?” Randy scoffed, “give it to her and see if she feels the same way.” 

(Y/n) watched the two boys carefully while taking in their expressions before looking around the hall. Everyone’s eyes were on them now and the whispers were getting louder. They were making a scene, 

“Uh guys, maybe we should-” 

“Don’t try to hide your fucking sins now!” 

The group of teens snapped their heads to the left to see a red hot fiery strawberry blonde walking their way. Never had the student body seen Tatum Reilly so angry and flushed. Her mascara was still runny from the tears she was shedding to the way her tight cropped jersey seemed to be wrinkled as if she'd taken it off and on several times within minutes. Not to mention her shoes that were currently un-tied as well Sidney was only a few paces behind her trying to grab onto her arm but it seemed like with each passing second she was only getting further away from her. 

“Oh god!” Stu rolled his eyes to the ceiling, “I can only handle one thing at a time!” 

“Oh really?” Tatum laughed in mirth, “you seemed pretty happy with the thought of occupying two women at the same time-“ 

“I was drunk and fucking unhappy-“ 

“Like that’s any excuse!” 

Stu smiled ruefully, “Oh don’t try to act like you’re any better. Let me remind you they all now know what you also did to Casey and (Y/n). Cornering her in a sleepover and calling her a slut!” He looked her up and down, the smile slowly turning into a slight snarl, something (Y/n) had never seen on the boy's face before. “Don't forget how this relationship started in the first place. “Casey is slow and boring-I can give you exactly what you need and more. Follow me and I’ll show you.”” 

Tatum looked around her cheeks flamed, the cheer team gasps, whispers, and glares were apparent making her blood run cold. She couldn’t believe he was telling everyone how they started, with her desperate attempt to sleep with him 

“You're just as guilty! Who leads girls on when you've already made up your mind on who you want?” 

“I told you who I wanted!” 

(Y/n) felt her nerves start to rise with each sentence being argued with Tatum and Stu. What the hell were they talking about? How did everyone find out about the sleepover? And why is Stu trying his best for her to not read the newspaper. She looked around slowly before her eyes landed on Kandace and Autumn promptly gesturing towards her with their own newspaper in hand. While her group of friends were distracted she quickly rushed over towards them seeing how Autumn looked sad and ashamed. 

“What's going on?” (Y/n) questioned. 

Kandace did not respond. In a way she didn't need to, her sorrowful expression was enough for the girl to understand it wasn't anything good. Reluctantly the cheerleader handed over the newspaper that felt way heavier than it should’ve. 

It seems like time slowed down with each entry the girl had read. From the front to the back, from the good to the bad, from the confessions to the secrets it was all laid out before her. And it hurt, it fucking hurt. Not because of how Stu viewed her, all of the ruthless things that were all done by her friends behind her back, no. It was the fact Casey loved her. Her best friend loved her so much and she couldn't say it in person. It had to be written down in a diary because she was afraid no one would accept her for who she is. 

Casey was gay. She fucking loved her. And now she is gone because of a ruthless killer that had a vendetta. And instead of her having the right to express herself to the world herself, a fucking reporter did it for fame. 

Stu shoved Tatum off of him once more, “Enough Tatum, we've had this discussion before. This was only temporary, I told you I didn't want anything serious!” 

“What does she have that I don't Stu!” Tatum hissed with venom lacing her tone, “She's a fucking virgin! And she most definitely doesn’t want to fuck you after you’ve sat back and fucked me-” 

“That's enough!” Sidney said with conviction, “The both of you look ridiculous! Just break it off and apologize to each other-” 

But it was already too late, Stu lost balance and fell on the floor from a wack to the back of his head with a history textbook. The crowd of students gasped in shock from the girl's actions, and her friends took a step back all except Randy Meeks. He simply stared at the sight before him, (Y/n)

“Is that how you view me?” It was above a whisper, but Stu could hear her tone clear as day. The anger and malice was there to play , “You view me as a friend to simply have sex with?” 

“No!” Stu tried to get up quickly but stumbled due to how dizzy he currently was, “ No! Please listen to me when I say this! I was drunk and messing around. I would never think of you as easy or to take advantage of you like that (N/n)! You know me better than that!” 

A permanent frown rested on the afro haired lips, “Do I Stu Stu? You seemed to be having a lot of fun with Tatum and Casey as if I wasn't there, always waiting and watching….. I knew I wasn't the prettiest….but I thought you would eventually realize how much I wanted you. But you had never changed, you’re fucking to deep up your ass to look and see the girl who was willing to die for you idiot!” To add more effect she threw the textbook one more time-only it wasn't at Stu-it was at Tatum. “Don’t think I didn't read that you fucking went behind Casey’s back you bitch!” 

(Y/n) pushed through the crowd with her friends quickly calling after her. It took a flat two minutes for her to get outside to the courtyard and see that van with other reporters doing an interview with the woman that was the cause behind her sheer heartache and rage. 

“Gale!”  (Y/n)’s shout was thunderous and unfamiliar. The looks she got alone showed that it was frightening to say the least. “I want to speak to the bitch that decided to give you evidence to a murder investigation! And that ducking decided you knew what the fuck you were doing with writing a story about this case concerning my parents.”

A reporter who was interviewing Miss Weathers promptly got out of the way of discussion, their cameraman ready. Gale watched the girl come up hastily and tried to remember everything she noted down that morning for the incoming questions the teen girl would have for her. 

“Are you happy with yourself?” (Y/n) snarled in fury. 

“To tell the whole truth about Casey’s final moments here in this world yes-“

“Moments that were kept in a diary for a reason. You’ve just outed a whole eighteen year old from beyond the grave and she’s not even fucking six feet under yet! It’s nearly impossible for her to be embalmed properly and not to mention the fact her parents didn’t even get a word in on this?”

“Did you even think about what it was like for her family and friends? About the risks of your actions and how they could affect others close around her? Or were you too selfish and money hungry for that to even cross your mind?” 

Gale looked around to the cameras and students who were listening intently. She felt the embarrassment and shame start to sink in from the angle she tried this at. From her perspective it was the only way to get the killer to come out from the shadows and to feel the pressure but the way the teen girl was looking at her made her feel terrible. The words cut like a knife and she was trying her hardest to come up with a comeback—and an explanation, but her words were dying in those venomous eyes that were staring back at her. 

“Well--” 

“Well?” The girl scoffed, “That's what you start off with? Well?! For my best friend you're disrespecting beyond the grave.” 

Sidney hesitantly reached out to the girl, “(Y/n) she's not worth it--” 

“No,” (Y/n) snapped, “It's been overdue for this conversation.” 

Stu stayed in the back trying to ignore the heated glare he was receiving from Tatum. He would try to go up and calm (Y/n) down but that would mean he would look guiltier than he already was. Not to mention the throbbing ache on the back of his head was terrible, in his opinion he did deserve it though. He shouldn't have gotten so drunk and excited when having sex with Casey, now (Y/n) knew of their drunk conversation and probably hated him. He was going to have to find a way to ask Billy to help him-.

“Are you not even going to try to apologize for what you did?” 

The male turned back in and looked at Tatum in frustration, “We’ll talk about this later, can you at least give me later?” 

Tatum wiped at her eyes and nodded, he expected for her to turn and walk away only for her to stand beside him and watch everything go down. A part of him knew that she was too in love with him for her own good, it was going to be hard to let her down easily without hurting her anymore. It was never meant to be a full relationship, she was only supposed to be there to help when he got upset or lonely. She started calling them boyfriend and girlfriend first, not him. 

“What's going on?” Billy’s voice cut through the tension between the two teens. Stu honestly was so glad to see his boyfriend, after everything gets settled at the school they are going to have to rethink about their plans concerning winning (Y/n) over. 

“(Y/n) is confronting Gale about the article, if we don't stop them it could get ugly,” Randy rushed anxiously. 

Tatum scoffed, “(Y/n) would never—” 

“You and community dick over here just got whacked over the head with a text book. Do you really want to finish that sentence?” 

Loomis ignored the squabble that started, and made way towards the front of the crowd near (Y/n). Sidney peered at him from the corner of her eye but refrained from saying a word to him. She was too suspicious for her own good, but it was okay, he would mess with her head again later. 

Billy stroked the girl's shoulder gently trying to direct her away from the reporter, “Come on (N/n). This isn't what Casey would have wanted—,” 

With a sniffle  the girl reluctantly managed a nod, “You're right. This isn't what she would've wanted.”

 The girl looked at Gale for a long moment watching the women begin to ease up on a sympathetic smile. As if a red thread snapped at once, so did her sanity. 

“—But it's what I want.” 

No one had a chance to pull (Y/n) back before the first hit landed and Gale's hair was in her fists. The older woman let out a scream of terror as the teen girl let off hit after hit. Her face twitched into a crude smile. She couldn't recall the moment they started rolling on the ground and her refusing to let go. The tufts of hair would slip through her fingers to the ground before grabbing at another section, ripping and tearing whatever she could. 

In all honesty it didn't seem like a fair fight. 

All the pent up rage and frustration from the past few days were unleashed with each punch and hit the girl could land. She couldn't hear the other commotion around her or the pulling and tugging Billy was doing to get her off the women. She was pretty sure who heard Deweys voice at one moment begging her to stop, and she would have listened-she honestly would have but the way Gale had the nerve to smile at her after everything she had done she couldn't let it go. 

She was done being pushed around like she was no one. Of being nice and ‘letting things go’ because ‘it was the right thing’ to do. When was justice ever going to be served to the people that wronged her and her family? This town was sucking the very life out of her by basically existing. The flashing lights of photos being taken, whoops and hollers of all the nearby student body cheering her on. 

No one cared about the fact Casey was outed by this woman. No one cared that her friendship would possibly be ruined with her friends due to the many secrets that were revealed. And no one cared that she hadn't been able to properly mourn the fact that the people she loved were crumbling and dying around her without warning. 

She was tired of loving people that weren’t going to stick around. 

“(Y/n)!” A lift of her arm then another tug was felt moving her weight off the older woman, “Dear god! She’s bleeding! (Y/n) she’s fucking bleeding get off!”

The girl zoned back in on her hands seeing the crimson red staining them from her knuckles to her elbows. Her breathing was heavy as she stared at the woman below her sobbing, Gale's nose was busted and bleeding all over. Her strands of hair loss and mixed into the blood and matted together I hurt her grip. 

(Y/n) could feel the perming snarl slowly being life’s from her face then sheer terror sinking in. She had done that. She had scratched and pummeled Gale Weathers. 

Looking down at the hand underneath her arm she traced to find Randy holding her. Billy was in Dewey’s grip and hand on his cheek as if he’d been hit. The guilt slowly started to sink in but by bit as she took in her actions. 

“That’s enough (N/n),” Randy whispered  softly, “she got the message.” 

(Y/n) felt a lump in her throat and slowly released Gale completely. Looking down at her bloody hands only then did she begin to cry and sob. The anger, the loss, the frustration, and overall sadness came to light. She never wanted to hurt anyone, she was just so tired. 

“Dee I-I would never-“

“Shhh,” the boy started to pull the girl up and off the reporter gently, “I know I know-“ 

“It’s not fair!” (Y/n) cried out, “She shouldn’t get anyway with it! She’s tarnished her name-“ Randy pulled the girl away again but she turned to the reporter one last time her words still star and filled with hate, “One day you’ll fucking regret crossing the wrong bitch Weathers! And there’ll be no fucking flowers on your grave!”

Randy cut the girl off with a full embrace to muffle her pained cries. He refrained from flinching the way her bloodied hands gripped his shirt tightly. It seemed so long while they stood there holding one another while the girl was sobbing. The cops surrounded the scene taking Gale to the paramedics while Billy was looked at quickly for the bruised on his cheek. However the boy wasn't focused on the searing pain of his face, no his eyes stayed glued on the male hugging his precious (Y/n). 

[moonlights-fandom-hell]

At this point, the hazbin/helluva critical community has fallen flat. And when I say that, I mean that it lacks potential. Like, I thought we were criticizing about the characters and the show itself. I thought we were talking about it's issues and what Viv could approve on it. But now, these people are just targeting fans of Viv's show who are just going on about their day, taking screenshots of harmful posts and posting it on the critical blog just to shit on them. You can't even consider that "critical" now when you're just being an asshole. They wonder why Viv and her fans think the critics are so bad. On top of that, these people love to make assumptions about Viv harassing Gooseworx all because she's a "terrible person" like please stfu. "She probably did this" and they don't even have any proof. Maybe consider that Viv actually enjoys tadc and it's success? What is all of this "viv is mad because the amazing digital circus is more successful than her shitty shows"? I dunno, man. That critical community is just so fucking dumb and stupid. They're not even talking about the shows anymore. They just bitch and fuss about everything.

For real, I had never seen such a critical community this much of a train wreck as the fandom is.

I mean hell, I engaged with the SVTFOE community before (and that show has the EXACT same problems as Helluva boss) and the critical blogs were very chill.

I feel like what didn’t help is how immature and unprofessional Vivziepop acts publicly. But at the same time…. I can’t really blame her for getting defensive when these antis dogpile her on everything.

And yes, the screenshots making fun of harmless posts of fans were red flags to me. Like dude, we have rabid fans and Stans do that to us, why the hell are you stopping to their level??? (I’m not gonna include the voodoo controversy because that to me needed to be talked about. A lot of POC fans and criticals had every right to discuss that and Viv should had given an apology or explanation over that. With closed religions that always got stereotypes due to colonizers, you need to be careful when writing about them. )

Oh God don’t get me started on the whole Vivziepop and Gooseworks relationship assumptions… that actually annoyed me too and I’m sure there’s no bad blood with them. I get she had bad blood with Tracey and possibly Ashley, but I don’t think it’s fair to assume she’s like this with every indie creator.

Honestly, its both of their fandoms that are acting unhinged. But I even seen hardcore fans of Viv like Dani praising TADC and Gooseworks, so I doubt the whole fandom are planning to sabotage them. TADC isn’t a rain full of sunshine either, they too have so much bad apples there.

Also my big issue with this community I’ve noted some critical blogs that claim they wanna make an original series (well one already made a webcomic) but they NEVER stop bitching about Viv and go on and on how they never do this to their project… unmmm dude? If you constantly compare your project to Viv’s, your gonna lose your audience this way. This can make you come off as an a logger and a very petty person to others. Trust me, this is NOT going to make people want to be interested in your original projects.

It’s also very unprofessional to do this publicly. I get looking at bad writing motivates you how to not to things… but the constant comparing is going to make you look like a very petty person to your outside audience. And they feel like your project won’t have agency on its own without being “better than Helluva/Hazbin.” I say this because I too am working on an indie project I want to make to a webcomic. And I REALLY don’t wanna ruin my reputation that way.

That’s what Zeartist did when he made his shitty ass books and would constantly hitch and whine about twilight on his life journals. And he would always bring up his original series and how it’s “better” and how he wouldn’t write such garbage like Stephanie Meyer.

And guess what???? His books are just twilight 2.0 but even worse 😂😂😂 he ended up doing the exact same thing stephanie did, bitches out over criticism, and yeah a huge hypocritical asshat.

That’s why constantly comparing your project to another person’s to seen as better is NOT a smart idea. Please have some self awareness there if your actually planning to make a webcomic or an original series.

Also… I’ve noticed people that have beautiful startled would waste it on blind hatred. Like that “I HAtE VIVZIEPOP” blog. Like godamn, their art is beautiful but they had an unhealthy hate obsession with Viv… why waste your energy on that when you can make something better?

I’m not talking about rewrites, AUs, or redesigns because to me those are like fanfics and for fun. The stuff I do is mainly just for fanfic fun and a writing/world building exercise for me. But also a little bit of self indulgence since I sitll admire Viv’s characters. You can enjoy something without giving your support to the actual creator. I’m trying to show my support to the team behind it.

(I’m even planning to buy fan merch from one of the clean up artists on their shop. To me it’s the ethical way of getting Hazbin/Helluva merch without directly giving it to Viv but to her artists instead. )

[minjaeoriginals]

판도라: The Box of Yujin (Chapter 3)

TW: Strong Language

After her interrogation, Jinsoul proceeded to leave the police station. Of course, with an electronic shackle on her ankle.

Jinsoul couldn't leave the country, but she could still walk freely through the streets of Seoul while her case was being resolved.

Her mother, Ahn Seul, kept calling her daughter Jinsoul's cell phone, which she chose not to answer.

Meanwhile, at the prosecutor's office, the chief prosecutor couldn't believe he had to do Seonwoo's job.

"What a son of a bitch! Just getting married to leave this case to me..." Jihun kept searching through the documents for some relevant information to take into account.

Jihun slammed his fist on the table and looked at his subordinates with a hellish look, one of those that causes you an inexplicable fear just by seeing it.

"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING WATCHING ME?" "WORK!" Jihun shouted very angrily at his subordinates, who didn't even flinch because it seemed normal to them that their boss yelled at them and was in a bad mood most of the time. After this, they proceeded to do their job as instructed.

Jihun received a message that was notified to him thanks to the alarm he had on his cell phone. It was his wife once again.

"Don't forget that today you have to sign the divorce papers." His wife pointed out that she would keep insisting Jihun to sign that document that would end their marriage.

The atmosphere was getting much more tense in that office that already had a very bad appearance because of him. All because after that woman who swore to love him until eternity considered that she could not be with him anymore and her new love was an elderly man who owned a chain of golf complexes throughout Gangnam. Greed won over love; that was Jihun's thought.

That man who years ago boasted of his happiness due to his marriage with his current wife now only lived with uncontrollable bitterness and anger that sooner rather than later became a tradition for those who worked close to him.

At the police office they could not do much.

They had already done their part by interrogating and investigating, but the case was too deep for the little evidence there was. The prosecution office wasn't helping either and the detectives only had the simplest and most circumstantial evidence, which were Jinsoul's traces on the murder weapon, Jinsoul's traces on Yujin, and her "confession" to the crime.

Hayoung didn't know what to do with the case, which left her in a total state of frustration.

"Cap... doesn't this case seem strange to you?" "Everything is so strange, nothing makes sense to me in this incident." Hayoung looked at her superior with a lot of uncertainty in her gaze, as if she were looking for help from that weathered man she considered her archetype to follow in her footsteps as a junior detective.

Kyunsang, on the other hand, only saw his subordinate with great tenderness and remembers his first years as a detective. "You remind me of my initial excitement for every case with your actions. You know, I was like you years ago... Around 1992, I kept urging my superiors to help me learn everything I needed to know so I could get a better idea of how to handle this job." "I see a spark of excitement in your eyes; you really enjoy this job. I'm glad to know that you really feel the calling to serve in the police force and that you're not just in it for the paycheck. You'll go far, Hayoung-ah... You'll go very far." Kyunsang looked at Hayoung on that cool Christmas Eve morning.

Hayoung smiled and hugged her superior, whom she held in high regard. "Cap, I will learn everything and I swear that I will serve the best in this position."

"But... back to the question, don't you find it strange?"

The rookie detective was still tied to the same mystery she had since Jinsoul had left the Nonhyeon-dong police station.

Her captain proceeds to answer her: "I find it strange, but if she confessed, it means that she is ready to go to jail." "No one confesses to a crime they haven't committed; her look and her desperation give me an idea about how suspicious she looks to simply be a 'savior' of her friend."

"No matter what happens, she'll end up in jail. "Don't rack your brains thinking about this, Hayoung-ah."

Hayoung was still very intrigued by this case; there was a lot of information unknown and the whole case seemed like it would end up being solved with rigging, as wealthy families in South Korea are used to doing.

"Cap, if you were the judge... would you sentence Jinsoul-ssi even without having strong evidence that she killed her?" Hayoung consulted her superior once again, who simply couldn't help but smile while her curiosity couldn't help but remind her of her "golden" years. That youth that Kyunsang feels will never return.

In the Baek house, uncertainty and a strange scent were in the air. Some scent that didn't necessarily have a flattering fragrance; that fragrance was the perfume of anxiety and despair.

How could Yujin have died in such questionable and unknown circumstances? Although her father called and moved all the contacts he had, he received no answer about what had happened to his daughter, until one call changed everything. It was her psychologist, who had previously warned Yujin's parents that she could choose suicide due to the environment in which she was living.

That woman said something that at that moment did not make much sense to her father.

Her father could not conceive that idea; it seemed like nonsense that the doctor could have invented.

Her psychologist knew everything; those statements that seemed crazy to her family would be a small glimpse of something that in the future would be revealed, as a hidden box waited to be revealed and, with it, also the darkest secrets of that daughter that they did not know well.

Mijoo remembered, on Christmas Eve, those December 24th with her sister while she was still alive.

Flashback to December 24, 2022

While the Christmas atmosphere was felt all over the world, the Baek family's house would be no exception. They, like every year, would be willing to celebrate this special date in different ways: Chulsoo managed to go to dinner with her favorite politicians and important shareholders to establish better ties and increase investment and support in the Chunwha Company.

Eunseo was very excited about the idea of sharing a nice dinner with her favorite daughter, Mijoo, at some luxurious restaurant where they could both be in total normality and happiness, living together as mother and daughter and creating good memories between them.

Mijoo not only had plans with her mother, but also with her university friends who were anxiously waiting for Mijoo to arrive to start the famous games that included alcohol at the SNU student meetings.

Yujin, on the other hand, had no plans for that December 24. She thought about calling Jinsoul but felt that it was not a good idea to take her away from her family, so she decided to spend that Christmas Eve alone.

As all the remaining family members in the Baek house prepared to leave, Yujin would dive into her bed and wait for her family to leave so she could start writing.

After a couple of minutes, Eunseo and Mijoo left the house and, before Chulsoo did, he saw Yujin through a small opening in the door that she had left unintentionally.

Chulsoo watched as Yujin took out a notebook and started to play that band she liked, Day6.

Songs like "You Were Beautiful", "Letting Go", "When You Love Someone" or "I Loved You" were part of her playlist that denoted great sadness, melancholy and uneasiness. Emotions that Yujin managed to turn into beautiful poetic works, but that she felt that they never had to be revealed to the public, since she was afraid of rejection once again. She felt that if someone messed with what represented her the most, just like a snowflake, it would break easily and she wouldn't know how to bear the pain of seeing her creation being rejected, being that it is so relevant to her.

Chulsoo wondered what she was doing, but decided to leave for her meeting, without thinking much about it.

The hours went by and the literary works that Yujin made reflected more and more the main idea that she had in her mind.

Yujin felt very happy writing; even with the music she had in the background, which transmitted a sad and depressive vibe, she found comfort in writing and in the love of poetry. That talent that she never wanted to reveal that she possessed.

Every time she finished a work, she recited it in front of a mirror and was happy when she heard what she had created.

Despite the criticism, she knew that the only thing that could make her genuinely happy, apart from her dream, was to write everything she felt and transform it into poetry, song lyrics and stories that she would use to free herself from those feelings, like a slave when he breaks his chains and finds freedom.

Chulsoo would be the first to arrive at the house; he would go change clothes and then check on Yujin and make sure she was home.

When he saw Yujin so excitedly reciting her own poetry, Chulsoo had a small smile that grew as he saw his daughter have a talent that made him proud.

Hours passed and Eunseo arrived with Mijoo at the house.

Above the sky, at 2 am in that bright and vibrant Seoul, the moon was showing in its last quarter phase. The air, as never before, was at its best and the streets were full of happy people, just like Yujin for Christmas.

The next morning, the gifts arrived and Yujin definitely did not expect anything. The last 2 Christmases she had to get something from her mother and her mother did not make an effort for it.

She always used to give her 50 won and that was enough for her.

But this year would be different; her father would be in charge of Yujin's gift.

Her mother, on the other hand, would be in charge of her favorite daughter's gift. It didn't take long for Eunseo to give her daughter the gift, but she complained because it wasn't the model she wanted, so she didn't want her gift.

"Eomma... this isn't the iPhone I asked for." "Why are you giving me something that isn't what I asked for?" Mijoo complained to her mother, who felt a bit sad because her favorite daughter didn't like the gift, but was willing to go and change it to please her.

On the other hand, Yujin looked at her father and honestly didn't know what to expect.

From her gift bag she took out 3 things that, as soon as she saw them, Yujin jumped for joy. Those things were: A Day6 album, a much larger notebook and a box of pens so she could write with much more continuity.

Yujin couldn't believe what she saw; she was the happiest woman in the world. She would run to hug her father, but he wouldn't let her; even so, moved by the gift, she goes to check it in her room and gets excited to see everything.

Slowly she wonders how her father had known what he should give to his daughter on that beautiful morning of December 25th. But this became secondary when Yujin looked at the elements contained in the album of her favorite group; she was totally fascinated.

That morning Yujin was very lucky that, apart from seeing the photocards of her favorite member in the purchased album, there were some extra ones on the last page of the book. These were special photocards that were not normally sold in albums.

It was as if her father had made the greatest of his efforts to be able to give her a gift that would bring much joy to his daughter, even though he tried to deny Yujin's affection publicly. Simply deep down, her father loved her very much and even though he didn't show it, unlike her mother, for Chulsoo Yujin would always be his beloved daughter just like Mijoo.

End of flashback

Chulsoo then went to his car and drove with his lawyers to the police station, looking for answers for what happened, as seen in previous scenes.