#like if anything i’m learning the BEST places to PLACE the explosives

[bibleofficial]

this making rounds again … i’m literally in grad school now & this is still my mood

‘what’re u going to do w ur degree’ nothing. i’m going to start blowing things up

[thesilmarillionblog]

A Sweet Distraction

Summary: When you're in a club, you have to make sure Soldier Boy stays out of trouble and doesn't draw attention of other people while Butcher and the boys look for Payback members. Whatever it takes, you have to keep him busy and distracted.

Pairing: Soldier Boy / Reader

Warnings: Language, Soldier Boy being a dick, violence

Word Count: 1704

A/N: English is not my first language.

You put on modest makeup, adjusted your outfit, and gave Butcher a brief glance in the mirror as you prepared to go out with the most dangerous and unpredictable supe alive to keep him distracted. Although he was aware of your fear of Soldier Boy and your lack of desire to spend as little time as possible with him, Butcher believed that you were the only person fit for this dreadful task. You already felt bad about accepting Butcher's suggestion after learning about Soldier Boy's outburst and everything.

“Hey, I know you're new here, but while we're away, it might be best if a lady kept him in check. Don't misunderstand me, lovely.” Butcher remarked, placing his hand on your shoulder to encourage confidence in you. You sighed with acceptance at that. 

You reluctantly said, “Fine,” as if you had the option to say ‘no.’

“Oi, I'm not making any sort of suggestion, you know. I just ask that you keep your eyes on him.” 

“I know, I know,” you quickly answered as your cheeks started to blush. 

You were assigned your first job, but it seemed like your last mission because Butcher, who called you "his boys" only a week prior, forced you to join his team. Being aware of Solider Boy's reputation for uncontrollable explosions, you made every effort to stay away from him during your first week. There didn't seem to be any way to get in touch with him, though. Either Soldier Boy himself would be the cause of your death, or Butcher.

“Don't misjudge him; as long as he drinks and fucking sniffs his cocaine, he won't cause a scene. You'll be alright, I promise. He's not all that miserable.”

Even if you had doubts about Butcher's belief in his own remarks, you nonetheless nodded to him.

“Alright. Yes, indeed, I understand.” You muttered to Butcher. “I can handle this,” but in reality, you were talking to yourself.

“Excellent!” he exclaimed while clapping his hands. He was glad you avoided arguing with him. “My car is yours, and we'll get the van. Let's not keep Soldier Boy waiting around much longer.”

As you looked at yourself in the mirror one more time, your heart raced, and you took a sip of whiskey from the closest table.

You entered Soldier Boy's room, where a massive amount of cocaine was on his table, and he was already getting high. You did your best to avoid staring at his massive, well-muscled chest while he was somewhat naked. You were afraid that weed use would increase his nervousness levels or something, or worse, cause him to become even more unstable. You were waiting quietly beside Butcher, wanting to say something about the current state of things, yet you uttered nothing. 

“Hey, are you prepared to enjoy yourself in the modern world?” Butcher inquired in a lighthearted manner.

You retreated a step as he approached you, asking, "With her?" with a grin on his face as he examined you from head to toe after standing up from his chair. 

“Buddy, don't be harsh on her; she's already scared of you.” Butcher spoke firmly, and he added, “Y/N will just be your company tonight while me and my boys look for your most devoted teammates. She is one of us.”

You turned your back as your cheeks became red while Soldier Boy raised his eyebrows and turned back to Butcher. He proceeded to smoke while pulling down his sweatpants suddenly and putting on a shirt over his bare chest. 

“I wouldn’t try,” Soldier Boy said as he changed his clothes. “She better take me to a good fucking place. I’m sick of staying in this fucking room.”

“That is not anything to worry about for you.” You all left the room as Butcher murmured.

You and Soldier Boy arrived at one of the most well-known and weird clubs, which was primarily packed with supes, after having nothing at all to talk about while driving. Soldier Boy's mouth curled into a satisfied smile as you became extremely nervous.

As soon as you two walked into the club, he said, “Not bad.”

If you were a supe, you would find it much easier to adjust to the environment and everything, but you weren't, and if you pissed someone off, they could kill you in a second. That's why you got a drink right away and followed Soldier Boy everywhere.

He removed the drug from one of his pockets and said, “I wonder if there is a fine chick to fuck,” before turning to face you. “All the sperm feels heavy in my balls though I jerked off at least five times, fuck.”

You said to yourself, "Oh, god," as he continued to spit filthy words.

He turned to face you, licked his lips, and gave you a smile that was so inviting that it stopped you in a moment.

He asked, “What happened now?” as if you were exaggerating. “I thought you all wanted to take away my attention.”

As you were going to say something unpleasant about his actions, you remembered what Butcher had said and changed your mind.

“It is not important.” You sipped your drink and kept an eye on the folks in the crowd who were getting wild, intoxicated, and dancing, and you added, “Everything's fine.”

Soldier Boy smirked as he saw your shy demeanor and chose to focus on you briefly before giving someone a hard and deep fuck. He may even attempt to get you to open you spread your legs for him so he can give you a satisfying fuck. Your bashful demeanor made him wonder if your pussy was as tight as he thought it was.

“You don’t need to be scared of me, you know,” Soldier Boy said and he gave you another inviting look.

You muttered, “How is that even possible? After all, you are a supe on cocaine with PTSD.”

Even though you felt bad right away for speaking out loud, he only laughed at your harsh remarks and replied, “Touche.”

You asked him with an uneasy smile, “Are you having fun?”

"Well, sweet thing, I'll start having fun as soon as my dick disappear into some really tight pussy.”

You muttered, “Okay, okay,” cutting him off from continuing. You took a deep breath, muttered, “You keep having fun, I will be around,” and hurriedly moved away from his side.

You just hoped that the night would end soon enough for you as you faded into the crowd. Should you get through this night without injury, you vowed to spit hate in Butcher's face. 

You chose to watch Soldier Boy from a distance, so you made some space between you and tried not to pay attention to the bizarre and frightening behaviors of the people around you. It appeared to be a massive freak show. You couldn't determine which club was worse, Herogasm or this one. 

As you locked eyes with Soldier Boy, you noticed that his lethal green eyes were already bound to you, as though you were some kind of prey to be pursued. He frowned as he moved to approach you through the chaotic crowd, and you gasped. Perhaps you were just making things up in your thoughts, and he was just staring at someone else. You tried pushing some people and finding a quieter place to avoid him.

But the person you might have shoved hard turned around and yelled, “Why the fuck are you pushing my fucking back?” to you. He became increasingly enraged after you muttered an apology, saying, “Why do they even let ordinary people get in here? You only bring difficulty upon yourselves, fuck.”

Once more, you pleaded, hoping to get out of there without stirring up any more tension. “I sincerely apologize.”

You moaned in agony as the supe's large hands gripped your arm tightly. It was not as if he would give up. You should never have accepted Butcher's suggestion in the first place.

But happily, Soldier Boy's stronger hands grabbed the strangers tightly, saving them from a terrifying situation in an instant and giving them a sense of happiness. If not, it appeared unlikely that you would survive to escape this strange club. As Soldier Boy turned to face the supe stranger and shot you a glare, you touched your arm with a painful moan.

“Is it that, you fuckface, your micropenis gets hard for the weak? You wanna play the big bad tough guy?” Soldier Boy asked angrily as his hands tightened a rough, quick grip around the other man's throat. He wasn't allowing the other supe to say anything. With feeble mutterings, he was urgently attempting to free himself from Soldier Boy's brutal hold.

“Please, don't cause any trouble,” you urged, touching Soldier Boy's big arm. Despite your attempts to calm him down, he continued to tighten his hold even after the supe kept apologizing. 

“No,” he angrily said. “I found a way to have fun. This fucking cocksucker is going to die.”

You tried to get him to move by saying, “Please, stop,” but it was obviously impossible. You panickedly muttered, “Oh, no,” as you noticed his chest suddenly glowing. 

He clinched his mouth, trying to control his chest and halt what was about to happen, but Soldier Boy threw him between the crowd and he growled, “Stay away.”

 You knew that you wouldn't make it to the exit between all the chaos and supes before Soldier Boy exploded, so you disregarded his warnings, softly cupped his neck, and placed your cold lips on his warm ones, hoping to surprise him with your unexpected move and calm him down a little.

Next Chapter

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A/N: Comments and reblogs are very appreciated.

-`♡´-

[cherriegyuu]

to the start of forever | ljh

pairing: jihoon x f!reader   genre: fluff  word count: 0.9k  summary: eating out with your boyfriend leads to the start of a new life warnings: mentions of food  please, remember to comment and reblog, it does mean the world to me and i would love to know your opinions.

You made a low sound at the back of your throat as soon as the rich flavor of the tomato sauce hit your tongue. There was a high chance that you had found your new favorite street vendor or maybe you just were very much hungry after an entire day of not eating anything at all — you were late to leave the apartment in the morning. There was no time to eat during the day so that bite of pizza was the first real food you were getting since the night before. It was like they said, hunger is best seasoning, or something like that?

“You like it that much?” Jihoon asked by your side, laughter dancing in his eyes but he too had his mouth full, so laughing was a no. He knew how you got if you so much as caught a glimpse of the food in his mouth. 

“You don’t?” you took another bite, closing your eyes and shaking your legs a little. 

Sure, hunger did wonder for the taste of the food, but there was no way it got that delicious just because of it. Whatever it was in there, you wanted more of it. 

“I like it, but I think I like that place close to the mall better” he shook his shoulders;

“You’re fucking crazy, that tastes like ass” the seller laughed loudly, pointing a finger at you with a knowing smile. You turned to Jihoon, eyebrows raised “He agrees with me”

“It’s a fine ass”

It was almost like a reflex, you half hit his arm, half pushed him away. It was all a joke, both of you were both laughing and it was much needed after the shit day you had. 

When you dreamed of being a teacher you knew that it was hard, knew that there were going to be bad days, and days that you would want to give up, but those were starting to be the normal. Being late that morning was nothing and it barely mattered. But Jihoon knew just how bad it had gotten, he had learned to read between the lines of what you said, and he knew what to look for in the thing you didn’t say. And for that alone you loved him. 

To Jihoon, your mind was like an open book he could read at anytime time. And it had been like that from the start. The kind of connection the two of you shared was intense from the start and it was larger than anything either of you ever experienced. It was unexpected how you just felt drawn to him, and him to you. After the first meeting, when you got introduced to him by mutual friends you did something you had never bothered to do before: you went looking for him on instagram. You didn’t mean to follow him and you certainly didn’t mean to like one of his pictures from years before. 

It was a surprise, truly, when he first DMed you — something that later on you found out that it was completely out of character for him. And from there on, both of you were just stuck together. You were talking for months through texts and then when you finally met in person, it was explosive. 

That happened two and a half years before and every day ever since was filled with Jihoon and his quiet love. Quiet, yes, but all so big. Every day you felt like you were embraced by him, even on days you didn’t see each other. 

Jihoon nugged you with his knee drawing back your attention. 

“Hm?” you smiled at him.

He ran his hand through his hair, pushing it out of his face, his face turned towards the sky for a second before he looked at you again. There was this different light in his eyes, something you had never seen before, but it was enchanting. 

“I know our lives aren’t really easy right now, we are not at the place we want to be without jobs, and a lot of it isn't looking good or promising yet. But there’s one thing I’m sure of and it’s that I want to be with you every step of the way. I want to wake up with you every day, I want to take you for a greasy pizza after you had a shit day. I don’t have much to offer you, but whatever I have, I want to share with you”

You felt like your heart stopped for an entire minute. It was like your body forgot that it was supposed to do things on its own. 

“Are you proposing?” you breathed, forcing your lungs to work again.

He smiled a little, somewhat embarrassed while nodding.

“I know it’s not amazing and I don’t even have a ring to give you. All I have is my love and this promise, and I know it’s not much…”

You covered his mouth with your hand. Your eyes were filled with unshed tears at the same time a smile took over your face.

“No, no, it’s perfect” you moved your hand, holding onto his cheek and pulling him to you until your lips were pressed over his “I love you so much”

“I promise to make a better proposal later, give you a ring” he laughed a little.

“Don’t you dare, I love this” you shook your head “It was perfect. This is absolutely my new favorite place in the world. I say yes to ring though”

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[jakesduskwood]

even statues crumble if they're made to wait

Pairing: Jake x Fem!MC

Genre: Post-Episode 10 Duskwood, Post-Episode 1 Moonvale

Words: 8,916

Summary: It's been three months since the explosion in the mine. Three months since Hannah was found. And MC's accepted that Jake is never coming back. When she gets roped into another missing person's case, it makes for the perfect distraction. Jake is dead. It's fine. That is, until she finds herself on the phone with Alan Bloomgate who says he has something to show her. But it's fine. Jake is dead.

Until he's not.

EPISODE-1 MOONVALE SPOILERS AHEAD (MAYBE)!

[ A/N: Hello! :)

I know it's been a while since I've done this, but I finished Moonvale Episode 1 and if you've seen the ending (and used its Duskwood code), you know what happened and how excited I was to receive that bit of Duskwood. So, I took it and ran with it, and out came this extremely long fic. I did not proofread this as it took me literally almost 12 hours to write so it is completely and 100% me and my love for Jake and I hope you love it.

Side note: I suck with anything related to timelines, so I made one up on my own. I know Episode 1 of Moonvale takes place over the course of a day or two, but for the purpose of this fic, it made sense to make it longer, so it's not a typo, or me losing my mind, it's just the way my brain processed this.

Enjoy! :) ]

It’s been three months since the explosion in the mine.

Three months since Richy had been killed. Three months since Hannah was rescued. Three months since I had last spoken to Thomas or Cleo or Lilly or…or Jessy. I didn’t blame her then and I don’t blame her now. Any of them, really. I didn’t share the bond they had with each other. I wasn’t from Duskwood. It didn’t matter that we’d experienced a tragedy together—and yes, perhaps them more than me, but I loved Richy too. I had lost Richy too. And Jake—

But mostly, I think they just wanted to forget. To move on. They didn’t want to remember that their friend had been capable of…of that. And I was a constant reminder of that to them. So I understood why we didn’t necessarily talk anymore.

The one person I did keep in contact with from Duskwood, oddly enough, other than the occasional update from Alan Bloomgate, was Dan. We weren’t best friends or anything, but he allowed me to check in on our friends in a way that I didn’t know how to do with anyone else. Maybe because I thought he was the least affected among them. I knew he cared about Hannah, but he wasn’t to her what Thomas or Cleo or Lilly were. And he wasn’t to Richy what Jessy had been.

I’d learned from him that Thomas and Hannah had broken up. There was no bad blood, but Thomas hadn’t quite figured out how to accept the things he’d learned about his girlfriend when she’d been gone, and Hannah hadn’t quite figured out how to re-trust someone after Richy. Even if that person was Thomas. But I’d hoped they would find their way back to each other in the end.

I thought about reaching out to Jessy every once in a while—even just as an apology for everything that had happened. I’m sorry that Hannah was found at the expense of Richy. I’m sorry that he did this to you. I’m sorry I didn’t realize it sooner. We should have. We should have. We should have. I miss you. But I never send it. I’m not all that sure she’d respond anyway.

Cleo and I were never all that close. She has her best friend back, so I think she’s probably as okay as she can be. Helping Hannah find a new kind of normal in a time where her childhood friend had kidnapped her in order to prove a point. I don’t know how you come back from that—I don’t know how you come back from knowing that you killed somebody at all.

I hadn’t found the courage to ask if somebody had told Hannah about Jake.

Not that I think it would matter anyway. I hadn’t heard from him since before the explosion in the mine, which was, like I said—three months ago. I waited the appropriate amount of time—twenty-five days—before I broke down and concluded that maybe he hadn’t survived. Which just piled a shit-ton of guilt onto my shoulders because it was supposed to be me in that mine. He had gone in place of me and now he was dead.

It was the only explanation that made sense. I was used to Jake disappearing for days at a time, but never as long as he had been now. And he didn’t seem like the type to tell me he loved me and then leave without a single explanation. Not unless he had to. But it had been three months and as much as I missed him, as much as my chest ached with the thought that we would never eat Chinese food out of shitty motels and have that on-the-run ending we talked about, I had accepted that he wasn’t coming back.

I wonder if he had known about Richy or if he had died still thinking Michael Hanson was the one who had kidnapped Hannah. I wonder if his last thoughts were of me. Maybe it’s selfish, but I kind of hope they were, because I’m pretty sure I’ll think about him for the rest of my life.

I wonder what it would have felt like to run my hands through his hair. To kiss him. To spend every waking moment with him and know it was because I loved him. Because I would have. Talking to Jake became about more than just finding Hannah. It became a part of my day I looked forward to more than anything else. He confided in me in a way that told me he never had with anyone, maybe not even Hannah, and I needed that from somebody. I needed somebody to trust in me the way that Jake did. I needed somebody to love me the way that Jake did.

It was strange—and maybe a little ironic—the thought that something so beautiful could come out of something so tragic.

Anyway, my point is: it’s been a long couple of months. Of thinking about my friends. Of thinking about Jake. Of wondering if I should have done things differently. I should have gone to Duskwood to help. Not even with the mine, but sooner. I could have. I could’ve gone when Jessy was attacked on the way home. I could’ve gone when the group made plans to cut out of town and hide away in the house Richy had found. Selfishly, I should have. In that moment, when they were settled around the fire and Lilly called me, I had never remembered wanting anything more. I should have grabbed Jake—metaphorically, maybe even literally—and rode it out with them to the end.

I don’t stop missing them after three months. Of wishing things could have been different. Wishing I could have done more. But exactly ninety-five days after the explosion in the mine, seventy days since I had accepted that Jake was never coming back, twenty-two days since I had last heard from anybody from Duskwood (Dan included), my phone dings with a new message.

And the cycle starts all over again.

It’s somebody named Eric, who claims he needs my help to find his friend Adam, who disappeared while he was waiting for a ride in someplace called Redlog Pines. And much like with Duskwood, I have never heard of Redlog, and the case reminds me way too much of Thomas’ first message to me, so much that it makes my chest ache, but I can’t say no because there’s somebody missing, and if I’d say no the first time, God knows where Hannah would be.

So, I say yes, and I help out where I can, and Eric decides he needs to bring about four more friends in on his little plan and I try my best to stay emotionally unattached because I remember everything that happened the last time and I can’t go through that again. I offer up information when I can and keep my words short and careful because I’m not ready to get attached to somebody else I know I might never meet.

I know how this ends.

Two days in, Ash, one of Eric’s friends, brings up my Duskwood past and the unhealed wound I’ve been trying to mend breaks open again. She asks about Richy, and about the mine, and then because I’m me and I can’t help myself, I tell her about Jake. She tells me the news never mentioned another body and I shove that thought to the back of my head because hoping for something that will never come true will kill me.

Four days into Adam’s disappearance, and the police not giving a shit—as Charlie, somebody who reminds me far too much of Richy for comfort, points out—my phone beeps with an incoming call from somebody I haven’t spoken to in a while.

“Go for [MC].” I answer my phone.

Ever since Hannah had been found in the mine and Jake had…you know, my phone had been more silent than I’d gotten used to. Until this new case. But even that—it was only a few days old and I didn’t want to go down the same path with them that I did with my friends in Duskwood. We didn’t really know each other that long, sure—even though sometimes it’d felt like it—but it felt like I’d finally been a part of something. Like, I had found these people who had chosen me for me.

And originally, maybe they had. Maybe they’d had every intention of keeping me around, but then Richy was the Man Without A Face and Alan Bloomgate had rescued Hannah and nothing was the same as it had been when we’d met each other. We knew too many secrets about each other by the time the town settled. Secrets we would have to take to the grave.

Or maybe I’m losing my mind a bit and I had really only been a means to an end.

Either way.

“Alan?” I raise my voice when there’s nothing but breathing on the other end of the line. “Did you mean to call me?”

His tone is clipped. “I found something.”

“You found something.” I repeat.

My heart clenches. For all I know, it might fall into my stomach. As far I know, from watching the news, from what Ash told me, Jake’s body was never found. Richy’s was. Or what was left of him to find, anyway. I had assumed that there just hadn’t been enough of Jake left. The thought left me nauseous, but it was better than hoping for something I knew I could never have.

“I’m sending it to your phone now.” He responds. “Let me know what you think of this.”

And then he hangs up.

That was a riveting conversation, I think as my phone dings with a message. I do my best to ignore my other messages—contacts from Duskwood I’m still not ready to acknowledge—and click Alan Bloomgate. He sent me a video that looks like—oh God.

Immediately, I’m overcome with emotion as an all-too-familiar forest pops up on my phone. It’s a video of Alan’s bodycam footage. He’s searching the Duskwood forest. A forest I’ve seen too many times in the background of other video calls.

I watch as he stumbles upon an object that’s too dark to make out at first. When he gets closer, it’s clear that it’s a backpack. It’s simple. Black. Nothing about it that screams this is mine and I left it here about anybody in particular. You stupid, stupid idiot, I tell my heart when it rattles against my chest in hope. He’s dead.

Alan stands and treks away from the backpack—I want to scream at him to go back, to open it and look through it and tell me if it’s what my heart aches to believe, but I can’t, because this is a video and I’m simply watching with wide eyes, waiting for…for something. But then. But then, he moves further into the forest and I watch as he stumbles upon an object that makes my knees tremble and tears rush to my eyes and my hands shake. A black hoodie. It looks like it’s been through hell, with holes scattered up the sleeves and dirt cakes into the hood, but it’s unmistakably his.

And then—Alan lifts the hood and picks up something that makes me sink to my knees with a sob that wracks my entire frame. Because I’m staring at Jake’s mask. The mask he doesn’t go anywhere without. The mask that protects him. And so my relief is short-lived, because I realize that even if he’s alive—which seems like a very big possibility at this point—he’s alive without the things that he needs to survive.

And then the anger kicks in. Because if he’s been alive, on his own, for three months—why has he not contacted me? Unless he survived the mine but he didn’t survive the after. But that didn’t make any sense. So, okay, he wasn’t dead. But that didn’t make any sense either. He told me he wouldn’t let them catch him. Because catching that meant he would be apart from me. Did something happen that prevented him from being able to reach out and tell me he was at least okay? A quick text that said didn’t die in the explosion in the mine, you don’t need to mourn me, by the way, going off radar for another year. Did he think I would have given up on him?

I wipe my eyes and shoot a message to Alan.

ME: Recently?? Did nobody search the forests before?      

ALAN: Searched the forests for what, [MC]? The logical assumption seemed to be that if anybody was inside the mine when Richy set the fire, they would have perished alongside him. Officers were stationed outside every known entrance and exit. Besides, after the story you and your friends spun around this town, do you think anybody would have gone back into its forests?

ME: But it’s possible?

ALAN: I would say these items had been there for some time. But I would say it is likely he ditched them when he fled the mine, yes.

Another sob tears through my throat. Jake is alive. I don’t know quite what that means for us as of now, but I know it’s the best news I’ve heard since Hannah was found. Jake is alive. He’s out there somewhere. And even if it’s been three months, and even if I’m a little bit mad at him right now, I know that if he was here, I would throw my arms around his neck and hold on to him until someone dragged me off, and even then—I would fight kicking and screaming.

I close out of my messages with Alan and pull up a conversation I haven’t had the heart to look at in quite some time.

ME: Jake’s alive.

LILLY: …

LILLY: Have you spoken to him?

ME: Alan called. He found some of Jake’s things in Duskwood. I don’t know a lot of details. But I know he made it out of the mine.

Lilly types for a long while, but she doesn’t respond. I don’t take it personally. I think it’s probably hard for her to be happy that her brother’s okay while also trying to accept that her sister may never be okay again. Her sister, who had once-upon-a-time been kind-of-sort-of in love with their brother she didn’t know she had. I think that would probably mess with any family’s heads. And on top of all that, you throw in manslaughter and a kidnapping. I wouldn’t wish anybody, not even my worst enemy, to have had to go through what the Donforts had.

When it becomes adamant that Lilly isn’t going to respond, I start scrolling through messages with the rest of the group in Duskwood. I click on Jessy. I’m here if you need me. That had been the last thing I sent to her, a couple of days after Richy’s death. She hadn’t responded. I click out of Jessy’s contact and click on Thomas’ instead. Thank you for everything. That had been his last message to me after we found Hannah. I’d liked it. I hadn’t expected at the time it would be the last thing we’d ever say to each other. I click out of Thomas’ and click on Richy. So, you want to turn yourself in? I’d asked. That was before he called me. Before he lit a match and burned himself and the mine to the ground. Some people would call that heroic. I mostly call him a coward.

I click on Jake’s name. It’s been a while since I read messages between the two of us. Maybe before I had accepted—thought—he was dead. In that twenty-five-day period when I’d hoped with all I’d had that he would come back. I love you. That was the last message he sent me. I’d responded with I love you too, Jake. Then, four days later: Are you okay? A week later: Jake, please, you’re starting to scare me. I know you said you would contact when you could, but it’s been a week. After twenty-five days, when I had finally accepted our fate, I’d sent one final message: I hope you know that I love you, and I will always care about you, but I think it’s time for me to move on. I’m so sorry that I sent you into the mine. It should have been me. And I will probably feel the guilt from that for the rest of my life. Thank you for everything. Take care of yourself, wherever you are.

After that, I had closed out of our messages and hadn’t looked back. Partly because I couldn’t bear the pain of it. It felt like I had given up on him. I hadn’t—if I had thought for a second that he was alive, if I knew then what I know now, I would have never sent that message. But holding out hope for somebody who I thought was a ghost at the time? That was slowly killing me.

It’s only then that I notice the screen flickering. Much like the way it used to whenever Jake would hack into my phone. I don’t think he’s much in the mood to be hacking right now, but somehow, I know it’s him. When had he done this? Recently? If I had opened our messages, would I have seen this ten—twenty—even fifty days ago? It hadn’t looked like this the last time I texted him. Did he see my last message about needing to move on? Was that why he hadn’t reached out to tell me that he was okay? Because he thought I was moving on happily without him?

No, my brain supplies. He wouldn’t. He would reach out anyway, because he knows how much the thought of him not being okay would have destroyed you.

The screen flickers once more and then a message pops up, bright and blue-tinted and clear as day on my phone.

[MC]

I WILL FIND YOU

And the world around me shifts.

--------------------------------------------------

Maybe it sounds crazy, considering I’ve never seen his face before, but I always thought that if I’d ran into Jake one day, maybe on the street or at one of those motels he stayed at or maybe even in Duskwood, surrounded by all our friends, I would know it was him. I would, because it’s him, and it’s me, and we’re the only two people who understand each other quite the way we do.

I still believe that.

I believe it when I book my flight to Duskwood (or rather, twenty miles outside of town, which is the closest airport). I believe it when I board the airplane and find a seat next to a mother with her screaming child and when I shoot off a quick text to Eric to let him know I’ll be MIA for the next few hours, but to message me if he needs anything—and I think about how much easier this case would probably be to solve if we had Jake.

Maybe it would have been harder to find Hannah without me, but I know damn well they would’ve never found her without Jake.

Dan picks me up from the airport. I haven’t told the others yet. Something about it felt off—like I shouldn’t message them and say hey, I know we haven’t spoken in a while, but I’m booking a flight to look into why my maybe-slash-not-really boyfriend left his belongings in a forest we really wish we could forget about, and by the way, can I crash at your place?

It’s quiet on the car ride back into town. I’m looking through my messages from Eric and the group from Redlog Pines and thinking about how I’m Duskwood with this group and I want so badly to laugh because it’s ironic, but Dan wouldn’t understand. He might just call me crazy. Better yet, he would ask how I manage to get myself into these situations, and really, I don’t have an answer for him.

“How have you been?” I ask, just to break the tension, as Charlie, in my messages, tries to persuade his friends to head back into that creepy cave in the middle of the forest. He’s going to get someone killed, I think.

Dan looks over at me. “Are you still with Hackerman?”

My chest squeezes. “His name is Jake, Dan. And we were never really together.”

“Hm.” He nods like he doesn’t quite believe me. “You already know mostly everything that’s been happening here. Thomas and Hannah called it quits. They say it was some mutual decision, but it’s hard to find them in the same room together. Jessy hasn’t been out with us since. I think we remind her too much of Richy. The group’s all changed.”

“And you?” I ask.

He gives me a cheshire-like grin that doesn’t quite meet his eyes. “I’m always the same.”

We make it to Duskwood just as the sun’s going down. Much too late for me to try and trek through the forest and retrace the steps Jake might have taken that night. Not that I think it would help give me any clues as to where he might have gone, but mostly because I wonder if it will make me feel closer to him. We’ve never been in the same place before, and even if he’s not there now—he once was.

“Can you drop me at the police station?”

Dan blinks. “The police station.”

I nod. “Yeah.”

“We answered their questions for weeks, [MC]. I don’t think anything you have to tell them at this point is going to help. The investigation’s closed. Everybody knows Richy did it. He died with the fire in the mine. Everybody’s trying to move on from that.” He works his jaw. “Did you come here to open old wounds after all this time?”

I try not to show the hurt look on my face. “This isn’t about Richy. Look, Alan called me. He asked if I could look at some things. I figured it was better for me to do it in person. That’s it. Nothing to do with Richy. Nothing to do with Jessy. Nothing to do with you.”

He sighs, and I’m not entirely sure he’s going to abide by my wishes until we pull in front of a tiny building—tinier than most—that says Duskwood Police on the sign. Duskwood must not have that much crime. Well, not until this, I suppose.

“Thank you.” I tell him as I reach over to undo my seatbelt and climb out of the car. “This is a nice ride, by the way.”

He raises a hand in some mock-salute. “Need me to pick you up?”

“Nah.” I shake my head. “Think I’ll explore the town for a little bit.”

“Suit yourself.” He shrugs and then he’s off.

I square my shoulders and take a deep breath before opening the door to the police station. It wasn’t like Alan asked me to come down here. He hadn’t. Even during the investigation into Richy’s death and Hannah’s kidnapping, when he questioned us, he never asked me to come to Duskwood. We’d done way too many video calls and phone calls and at one point, I had asked if he thought it would be easier for me to come to Duskwood, to which he responded back, are you ready for that?

No, I hadn’t been. I’m not even so sure I was now. But knowing that Jake was alive, that here was the last place was, I had to try.

“Can I help you?” The woman at the front desk asks.

I clear my throat. “I was wondering if I could speak to Alan Bloomgate. I’m one of—I was involved in the Hannah Donfort case. My name is [MC].”

Her eyes widen. “Give me a moment.” She stands and heads to some back office—which looks to me more like a closet—and then returns with a clipped smile. “He’ll be right out.”

Apparently, she isn’t lying, because not two minutes later, Alan is stepping out from the same door and staring me down. I hold his gaze and hope it says that I’m not here to argue. I will tell him my truth, but only my truth, not Hannah’s, not Jake’s, not anybody else’s.

“I was wondering when I would see you.” He says.

I shrug one shoulder. “Isn’t a few months later better than never?”

“Let’s go into my office.” He says, and leads me around the desk and back into the closet space he had come out of. He sits behind the desk and motions for me to take a seat opposite him. “I’m just going to guess you’re not here to talk about Miss Donfort.”

“I want to see them.” I tell him. “His things. I want to see them for myself. And whatever you want from me in return, I’ll give to you.”

“You’re playing a dangerous game here, [MC].”

“He isn’t a game to me.” I snap back and then sit back and try to relax. “I appreciate that you called me. It’s—I helped you find Hannah. I would do it again. Even with knowing the things that we do now, I would do it all again. That’s how much that group means to me. That’s how much he means to me. I’m not asking you to break any rules or to lie for him or to—to let him hide in your basement for the next five years. I’m just asking you to show me what you found.”

He stares me down for a moment. Then, he sighs, says “wait here for a minute” and disappears to another room. When he comes back, it’s with an evidence bag in his hand filled with the objects I saw on his bodycam footage. My breath hitches in my throat.

“I can’t let you touch them.” He says as he lays them in front of me.

I stare into the eyes of the mask. “Did you tell anybody that he’s alive?”

“I don’t know that he’s alive,” is all the answer he gives, which is an answer to my question. I slide my gaze down to the black hoodie, to the dirtied sleeves and muddy hood, and think about the fact that Jake wore this. I’m so close to him.

And yet I’ve never been further away from him.

“Thank you.” I tell him. “For—for this. And for listening to me about Hannah. If you hadn’t, I—I don’t know what would have happened. How much longer he would have gone on for. If he would have ever stopped.”

Alan’s silent for a minute. Then, he clears his throat. “You know, it was strange to me. Both Hannah and yourself swore to me that neither of you knew the other.”

“I don’t.” I swear.

It was one of the (albeit many) things that didn’t make sense to me. How Hannah got a hold of my number. How she sent it to Thomas. She’d told Alan she hadn’t really remembered texting him my number at all.

“I believe you.” He reassures. “I just think it’s strange. One mistake, if you can call it that, and you throw yourself into a missing persons case to help a stranger.”

“They’re not strangers.” Even though Hannah is kind of still a stranger.

“But they were.” Alan reasons. “You had no reason to say yes to helping Thomas. I doubt anybody would have held it against you if you turned the other way. But you decided to follow this until the end. To make sure they found Hannah. And you care about them. Maybe that’s why I find that I’m more lenient with you than maybe I should be. Why you’re sitting across from me right now calling the shots. Why I’m not asking you about the hacker.”

“I wouldn’t tell you if you did.” I look him in the eye so he knows I’m telling the truth.

He returns my gaze. “Maybe that’s the other reason.”

“Hm.” I acknowledge before I turn my gaze away—from him, from the objects that I know belong to Jake and it takes everything in me not to snatch them up and run. “Well. Thank you for allowing me to steal some of your time. For letting me—” I cut myself off before I say something that makes me break down in a fit of tears in front of him. “—just thank you.”

Leaving the station is easier than coming in. I’m still not any closer to knowing where Jake is than I was when I arrived here, but there’s a comfort in knowing he walked these streets. I wonder what he would think if he knew I was here. He hadn’t wanted me to come to Duskwood when everything was happening…but now that it was over, would he be happy that I was here? That I had come to Duskwood to piece together where he might have gone? Would he track my location and come to find me and…or was I grasping at straws?

It felt like I had just gotten him back. Not really, not entirely…but knowing that he was alive, that he was out there somewhere, maybe thinking of me and looking for ways to come back, to live the life we talked about when he asked me if I was sure…that was worth it. The thought that we could maybe someday have that—even if it was a twenty percent chance.

I check my phone again to see a new message from Ash. She’s asking me if I’ve heard from Charlie in the last few hours. Apparently, he’s AWOL, and I want to help, really, but…it doesn’t really feel like that’s where I am at the moment. Not just physically—obviously—but mentally. We got lucky with Hannah. And that was really only because we had Jake. Adam didn’t have a Jake. Or…maybe he did and I just hadn’t met him yet. But I already had a Jake and I didn’t want another one.

Maybe—if I found him, I could convince him to help. That was a big maybe. Not because I thought Jake would say no. He would say yes to anything I asked of him. The maybe was whether or not I could find him. More likely, the maybe was whether or not he would find me.

Three months ago, I would have been able to come to Duskwood and have no shortage of things I wanted to do and people I wanted to see. Now, as I stand outside Duskwood’s police station, I feel nothing but loneliness. Nobody knows I’m here. I could pass Thomas on the street and he wouldn’t even know it. I could run into Jessy at the library and she would walk by me without even a second thought. Why would they? I hadn’t told them I was here.

So, with nothing left to do, I walked. Toward the town center. Toward the library that Jessy showed me on our walk through Duskwood. Toward the Rainbow Café where I knew that Cleo and Hannah had spent a lot of their time. Toward the Black Swan. Toward—

Ah, what the hell.

I had nothing better to do and The Aurora seemed like a great place to drown my sorrows. To think about my next steps. To figure out—now that I was in Duskwood—what I planned to do. The thing about Jake being so secretive (and on the run) was that I couldn’t retrace his steps. I wasn’t able to ask if anyone had seen him. One, because he would make sure nobody had. And two, because three months was a long time to forget somebody’s face if you didn’t know who you were looking for.

I pull open the door to the bar and step inside. Immediately, I’m hit with the stench of whiskey and a handful of chatter. Duskwood’s a small town. And The Aurora definitely proves it. The bartenders move melodically around each other, serving patrons on the other side of the bar. If you walk down further, there’s a handful of tables.

And dead in the center is a table with my friends. Or, some of them. Dan and Cleo and Lilly. Could I still call them my friends? Ex-friends, maybe? Acquaintances? I didn’t know what they were. Or how to address them. It wasn’t like we had gotten into a fight. We didn’t stop talking for any reason other than that we did. We stopped talking.

I make a beeline for the bar to avoid a confrontation and plant myself on one of the stools. One of the bartenders—a girl cute with bleach blonde hair and brown Bambi eyes—asks what I want and I channel my inner Dan to order a whiskey—neat.

Looking over my shoulder, I focus on the table of them. On Lilly, who’s smiling at something Cleo said. On Dan, who’s the only one of them who actually knows I’m here. But even he’s focused on the conversation they’re having. It’s strange—to see Dan a part of something I’m not sure he would have been before. It’s nice.

“[MC]?”

I turn my head away from the table of my friends and focus my attention across the bar on someone I should’ve expected to see. “Phil.”

“I thought I recognized your voice from when we talked.” He smiles. “I wasn’t sure, but I saw you staring longingly at them—” He nods towards Dan and Cleo and Lilly. “—and I knew. What brings you around here? I expected you to show up maybe a few months ago, but by now, I thought you’d moved on without us.”

I was tired of the words move on. Like I’d had a choice. Like the people from this town might open their arms and welcome me back into their lives. So I’d been part of the group who’d saved Hannah Donfort. So had a lot of people. It didn’t make me special and everyone here knew it.

I offer him a smile in return. “I’m looking for somebody.”

“Anybody I know?” He asks.

I shake my head. “Nah. At least nobody you would recognize.” I pause. “How’s Jessy?”

“She’s—Jessy.” He answers, like that is an answer. “I don’t know if she’ll ever really be okay with the way things happened with Richy. I wouldn’t expect her to. Obviously. But I don’t know. I think I just thought she would have gone back to her normal life by now. And then I remember that most of her life revolved around him. He was her best friend. She worked for him. And I’m trying to be patient about that. But—” He shakes his head. “Maybe you should talk to her.”

“She doesn’t know I’m in town.”

“Okay.” He hums. “So, you’re not in town for my sister. And you’re not in town for your group of friends because they’re over there and you look like you’d rather be anywhere else. There’s always Hannah, but I don’t think you knew her that well. Or at all. Would I be right to assume this is about a certain hacker who helped to find Hannah?”

“He didn’t help find Hannah.” I defend. “He was the entire reason we found Hannah. I would have never been able to do it on my own. Even with the others’ help. He’s the only reason we found out about—” I pause before I say something I maybe shouldn’t. “It doesn’t matter. He’s the only reason we found her. Everything I did was just dumb luck.”

“That wasn’t what the news said.” A voice cuts in and I turn my attention from Phil to focus on the stranger that slides into the seat beside me. Not too close—a couple inches away. I don’t recognize him. I don’t know him. But I don’t know every person in Duskwood. Maybe a total of like nine or ten. “I’m sorry to interrupt. But I heard you had a lot to do with finding Hannah Donfort. The news said you were some kind of hero.”

I offer him a tight smile. “That’s nice of them. But…if they knew my—friend—knew what he did to find her, I don’t think I would be as much of a hero as everybody says.”

“That’s noble.” He says, eyes meeting mine, and it strikes me at once how handsome he is. He has dark hair. Bright green eyes. Focus, [MC]. I scold. You have a…a someone.

My phone buzzes.

ERIC SENT A PHOTO.

ERIC: What do you make of this?

I sigh and click on the photo. It’s of—some object. Much like the one that was addressed to me on the envelope in Adam’s glove compartment. The image is a bit different—but I don’t know enough about what it means to have an answer as to why.

ME: Was this one addressed to me?

ERIC: Nope. Ash.

“Are you okay?” Phil asks.

I clear my throat. “I’m a popular person—apparently.” A thought strikes. “Have you ever heard of a place called Redlog Pines?”

Phil frowns. “No.”

I turn to look at the stranger. “You?”

“Redlog Pines is a small town about two hundred miles north of Duskwood.” He answers. “Known for their wooded forests, much like Duskwood.”

“Why are you looking into a place with forests as creepy as ours?” Phil asks, incredulously. “Didn’t you get enough of that with Hannah’s case?”

“Yeah.” I sigh. “You would think.”

“Hey, [MC]!”

I wince at the sound of Dan’s voice. Shooting Phil a look that screams please help me to which he shakes his head amusedly, I turn and plaster on a fake smile as I take in the shocked looks on Cleo and Lilly’s faces. I should have known better than to come to The Aurora and talk to Phil when the three of them were having a conversation across the room. I should have known they would sooner or later see me. I just hoped it was later.

“Hey.” I hop off my stool and make my way across the bar to them. “It’s, uh, fancy seeing the three of you here.”

“What are you doing here?” Cleo asks.

“I haven’t really figured that out.” My eyes meet Lilly’s. “It sounds crazy to say it out loud. But I was hoping that—I’m not sure if Lilly told you—”

“That Jake’s alive.” Cleo nods. “None of us ever really thought he wasn’t.”

I don’t think she means it as a dig—but it still feels like one. Like she’s saying you gave up on him you gave up on him you gave up on him even though she’s not and she didn’t really know him and the only person I can talk to at this table who even might understand is Lilly and even—Jake didn’t confide in her the way he did me.

“Right.” I acknowledge. “So I thought that maybe if I came here, I could trace his steps from when he was here and—I haven’t really thought that far ahead. It’s not like I thought he left me any clues in the forest or anything like that. I don’t think he expected me to be here. He hadn’t wanted me to be the last time we talked. But that was before everything happened.”

Lilly’s eyes track behind me. “Does Jake still have Nymos on your phone?”

“Uh.” I furrow my brows. “I think so. I hadn’t heard from him in a while, but I went back and read through our messages after I talked to Alan and…my phone glitched, like it used to when Jake had hacked it. And then this message appeared on my screen.”

“And by chance, can Nymos track your location?”

“What—” I shake my head. “Maybe. I don’t think I ever really asked him. It didn’t seem necessary at the time.”

“Uh huh.” She focuses on me once more. “Let’s say, for one minute, that Jake has access to Nymos who has access to your location.”

Cleo must catch onto something I’m not sure of. “Jake didn’t want you here.”

“Uh, thank you?”

“You know that’s not what I mean.” She waves me off. “He didn’t want you in Duskwood. He had been adamant about that when we were talking about the mine. That’s why he went. If you showed up in Duskwood—”

“Nymos would have alerted him.” Dan finishes.

“Okay…” I’m not entirely sure I’m on the same page as them. “So—you think that Jake found out when I came to Duskwood.”

“Correct.” Lilly beams like she just solved life’s greatest mystery.

“And you think he would—come find me?”

She smiles sympathetically at me—like I’m the world’s biggest idiot for not realizing what she has been trying to say sooner. “I think he already has.”

“You think Jake’s in Duskwood.” I deadpan.

“[MC].” Cleo grabs my shoulders and turns me around. “We think he’s in this bar.”

Stranger, as I had nicknamed him—AKA the guy sitting beside me at the bar, with Phil and Redlog Pines (which he probably only knew about because of me) and the whole Hannah being kidnapped and not taking any of the credit thing—was looking back at me. So was Phil. Like they thought I was the crazy one. Like it would’ve been so hard for him to look and me and say it’s me or anything that might have clued me into the fact that—

“Jake?” I whisper, because I’ve lost quite a bit of sleep over the past couple of months and I’m not one hundred percent sure what—or who—I’m seeing is real. “Are you here?”

He tilts his head and smiles at me. Actually smiles. A bit shyly, like it’s something he’s not used to doing, but maybe like it’s something he could get used to. And I think about how terrible I probably look right now because I’m not wearing makeup and my hair is tousled from constantly pulling at it and my clothes are wrinkled from the plane and the police station and I look like a mess. But our relationship has never been about looks. Clearly. I didn’t even know the person I’d been talking to until Lilly and Cleo and even Dan pointed out the obvious.

“If I—” I close my eyes and open them again. Nope. Still there. “I need you to still be there by the time I reach you because it’s been a—” I sniffle. “—it’s been a rough few months and I don’t think I could handle you disappearing again.”

He stands from the stool he was sitting on and shuffles his feet. Like he’s not quite sure where he’s supposed to stand. If he thinks about moving, I’ll tackle him onto the floor of The Aurora and then apologize to Phil later. It feels like everything I wanted is right here in front of me. And I’m scared to death that it’s not real.

“What’s one thing you would take with you if you were stranded on an island?”

His smile stretches. “My computer.”

And that—that’s what breaks me. I think I might start blubbering like an idiot but I don’t remember the time it takes for me to cross the measly twenty feet between us. All I remember is grabbing his black hoodie—because of course—and dragging him to me. I don’t kiss him, despite how much I want to, because I don’t want our first kiss to be tainted with my snot and tears. Instead, I bury my face in his collarbone and wrap my arms around his neck and hold on for dear life.

Because I can. Because he isn’t dead.

“Y—You’re here.” I pull back and cup his face with my hands. “How are you here?”

“You came to Duskwood.” He responds, and then—hesitantly—he presses his lips to my forehead in a kiss. “Alan called you.”

“He found your things in the forest.” I whisper back. “He said they’d been there a while. The police hadn’t searched the forest because they assume you died in the mine.”

“They aren’t looking for me here.” He confirms. “I didn’t expect it to take so long for them to find my belongings, but I anticipated that you would find out. At the time, it wasn’t safe for me to reach out and contact you. They kept on my trail for a while before they assumed I died in the mine with Richy.”

“Why didn’t you contact me then?” I ask. “Is it because of what I last messaged you? I didn’t mean it—I swear, I thought you were dead. If I had known you were alive, I would have waited, however long it took. I wasn’t trying to give up on you.”

“Hey.” He places both hands on either side of my face. “I know. I know that, [MC]. That was never why I didn’t reach out to you. I know you said you wanted this life with me. But I didn’t want that for you. But I was selfish. I couldn’t let you go. So I was trying to find a way to make both of those things true. But I was always coming back to you.”

“And did you?”

“Come back to you?” He asks.

I sniffle. “Find a way to make both of those things true.”

“Not entirely.” He admits. “Nymos alerted me you had boarded a plane headed in the direction of Duskwood and I—” He shook his head. “I knew I would find you here.”

“You could have found me sooner.”

He lets go of my face and he feels like he takes my skin with him. “It wasn’t that easy.”

“It could have been.” I demand.

I’m angry again. Now that I know he’s alive and okay and that he could have found me, I’m angry that he didn’t. I told him I would choose that life with him. Over and over and over. He didn’t need to make the decision for me. He didn’t need to try and protect me. And yes, maybe the fact that he did makes my heart flutter a tiny little bit, but that’s besides the point.

“I told you before you left me.” I tell him and I’m aware it sounds like we’ve been in a relationship for five years and I’m aware that everybody in here is watching and listening in on our conversation and they probably all know we’re who we are, two people involved in helping to find the kidnapped Hannah Donfort, and maybe that’s all we’ll ever be in this town. But I would rather be the girl who found Hannah Donfort in Duskwood with him than be me anywhere else. “You told me you would let me go with you.”

“That was before I told you I loved you.”

My heart skips a beat. It screams I love you I love you I love you back, but I say— “What does that have to do with anything?”

He looks somewhat amused. Like he knows I would never hold it against him. It’s clear to both of us that I wouldn’t because even though I’m glaring up at him with my furrowed eyebrows and my lips pouted, I’m still pressed tightly against him. His hands—even though they’ve moved from my face—are now resting on my hips. Pulling my tighter to him. There’s no space in between us. If it was up to me, I’m pretty sure there never would be again.

“[MC].” He says, and oh god I wish he would say my name every day for the rest of his life. “Have I—in the short time we have known each other—ever struck you as the type of person who says I love you? But with you…” His words are a whisper against my lips. “It’s easy to fall back into old emotions with you.”

“I want to be angry with you.” I tell him.

He shakes his head. “No, you don’t.”

“No, I don’t.” I agree. “But I might be if you don’t kiss me.”

He brought one finger underneath my chin and tilted it up until our lips were separated by a fraction of an inch. My eyelids fluttered. I didn’t care that everyone in here was about to see just how much Jake meant to be. I didn’t care because I had waited too long for this. And then—just as I’m leaning toward him to press our lips together, he whispers— “[MC]?”

“Hm.” I acknowledge.

“Who’s Eric?”

My eyelids crack open and I shove at his chest. “That’s what you’re worried about right now? Here I am, in front of you, covered in snot and tears and who-knows-what-else because you’re here right now, and you’re worried about some guy I don’t even know?”

“Who’s Eric?” He repeats.

“Ugh.” I run my hands through my hair and take a step back. “I don’t know. He’s the other side of Thomas or whatever you want to call him. If we lived in a different town.” I glare back at him and try not to admit that I think his jealous side is a little cute. “He messaged me. Thought I picked up his friend from some parking lot and I didn’t, but his friend sent him my number, and it was Hannah all over again. I’m trying to help them.”

“This Adam has been sending you a lot of videos.”

“You know I hate when you hack my phone.” I complain, even though I really don’t. Even though I had prayed for him to help me with this case. “I really don’t know Adam. Like—even less than I know Eric.

“But you know Eric.”

“For like a week.” I reassure. “He added me to this group chat with him and like three other friends of his. They’re desperate to find Adam who has apparently dropped off the face of the earth and I don’t know what to do. I had you with Hannah’s case. And you knew her. And they—” I look over my shoulder at Cleo and Dan and Lilly, who are pretending like they’re not listening in even though I know and Jake knows they are. “—they knew her. And obviously Adam’s friends must know him but I don’t and you don’t and there is no Jake in Redlog Pines.”

“I don’t trust him.” He shakes his head. “Any of them.”

I laugh. “Jake, you didn’t trust half the people in this bar when we first started talking.” I look over at Phil and then Dan. “It doesn’t mean they committed a crime. If I had backed off when you asked me to help you find Hannah, we may never have.”

“I thought that was all thanks to me.” He sounds smug, like that little smiley face he loved to annoy me with (AKA make me fall in love with him). “Did he flirt with you?”

“No.” I deadpan. “I think he was focused on his missing friend.”

“I was focused on my missing sister.” He shoots back.

I close my mouth. Alright. He has a point. But I wasn’t flirting with Eric. He was focused on finding Adam and I was focused on mourning—and then finding—Jake. Maybe it felt like Eric and I were two sides of the same coin. Maybe that’s why I agreed to help him. Because I didn’t want to happen to him what I thought had happened to Jake—to me.

“You’re being ridiculous.” I say instead. “How do you think I could ever entertain the idea of being with somebody else when for the past three months—more than that if you count the time we have actually had together—I’ve been focused on you? On discussing Hannah with you and then talking to you about anything and everything and then worrying about you and then hating you a little for convincing me you should me the one to go into the mine and then mourning you when it was hard to even think about you and then finding you?”

His eyes are wide. I think I’ve rendered him speechless. Which—serves him right. I know he’s not somebody who serves their feelings up on a silver platter. I know that. Obviously, I knew that from the first time I spoke to him. Back when he was nothing more than ??? and I was almost convinced that Dan was right and he was the Man Without A Face—a thought that I now hate with everything in me. But I need him to trust me. Jealousy streak and FBI and the missing persons cases aside, he needs to trust me.

“Trust me.” I cup the sides of his face again. “He’s nothing like you.”

He swallows. “Some people might consider that to be a perk.”

“I don’t.” I say.

And then I’m kissing him and it feels like coming home.

[sickeninglyshoujo]

Idk if you do requests or suggestions n stuff like that, so feel free to ignore this, but how do you think Simon would feel about a significant other who got caught in an explosion or something that badly scared/disfigured half her face?

She’s not insecure enough to hide her face because of it, but she gets irritable when people stare, and will will sometimes make self deprecating jokes about being an, “eyesore” and how she, “ain’t exactly a beauty anymore”

a/n: this is actually the first time anyones requested anything from me and it made me so happy omg

masterlist here

buy me a ko-fi

warnings: mentions of injury, blood, scars, a dash of smut

word count: 1.4k

The scarring that covered a little under half of your face rarely bothered you. The occasional tightness or twinges of pain with the weather changes was the worst of it and nothing that couldn’t be remedied with a thin coating of bio oil and a gentle massage.

The appearance of the scarring didn’t bother you either, compared to the angry red skin that had first grown back after the explosion.

One misplaced charge by a newbie to blow open a door had sent you sprawled on your ass, your pride hurting. You’d hardly noticed the pain until you’d seen Johnny white as a sheet when he kneels down over you, “Don’ worry lass, ‘ve gotcha.”

“Johnny?” You ask, a little out of sorts from the shockwave of the charge.

“Lass, ‘ve gotcha!” He affirmed, stripping your helmet and his tac gear, before his thin cotton vest was pressed over your face.

“Ah know, lass, best ah can do now.”

“Can’t see, Johnny…”

“Hush, lass, gotta keep you covered. Yer in a state… Bleedin’ through already.”

Johnny kept heavy pressure on your face, barking out orders at the others on how to complete the mission, all the while holding his vest pressed tightly, so tightly onto your face.

“S-soap, i’ hurts,” you moaned.

“Hush, lass, we’ll get out soon,” His hands disappeared from your face and you were being hauled up into his arms, “Gotta finish the mission then we’ll get you to a medic, promise.”

Ghost is in the medical wing before your wounds have even been cleaned, “Where’s the fucking shithead who placed the charge!”

You blink, swiping at some of the blood covering your face.

“The rookie’s still in debrief, Ghost, she only came here because she needed medical,” Soap says.

“Get that little asshole in here, he’ll need medical by the time I’m done with him.”

The healing had been slow and painful as your nerves knit themselves back together.

“You don’ have to worry about getting revenge on the rookie, lass,” Johnny said one day as he visited you in the medical wing, “Ghost has been at the poor dog’s heels, not giving him a moment’s rest. Think he’s about to keel over and die from the amount of suicides hes been given.”

Ghost sleeps in the armchair next to your bed.

Ghost helps to remove the stitches after you insisted on not returning to the hospital.

Ghost is the one who helps to massage the medicated creams on while you grit your teeth at the bone deep pain that radiates.

Ghost is the one ready to bite off heads when people so much as let their eyes linger on the raised and angry skin.

“Don’t worry about it, Simon, I really don’t mind the looks much. People are just wondering what happened,” The mission had been need-to-know and even the details of your injury weren’t allowed to leave confidential briefings.

Your opinion changes as your scars settle into a raised and mottled mauve, pockmarks and dents covering half of your face, the stares on base continue.

“What, you’ve never seen an eyesore before? I think you’d be used to looking at one in the mirror every morning with a face like that,” You snapped at a new recruit who had completely stopped in his tracks, mouth opened in shock at your appearance, “Meet me in the gym tomorrow at oh-six-hundred. You’re going to learn to respect your superiors' battle wounds the hard way,” You snarled out at him.

Off base, the stares are worse so you begin to limit your time on leave.

You grit your teeth and set your face in a hard line in public, schooling your expression so that people don’t notice the way that their wide-eyed glances hit you like punches.

You don’t notice how fewer stare when Ghost is around, he’ll glare them down over your head and make them scurry away before their eyes even reach you.

You don’t notice the way Ghost’s eyes darken in the rec room when you make a joke to the lads about being “damaged goods” and “Frankenstein” even if your eyes are filled with tears of laughter as you cackle at your own jokes.

“Don’ like hearing you talk like that,” Simon corners you after you leave the rec room to refill your drink.

“Jesus Christ! Simon! You nearly gave me a heart attack!” You clutch your chest where your racing heart resided, “Give a girl some warning before I attach a bell to you.”

He didn’t speak for a beat, “I don’t want to hear you calling yourself ‘damaged goods’ anymore, love.”

“Just speaking the truth, Si,” You gestured at your face, the still painful and shiny skin, “You can’t tell me you haven’t thought it too? I know I wasn’t winning beauty contests before, but now I would probably be better as a scare actor.”

“Tha’s not true.”

“You don’t have to be nice to me just because I’m your girlfriend!”

“If I was bein’ nice I’d tell you tha’ you were the scariest,” Simon begins, still kissing down the line of scarred flesh, now reaching your chest, free of scars.

“You’re so pretty,” Simon murmurs against the line where healthy flesh met mottled scarring, “Want you to say it back to me, love. Need to hear you say it.”

The healthy skin of your face began to flush, nearly matching your scars in color, “Si-”

“I need you to know how pretty you are to me, before and now,” His kisses continue tracing your healed wounds, “Never seen a prettier bird.”

His hands trace your hip bones, settling at their crest, “Before I could only think how soft you were, that I had to protect you on missions. Nearly got my head blown off more than once. Now all I can see is how strong you are,” His hands begin to trail lower, petting over your stomach and then lower still.

“There she is,” He coos when you jump as his fingers make contact, “Now tell me how pretty you are for me doll, wanna hear you say it before I make you cry it f’ me.”

He makes you cry that night.

He switches from nipple to nipple, “Say it, lovie,” He tells you as he pauses to thumb at your nipple, giving his mouth a break.

“‘M pretty,” You whimper out.

“Again,” he says, kissing down your stomach, “Give yourself another compliment, sweet girl.”

“Si!”

“I’ll help you pretty girl,” He coos at you, in between mouthing at your hip bones, “You’re strong, now say it.

“I-I’m strong,” Now his mouth travels lower still, you wriggle trying to rush him into going faster. He can tell your game and deliberately pulls his mouth off, “You’re impatient too, lovie, but I’ll forgive it and give you what you need if you give me another compliment.”

“‘M not an eyesore!”

“That’s right, you’re beautiful, lovie,” He finally lowers himself to give tiny licks at your clit sending you jerking up into his mouth.

“Everytime you say those things about yourself it drives me mad that you don’t see what I do. Even with your scars you’re still beautiful and sexy and knowing you’re all mine makes me hard as a fucking rock.”

You whimper under him, trying to grind down onto is tongue to get more, more, more.

“So pretty for me, pretty face, pretty body, pretty cunt,” Simon murmurs into you, pulling his mouth away just long enough to watch his fingers tease along your hole before slipping one inside, “Givin’ me the prettiest little moans when I touch…here,” He crooked his fingers inside of you and made you jerk under him, crying out.

“The scars just make you prettier, dove,” Simon says, “Shows me you’re real and can take anything the world can give you. That you can’t be taken from me.”

His words fizzle into your brain as you grind down onto his finger everytime it thrusts into you, “Si, more,” You pant out, “Need more.”

“Gimme another one, pretty girl.”

“‘M brave,” You can barely get the words out, torn between trying to whimper out praise to yourself to try and get Simon to do more or to beg him for it instead.

“Good girl, you’re listening so well,” He slid another finger inside of you, “You’re so brave sweet girl,” He kissed your thigh.

[hanibalistic]

#6F417E | EARTH-42 MILES MORALES.

genre | fluff, faint angst / reader is gn

synopsis | miles found you fainted in an alleyway one day, except you died two years ago.

word count | 8175

warning | briefe violence / use of spanish phrases translated from the internet :( let me know if i'm wrong about anything! / everything i know about e-42 miles morales is from the movie / this part deviates from the movie 

parts | one, two, three, four

There were four things you learned from what happened at the bank. 

One, Gwen's finishing touches to your glitch-prevention bracelet saved the essential parts of your body—neck down and hip up—from getting injured. Upon detecting the incoming air pressure released from the explosions, which the bracelet mistook as the effect of a glitch, it surrounded your torso with a protective shield that would have covered you fully if the blasts did not cause it to malfunction.

Two, the loyalty Rio has for her son was extraordinary. After Miles called her out to the back alley of the hospital building, she did not hesitate a second to sneak you into a vacant room and take from the hospital the medical supplies needed to treat you as best as she could. She did not ask any questions. It was one look on Miles’s anxious face, and she was on her feet, taking charge. Because of the safety measures Gwen placed in your bracelet, you did not sustain any fatal wounds, making it much easier for Rio to help you. The only problem you encountered was pain, a lot of it.

Three, Miles has done terrible things. He was the prowler, whatever that meant. The explosions were one of the significant steps in a bank heist that he, Uncle Aaron, and Gwen took up as a side project. Most of the time, they work on lucrative commissions offered by the likes of Kingpin, whoever that was. Kidnapping, assault, and even murder were not irregular to him. He confessed that he had killed someone before, and you asked him to stop it at that.

Four, after shutting yourself out from everyone, except for letting Rio bring you food occasionally, you realized you couldn’t care less about what Miles has done.

The thought haunted you, leaving you in an endless debate with yourself. How dare you let go of your conscience? How dare you treat a criminal with kindness? How dare you look a killer in the eyes and see someone different than their dirty past? To say you were distraught would be an understatement, as the accusations your mind kept throwing at yourself were the least troublesome hurdle to jump through. The most teeth-rotting matter was that you were guilty. You avoided seeing Miles because you knew once you did, the outrageous truth would hit you harder than the bomb blasts did. The fact that you still looked at him with love.

“Can I sit next to you?”

“Yeah–yeah. For sure.” 

You climbed on his bed and sat cross-legged next to him. Miles sucked in a breath when you touched knees, and suddenly, all his senses were focused on that particular contact spot. You picked at your fingers sheepishly, feeling rather silly about your week-long silent treatment. But you needed it for self-reflection and to come to terms with your conclusion. Miles waited for you to speak. He didn’t know if this was only a spur of the moment, and he wasn’t willing to take any risks that might chase you out of his room. 

“I thought about what you told me at the hospital,” you started, rubbing your hands. 

“I’m so sorry about what happened,” he said, turning his head ever-so-slightly to gauge your reaction. “I would never hurt you on purpose, [Name]. I really had no idea you were there.”

“I know,” you nodded with a faint smile, “I forgave you the night it happened.”

You felt he didn’t accept your forgiveness and supposed that was only natural. If you were in his shoes, the mental gymnastics you would do to keep yourself occupied with blam could rival his. The only thing that could get him to treat himself kinder would be time, specifically having you pass through it with him. Licking your lower lip, you rubbed your nose and hummed a soft, audible grin. He turned fully to you then, feeling less anxious.

“Miles, I don’t judge you for what you did or what you plan to do,” you said, your head mildly gesturing in emphasis. Concentrating in deep thoughts, you rubbed your eyes, sniffed comfortably, and faced him with a knowing upside-down smile. “Be it you have a reason or not, I don’t think I will ever–how do I say this? I don’t think I will distance myself from you, ever.”

He felt breathless, but it came from the incongruence between his mind and heart rather than the supposed relief that you accepted him. He was too accustomed to anticipating horrific reactions that he forgot people could be open-minded. You were not supposed to be okay with what he did. You couldn’t be okay with what he did!

“[Name],” he heaved out with an uncontrollable shake of his head, “my hands are bloody.”

You looked down at where he rested them on his lap. Were they? Miles’s hands may be bloody, but they were also a multitude of other things. They are a mother’s secret financial support; they peel the skin off fruits, stroke your hair when you cry to sleep and dance across your love handles in a ticklish haze. You reached out tentatively to hold them, finally realizing he was trembling. Was he scared? You didn’t react to it. His hands fit cozily in yours, as they always have, and suddenly, Miles didn’t fear the atrocity they were capable of. You broke him down, mellowed him out, rinsed him off all he’s ashamed of, and he—

“Mine will cover the stains for you.” You held up your interwind hands with a tight-lipped smile. “See? Can’t even see your palms anymore.”

—loves you, in a frightening way that it seemed like you felt the same way too. 

“[Name],” he hushed, his head dipping in exhaustion. “I’m not gonna stop berating myself.”

He wouldn’t, and it would hurt you less than it would hurt him.

You let go of his hands and watched him desperately scramble for you. It was a heartbreaking sight, even for a split second, to see his longing ragged out like an unwatered plant reaching for the faintest taste of rain. Getting your arms out and open, you refolded your legs into kneeling to pull him into a proper hug. Miles gritted his teeth to silence the screeching voices as he returned the hug immediately. When he closed his eyes and buried his face in the crook of your neck, feeling the usual crank of it because your neck was sensitive and ticklish, he began to calm down.

Feeling you pat his back, he supposed this was all anything should feel like. Love—a word capable of expressing an emotion of its terrifying caliber. What else could it be? True love is the inability to abandon, in the same way Miles waited for you even after you died, and you refused to let go of his cold-blooded hands made warm by holding yours. 

“I’m so sorry,” he said. “I would never hurt you on purpose.”

“I know.” You nodded with a sudden thoughtful hum. “Hey, you know what you can do to make it up to me?”

Miles perked up slightly and pulled away. He raised a brow when he saw the bashful smile on your face. You’ve got an idea, and he might not like it.

The pressure in your stomach dropped whenever Miles was pulled back to the ground by gravity. Not a second after reaching the floor, he was up in the air again, his boots allowing him to reach a much greater height and distance when he jumped. As the chilling air hit your face and hair, you realized Miles was right to bundle you up after he finally agreed to take you on a stroll high up in the air. 

When you raised the idea to him, his reaction was as he suspected: he did not like it. Or, well, he did not understand it.

You had told him about the faint memory of a floaty feeling the day of the bank accident, which, after he told you about him being the prowler, you could deduce had come from him taking an unconventional shortcut to the hospital. He made the mistake of admitting that he was hopping from roof to roof to get you there because the next thing you asked was for him to do it again, but this time you would be conscious of experiencing it. 

Perhaps he has possessed the convenience his prowler suit gave him for too long. He couldn’t understand being fascinated with the ability to be in the air. You briefly mentioned Spiderman and his interesting web-shooting function as an argument to get Miles to understand you, but how could he? He wasn’t even sure if Spiderman was real! Still, he caved into your wish, grabbed the boots he kept hidden in his closet because he refused to go anywhere with the risk of bumping into him for now, and brought you on a rooftop stroll. 

What was originally a safety hazard forcing his claws to wrap steel tight around your body soon shifted into something of ease. His heart grew in size at how much fun you were having, and for once, he reverted to the boy he was the first time he experienced the thrill this well-made suit gave him. He kept his eyes forward to map a path across the buildings, his claws helping him move closer to the sky. He heard your uncontrollable laughter, he wished he could see your eyes light up brighter than the moon above, and he envied the wind that brushed your face and hair. 

This was a good idea. This may be the single best thing he has done.

“Where are we going?” you whispered, tightening your arms around his neck.

“You’ll see. Hold on tight.”

Miles kicked his feet against the brick wall to hoist himself a good distance upward before forcing his claws through the concrete. He pressed the hand on the low of your back into his body, keeping you steady in one arm. You couldn’t bear to look around at the height you were stuck in, but the arm strength Miles has to support two weights while climbing up a tall building with one arm was surprising and, dare you say, attractive. 

The skyscraper was a place Miles hadn’t visited since ‘your’ death. Being here with you now did not make him feel better. He was careful where he stood on the edge of the highest point of the building; he wanted you to look over the bright borough.  

“Oh, no way! You brought me to the skyscraper?” you exclaimed, looking up at him. “You always said no when I wanted to come here.”

“I got reasons,” he huffed out quietly. Upon your silence, he peered down from the night view and saw you staring at him expectantly. He barely rolled his eyes in defeat. “You died here. You fell.”

The high-pitched hum you let out was comedically timed. Rigidly turning your head to face out, you could only imagine the exact height of this skyscraper as you could not see below the horizon. No wonder he didn’t let you on the ground—this would be one hell of a fall if history repeats itself. Miles chuckled lowly when you curled your arms tighter around his neck and slumped your weight further into him. You echoed his chuckle.

“Well,” you muttered, “definitely not letting go of you anytime sooner.”

“I’m not gonna either,” he said.

A sudden gust of wind blew at your face. You leaned closer to his neck for warmth, your eyes squinting at the building lights. It was too late into the night for the borough to remain bustling as in the morning, but the illumination from apartments, stores, and other high buildings made an equally homey view. The silence was enjoyable, too; just the open air and the inner sound of you counting your breath. 

“Was it embarrassing?” you asked suddenly, your voice hoarse.

“What is?”

“Me falling? I don’t know–“ your body shifted upward, forcing Miles to adjust to your new position–“did I look weird when falling? Did you see me fall? Did anyone see me fall–oh my god, were the police here?”

“I’m sorry. Where is this coming from?” he asked with a confused deadpan. “What are you even saying? None of that matters?”

“It actually does matter because I feel–“ you sucked in a deep breath dramatically–“I don’t like having too much attention on me, and if the police came, I feel that would be very awkward.”

“You trippin’.” He rolled his eyes.  

“What? That’s very valid!” You knocked your fist on the back of his shoulder. “Did I look weird when I landed? Did you see it? Did my brain splatter–“ You quieted down with an opened mouth when he flashed you a pointed look, but several suppressed giggles periodically left your lips as you moved your hands from his neck to cup his face. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to put that thought in your head! Don’t think about that!”

Miles’s eyes softened. He wanted to kiss the laugh lines around your mouth. “I wasn’t thinking about that.”

You breathed out the last of your giggles and then stared at him. He was thinking about you even with you here—you knew, you knew very well. Your fingers grew timid at his stare, but they refused to leave the curve of his face. They could only ghost across his skin in freckled spots, treating him with the care he has given you. Miles barely leaned into your touch. He tested the water first, afraid that you would pull away at his immediate engagement, and he fully pressed his palm to your hand when you kept it where it was. 

You brought his face to yours. “Hey!” you whispered with a soft grin when your nose touched. 

“Hey,” he returned. He was soft. You’ve made him soft, made him a messenger of affection. “Your hands are cold.”

“I know.”

You pursed your lips at the feeling of his nose scraping past the bridge of yours. He was leaning closer, inviting you to something more intimidating than standing on the edge of a skyscraper. 

“Miles.” your voice was hushed. “Miles, I’m shy. Can you kiss me first?”

He leaned forward to kiss you after dropping a relieved sigh. You closed your eyes at the sheer force of his desperation, your hands mustering up the courage to grip his face tighter and bring him to you. The taste of your lips cascaded over his conscience. You hit him, like a ton of bricks, like the feeling of flesh wrapped around a blade, like being in the center of a firework explosion. It was a feeling he would trade anything for; one could ask him for a lifetime in return for a second of your lips on his. 

“Woah! Did you forget you’re on the run, Miles?”

“Oh, jeez! Mayday, don’t look!”

You two broke away immediately at the uninvited voices. Miles puffed air into his cheeks with an eye roll, not even attempting to hide how irritated he was at the interruption. Still heaving from the kiss, your brows furrowed when you came face to face with four outrageously different-sized figures, all dressed in a variation of a Spider suit, with a literal toddler wearing a Spiderman mask too small for her head. 

“Who…?” you started slowly. “Spidermen…? Spiderman’s sidekicks?”

“Now that’s just disrespectful,” the one with spikes on his head commented.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you muttered in response.  

“Who are you guys?” Miles asked defensively as he took a few steps back. He held you closer to him, his knees barely buckling in preparation to run. 

“How could you forget your mentor, Miles?” The man took off his mask and opened his arms as an introduction. “It’s me! Peter!”

“Oh my god, it’s Spiderman.” You slapped Miles’s chest to be let down on the ground, but he refused. Although his hair color changed, and he looked relatively scruffier than you remembered on the news, those features could not be mistaken. That was the face of the superhero you grew up seeing. “I thought you died. It was all over the news!”

“How could I be standing here if I died?”

“You know him?” Miles questioned. “I don’t know him.”

“Apparently not?” you mumbled. “Maybe he faked his death somehow?”

“Wait, what about me? You remember me! It’s Pavitr? We fought together! You saved my girlfriend’s dad, Inspector Singh?” He pointed over to his friends, his hair bouncing lusciously. “With Gwen and Hobie?”

“Gwen?” you and Mils exclaimed in unison. Her eyes widened at the sudden collective attention.

“Dude, what are you wearing?”

“Gwen, you’re a Spiderman–err, woman?”

“Okay, you’re seriously playing up the Spiderman jokes?” Miles deadpanned as he arched his neck to look at you.

You pulled a face before swinging your arms to gesture at five newcomers. “They’re literally here. Spiders, all of them!”

“I’ve never seen spiders stand on two feet.”

“Clearly, you haven’t seen a lot.” 

Miles sniffed with distaste. “Right. I’m gonna listen to someone with spikes on their head.”

“Miles!” you exclaimed with a harsh pinch to his cheek, then you turned to apologize. “I’m sorry. I think they look super cool.”

Taking a step forward, Gwen promptly eliminated the ongoing conversation by taking off her mask to reveal herself to you both. You tilted your head. She looked nothing like the Gwen you knew, and from her furrowed brows and darting eyes, she knew too. After a prolonged stare between you and Miles, the puzzles in her head piecing together, her relieved sigh was barely noticeable as realization hit her. She turned to her team with a shake of her head.

“This isn’t the Miles we’re looking for,” she said. “This is Miles from this Earth.”

“I knew that already,” Hobie smirked, hands in his pockets. “With the braids and all.”

Pavitr gasped with widening eyes. He pressed a hand to his chin and nodded. “Oh wow, I didn’t even register that. You look good, Miles!”

You punched Miles’s chest when he kept a brooding silence. He scoffed, smacked his teeth in dismay, then slurred out, “Thanks.”

“Okay, wait! Hold on, hold on!” Peter yelled without having gathered his thoughts. He shifted the weight of his legs, leaning on one hip, and pinched the bridge of his nose as a monotonous thinking noise churched out of his throat in a flat line. “But how? Our watch told us he was here. It gave us the signal that someone from Earth-1610 is here.”

“Someone is,” Gwen said. She turned around slowly, a look of uncertainty, then she pointed at you. “It’s them.”

None of them explicitly explained what they were talking about, but using your experiences and the confusing context clues, you could easily decipher the problem's gist. Something was happening on a multi-universal level. You didn’t know what exactly, but this felt to be a problem regarding that.  

“Gwen, I know you thought you explained the issue but you didn’t,” Peter muttered. He whipped his body around to you and held both hands in the air in a chopping motion. “Are you a Spiderman?”

“No.”

“Not you, big guy. You!”

“Oh, me?” You pointed at yourself for clarification and shook your head. “No, but there is one where I came from. Technically there are two, but the original one died, and he looked almost exactly like you! Just different hair color and… ski–never mind.”

“First of all, I had a feeling you were gonna call me fat. I’m not. I just look like a dad now, which I am. I have to clarify, okay? This is all dad weight, and this cutie-pie is my daughter, Mayday!” Peter said as he gestured toward himself and at Mayday. Then, he burst into a fit of confused noises. “Second, where you came from?” he repeated after you incredulously, paused for a brief moment, and then turned to Gwen, his eyes rolling. “Okay, yeah. I think I know what you’re talking about.”

“Psst… what are they talking about?” Pavitr whispered from the side, unknowingly having inched closer toward Hobie, who leaned down to his height for an explanation.

“That lad is Miles’s lookalike from this Earth. The one he’s clutching to him like a madman is from our Miles’s Earth, which is bonkers 'cause how did they even get here?”

“They’re not from here?” Pavitr widened his eyes. “That’s not good!”

“How so?” Hobie stood up straight.

“Oh, you know, with Miguel and everything,” Pavitr said as he twiddled his thumbs. “Actually, maybe not! I’m sure Miguel isn’t that obsessed about all of this.”

Just after his voice dropped, a portal emerged from behind where Miles stood. The second he noticed the faint glow flashing over his shadow, he jumped away to stand with the newcomers he was still wrecking his brain to familiarize himself with. You stared at the portal with wide eyes. Not once in your life have you seen technology like this, and when you glanced over at the others, you could see a certain dread on their face that peaked your heart rate. What got a bunch of Spider-people so agitated? It must be a real threat.

“Won’t you look at that,” Miguel appeared from the portal, his eyes looking as dead as usual. Following behind him were Jessica and Ben. “The whole gang is here.”

"How did you even find us?" Peter exclaimed in annoyance.

"Your watch, obviously." Miguel pointed at Peter's chest. "Your daughter took it.”

Peter gasped as he looked down at Mayday. He didn't notice it before, but sitting loosely around her wrist was the watch Miguel gave him that he took off before Gwen came to find him. He squeezed his eyes shut—shame on him for letting the same thing happen twice, even though neither was technically his fault.

Hobie breathed out a chuckle at Mayday before he elbowed Pavitr. “Do whatever you want, but I’m telling ya, you got to watch out for the things you say. You’re gonna jinx up the whole place like this.” Bringing his leg up so he could march over to Miles and stand behind him, he bent forward until his face was within Miles's earshot. "I suggest you run home now."

"What? Why?" Miles whispered, stepping away from the proximity. His attention shifted when Peter's obnoxious voice rang through the air.

"Jesus, Miguel! What do you want now?"

"The same thing you all want," Miguel said as he rubbed his wrist. He snapped his head over at Miles, who gulped when his gaze averted to look at you. He stared for a bit too long. "People who are not supposed to be here."

You. That man was talking about you. Miles didn't know what business he had. If anything, he thought himself a much bigger threat. But Miguel was looking at you when he spoke, so it must be.

He bolted the second he made that conclusion. He would deal with it if he later discovered he had come to the wrong one. For now, with the warning from a man whose words he could barely understand and a bunch of context clues he haphazardly strung together on the fly, he was unwilling to take any risk that would make him lose you. Wrapping his arms around your body to hold you into a hug rather than a carry, he instructed you to hang tight and took a few bold steps backward to the skyscraper edge so he could drop off its height.

"Wait, hold on, Miguel!" Peter shot his arm out to squeeze Miguel's shoulder when he saw that Miles would be followed. "You're after the wr–"

"Peter!" Gwen shot out a web aimed at Peter's back and immediately pulled him away from Miguel, preventing the man from telling the truth. Taking the slipping chance, the three slipped past in pursuit of you and Miles.

"What are you doing?" Peter asked incredulously, his eyes following the fading backs of his once colleagues.

Pavitr and Hobie approached them to catch up on their conversation. 

"Let Miguel chase him," she said sternly, her eyes fixated on Peter. "It works in our favor that he is occupied with the wrong Miles. It buys us some time to find our Miles."

Peter opened his mouth to speak, but no thoughts leaked out. Gwen's logic was sweet and sound. It would make everything so much easier for them if Miguel was temporarily out of the picture. But there was a pierce he felt, through his supposed moral compass, not at the blatant lie of omission he has to tell but at the fact that he would willingly send a grown man after two children, one of whom was just an ordinary civilian.

"Gwen, I don't feel like that's the right thing to do," he sighed.

"Maybe we can try to help both of them?" Pavitr suggested. "We can find Miles as fast as we can and then help the other Miles."

"They won't last," Peter said. "I don't know if that Miles has superpowers, but he's definitely not like us. I don't think their friend is capable of anything, either. Miguel will get to them before we can be done."

"You're saying if we want to help, we ought to do it now," Hobie sniffed.

"That's what I just said."

"I know. I was just repeatin' it."

"We can't afford to be distracted!" Gwen argued, her tone releasing from being firm to a pathetic, exasperated plead. "Don't forget, you're the one who exposed Miles's location in the first place. And now you've exposed ours!"

"Woah–Gwendy, calm down," Hobie said with a light pat on her shoulder. He spun to face Peter, humming at his distraught expression, then turned to meet in a general direction. "We're wasting an awful lotta time arguing about nothing. How about we get a move on, yeah? Pavitr's plan might work if we go now.”

"Yeah! I agree!" Pavitr clapped in agreement. “We just need to go in quick and come out even quicker!" 

“That made no sense,” Peter mumbled. 

“Maybe not to you.” Hobie shrugged.

“Focus, you guys!” Gwen hollered over the wind, catching everyone’s attention. She pursed her lips, her mind filled with a singular goal: save Miles Morales. “I’m going regardless of what you say," she said as she stepped to the edge of the skyscraper. Before she tipped over, she added, "I'm gonna save my Miles."

"Dramatic," Hobie chuckled with big strides forward, seemingly to follow after Gwen. "Better catch up, lads." He clicked his tongue confidently and mocked a salute as he fell off the edge. 

Miles was on the run. You already knew, but that fact punched you in the guts with even more velocity when you realized how quickly your surroundings were passing through. He was no longer holding you in an embrace-like position. After he made it down the skyscraper, Miles hoisted your upper body over his shoulder with his arms circled around your waist so he could better run at his regular speed, which you learned was abnormally fast, much different than the speed he picked when he was strolling around the area. 

Closing up behind you was a man in a Spider suit furiously galloping on all fours. You didn't even know they ran like that. You thought all Spider-people swung with their webs. Running like this may be faster than swinging around. Or perhaps the man's sheer will to catch the two of you amped up his speed. The only reason why Miles was able to periodically distance from Miguel was that he knew this Brooklyn like the back of his palm; all the detours and shortcuts were mapped in his brain, and he knew how to properly mix and match their usage. 

"Miles, he's crazy," you whispered, clutching his shoulders. "He's running like a wolf."

"Tu puta madre–" he spared a glance back and widened his eyes–"why is he chasing us? What did we even do?" 

Hopping off a building and into an alleyway, Miles slipped to the side and hid behind a wall. He pressed his back against the concrete wall to hide behind the shadow. 

The more he ran, the more he saw how it only delayed the consequence of getting caught. He could run home as suggested, but bringing trouble directly to his mother wasn’t ideal. On top of that, it may expose his prowler identity, which was the last thing he wanted. He could keep running, but eventually, he would get tired. He wouldn’t overestimate his ability to escape; a man that size running on all fours has the kind of stamina he could not rival. He had to fight with gimmicks to win, and his first option was to hide.

Taking the time to reposition you on his shoulder, apologizing with amusement when you shivered at his hands gliding past your hips to your waist, Miles carefully placed you back on the ground. When your feet hit the ground, he reached for the crown of your head, squeezing your head and trailing both hands down to your face. He pushed your face together, forcing you to pucker your lips. This was supposed to be a fun night. He felt terrible that this was how things led to. 

“How are you feeling?” he asked, smoothing his thumbs over your cheeks. “Are you okay?”

For the time being, you felt like you could be. His hands were warm, and his touch even warmer. 

“I’m sorry. This is my fault.” You smiled bitterly once he let go of your face. “He’s here for me, but I don’t know why.”

You haven’t done anything. Even arriving on this Earth was not a purposeful doing. You made no significant changes to this Brooklyn; even if you tried to, you would not have succeeded. You regularly lived as you would have in the universe you came from; staying at home, doing house chores, learning how to cook, getting groceries, watching movies, maintaining a good friendship, and falling in love. None of those were criminal activities! You have done nothing remarkable for a random Spiderman to get so upset with you!

“Be honest, [Name],” Miles started, touching your shoulders. He took a deep breath before squinting. “Are you secretly a world-class criminal?”

“If jumping universes is a crime, then–“ You hummed thoughtfully before shaking your head in disagreement. “Yeah, no. I’d just be a regular criminal because I only jumped once, and it’s by accident, too.”

“Actually, I never asked, but how did you get here?”

You suppressed a burst of laughter. “Are we seriously gonna talk about this now?”

“My bad,” he held his hands up in mock surrender, “is now a bad time?”

“A super bad–“ You screamed when a figure abruptly slid upside down beside you. Instinctively, the hand initially reaching for Miles’s face deflected from its path to punch the intruder in the face.

Ben swung slightly on his web, a curse pushed out of his mouth at the impact of your fist. He hadn’t registered you to be a big enough threat that he failed to block your sudden attack. If it had been Miles’s gloved claws swinging at him, he likely would have reacted. Miles smirked, almost feeling a sense of pride at the sheer strength of your punch. While you profusely apologized for doing something you didn’t mean to do, he grabbed your hand and ran down the alleyway. Mid-way through, he tugged harshly at your arm to bring you in front of him so he could scoop you up as he picked up his speed.

“I can actually run pretty fast,” you complained lightheartedly.

“For sure, baby,” he mused, his feet screeching for an abrupt right turn when he heard Ben’s voice calling after you both. 

However, just as he turned a corner, he was met with the wheel end of a motorcycle. Miles raised a hand up to grip the spinning tire. Before he could dig his claws through the material and pop it, he felt himself being pushed back by the heavy force, so he, tensing his arm muscles, attempted to deter the bike's path before the millisecond of him getting thrown back. His back hit a brick wall, knocking his senses everywhere for a brief moment as he haphazardly reached to cover your head. When he looked up, he was only met with the yellow shades of a woman in red. He huffed; if there was any indication that these people were getting fed up, it would be hitting him with a motorcycle.

“Jessica. You caught them!” Ben exclaimed as he emerged from the shadow, a hand massaging his chin that was pulled into a sneer. His voice was weirdly raspy as if he was playing up a character. “That stupid kid punched me. How dare they.”

“You showed up out of nowhere!” you retorted with an accusing finger pointed at him. “Also, shouldn’t you be able to block my punch? You’re Spiderman! You can’t block a punch from a teenager?”

“This kid is talking back to me. I feel a little distraught. I don’t know how to talk to children.”

“Shut up, Ben.” Jessica waved her hand before she turned to you both. She observed as Miles hopped back to his feet and glared at her. You looked less menacing, but your furrowed brows spoke caution and ready disobedience. She sighed. Another pair of moody teenagers. Miguel would not be happy about this. “Look, we don’t have time for this. You need to go back to where you belong.”

You pursed your lips in dismay and shook your head. Miles pushed you toward him when you circled your arms around his neck, and you slightly averted your gaze from the woman to avoid confrontation. Jessica squinted her eyes at the way you two held each other, a sudden inkling developing that she desperately wished to be wrong—you fell in love with someone from a different universe. She already felt bad enough about what had to be done to Gwen. There was no wrong in sticking to what she believed in. It was just unfortunate that she had to treat teenagers mercilessly to do so.

“You two can write letters to each other,” she said after gathering her thoughts and reverting to professionalism. Her job was to return all anomalies to their world, not limited to villains. Getting off her motorcycle, she slowly walked over to Miles, who didn’t get the sense of running away because of her regular speed. When she was within an arm’s length, she grabbed your arm. “We’re leaving.”

“No!” you refused and tried to shove her off, but she was persistent. 

“Dude, stop!” Miles attempted to step out of reach.

“Dude?” Jessica repeated with wide eyes. “Your mama taught you no manners?”

“His mom is great!” you exclaimed as you snatched your arm away from her grip. Your irritated eyes turned into a glare.

Miles nodded. “Yeah, she doesn’t throw a motorcycle at people’s faces.”

“Okay, I’ve had it.” Jessica laughed in disbelief. “I was trying to be nice, but that’s out the window now.”

Deciding to ignore her harsh tugs at your arm, you resorted to making sure you never let go of Miles instead. You intertwined your fingers that met at a point of his neck and buried your face to his shoulders, tuning out the world. Fear lingered in your chest like a haunting ghost, and it dimmed somewhat when you zeroed in on the feeling of Miles’s grip on your body. You were still here. He was still with you, holding onto you with a death grip. And you thought this might resolve itself eventually. Maybe these people would let you go if you two struggled enough together. Or perhaps it wouldn’t end well, but at least you held on as best as possible. At least you tried.

“Miles Morales.” Everyone paused to look behind Jessica’s shoulder. Miguel stood tall and alarmingly brutal just a few feet away. His dead eyes shifted from the boy to you, and he tipped his head into a brief greeting. “And you.”

Jessica took a deep breath; the real threat finally showed up. She released her hand from your arm and turned to face Miguel. There was something she wanted to say, not to deter Miguel from his plan to take you back to your Earth, but rather a few trying words to prevent him from executing any more brutality, especially when you were as harmless as a dove. The last thing Miguel should have on his conscience was inflicting injuries on a regular civilian. It would be good for him in the long run. Before she could open her mouth to speak, though, Miles buckled his knees and jumped up high. He was making a run for it again, but before his feet even touched the top of the wall separating the streets, his body barely turning away from anyone, a red string caught onto your wrist and snapped you out of his arms.

“¡Mierda!” 

He caught onto your ankles, engaging in a tug-of-war with Miguel that did nothing but put a strain on your limbs. Clicking his tongue, he gave one final hard tug at your feet before letting you go. You screamed, your body swinging toward Miguel at full speed while Miles, fully utilizing his boots, ran to sneak up behind the man and shoved him forward so Miguel would collide with your flinging body. Letting Miguel stumble in confusion and, out of instinct, reaching his arms out to catch you from a hard fall, Miles jumped forward and did the job for him. He secured you in his arms, wasting no time to bolt away. But Miguel was phenomenally quick to regain his senses, and his eyes glowed a bright red once he realized how difficult Miles was being.

He leaped forward, fangs and claws out to grab Miles by the back of his neck. As he swung the boy around, you dropped to the floor and knocked your forehead against the dirt. Miguel slammed Miles into the closest wall, denting the red bricks. He squeezes the poor boy's neck, not entirely cutting the air out of his system but suffocating just enough to make Miles feel outrageously uncomfortable.

"Ay, would you stop that, big man? You're gonna kill the kid!"

White webs shot out and attached to each of Miguel's wrists. He could recognize that godforsaken voice anywhere—Hobie Brown. Noticing the webs on his wrists, he groaned lowly in irritation. He might just snap (if he hasn't already, this madman) if he has to come across one more obstacle. Not allowing Hobie a second to pull him away, Miguel squeezed Miles's neck tighter to pull him out of the dented wall and threw him across the alleyway to the other side. The collision collapsed a hole through the bricks, creating an unnecessary ruckus.

"Now you've gone and done it," Hobie muttered, looking at the destruction. 

Your jaw dropped anxiously. You could faintly see Miles under the debris, showing no signs of getting up. He couldn't have died. Not only would that become a personal problem, you simply refused to believe a childhood superhero figure would kill someone you know and love. Scrambling to your feet with quickened breath, you took a weak step forward, his name hanging quietly at the tip of your tongue. When he didn't respond still, you tried to run towards him only to be pulled back at your wrist.

You looked behind your shoulder to find Miguel facing away from you. His grip on your wrist was firm, almost bone-breaking, to serve a warning. The same portal you saw him arrive in opened up, creating a gust of unnatural wind, and he was pulling you toward it. You attempted to break away, but he was much stronger. Nobody around seemed to be able to help you, not even Punk-looking Spiderman, so the only thing left to do was to hyperventilate for sympathy. This felt like an impending doom, where doom was actually just a few steps away on the other side of a portal. 

"Wait, please don't do this. I don't want to go home. I want to stay here!" you cried, a migraine developing from how you kept turning back and forth to look at Miguel and Miles. "Why are you doing this to me? Please stop, please!"

Sympathy rested in the hands of those who couldn't help. Miguel was as stoic as a rock to your pleads, and you somehow expected him to be. It was just heartbreaking to be proven right how difficult things could get. You kept sucking in deep breaths and forgetting to release them, causing your chest to expand awkwardly. You didn't know what to do, but you've got to try something! Anything! 

"Wait–I haven't said it! I haven't–" a deep breath–"I haven't said goodbye! I haven't said I love you! Let me say goodbye, and I promise–" another deep breath–"I promise I'll leave with you. Please. I promise, I cross my heart."

Miguel paused, and that mere action took everyone aback. He pursed his lips, a flicker of remorseful nostalgia showing in his eyes as he recalled the sudden death of his daughter. You didn't remind him of himself, but your wish was similar to what he would have asked for if he ever could re-experience the tragedy—he would want to say goodbye. He would like to tell his daughter he loved her. Heaving a sigh, he pinched the bridge of his nose. At least you were cooperative; he felt he could be kinder in this case.

"Do not try anything stupid."

Once Miguel released your hand, you ran and fell on your knees next to Miles. Pushing the debris off his body, you scooped him onto your lap and caressed his face. Sniffing away a tearful voice, your voice ended croaking anyway when you called his name, "Miles?"

He opened his eyes meekly to see doubles. It took him a good minute to concentrate on your face, and he smirked when he did. The first instinct to take you and run away was defeated by a pained back and exhausted legs. He would not overestimate his ability, even through immense desperation. He wouldn’t get both of you far enough to not get served something worse. This appeared to be it.

”Mi cariño. Hey."

You laughed; you still had no idea what that meant. Miles refused to tell you, and he also got his mom in on it. But you figured it was a term of endearment. Miles took off his gloves to hold your hand, pressing your palm to his face as he stared at you. Somehow, he couldn't muster up the courage to cry despite the continuous drops in his chest. It could be a pride issue, or he didn't want you to see him suffer in your last minute together. Last for now, at least.

"You're going to leave me," he acknowledged.

"Not on purpose," you replied.

“I know,” he hummed. “You love me too much to do that.”

He had thought about it before. There must be people you were dying to go back to in your world. Not a classmate, no. Not even a friend. But a parent, perhaps? Family members? A pet, certainly? There has to be something waiting for you back in your home. There was no method for you to jump universes yet, but Miles figured if you were raging to go home, it would show. The fact that you blended into his life so casually and permanently, to a point where you memorized his schedules and knew where little trinkets were located in his apartment, told him you chose him over the life you used to have. Every day you woke up, you preferred a life with him in it rather than what you had before.

“You do love me, right?” Miles asked for assurance, his brows furrowing. “I didn’t hallucinate that.”

You squeezed his cheeks—gentle palms over bloodied skin, gentle palms over gentle skin. No more violence, not more crimes. He was but a boy you loved. He doubts your affection, and you would go home with him burned in the back of your head, finding his touch trapped beneath your flesh once stripped naked. From a universe away, Miles was all you would remember. Smiling, you peppered kisses over his brows, his eyes, his nose, and finally his mouth. When you pressed your forehead against his, you scrunched your nose and nodded. 

“I do love you, Miles.”

“Yay, score.” He chuckled, then his voice quieted down to a low hum only meant for you to hear. “I love you too, okay? Aqui y allá, mi corazón es tuyo.”

“Time to go, kid!”

You smacked your lips and puffed an exhale. Running your knuckles down the side of Miles’s face, you nodded to yourself as an encouragement to get on your feet. Your feet budged, then your knees, but instead of standing up, you only shrunk your body closer toward Miles. You willed your voice to say a farewell, but it couldn’t under the threat that this goodbye would be your absolute last one, so you cried instead. Fat tears silently rolled down your chin, caught on your tongue, and forced you to choke on them.

Jessica rubbed her eyes as soon as her voice dropped. She shouldn’t have let Miguel talk her into breaking the moment. Instead of moving, you only leaned your body down and pressed Miles to your chest, hugging him. A passive protest, perhaps. You were not directly struggling but weren’t listening to them, either. She eyed Miguel when he sighed in defeat. He wondered which one was worse—chasing a rebellious kid with Spiderman powers or this. This one sure made him feel like the bad guy if anything. 

He reached for a portable trap box and threw it toward you without hesitation. Before it could reach you, though, a web shot out and pulled it backward, causing the gadget hit Miguel in the face.

“You need to reconsider your morals,” Hobie said in a scolding tone as he walked up from behind everyone. “Trapping a kid in a box. Are you mental?”

He has been watching everything unfold from the shadows, and clearly, he realized the differences in how he saw you and how the other three saw you. Your lack of cooperation was a sign of rebellion, which could be considered so to a certain degree. But Hobie knew to consider other factors; he looked at the bigger picture. There was nothing you could do here, literally. One web shoot and you’d be caught, and you probably already knew that. Your so-called sign of rebellion was less chosen and more forced by the hands of emotional turmoil. You were about to be separated from the boy you were in love with. It would make sense that you were physically unable to be the person to walk away.  

If you were going to leave Miles Morales, you must be taken and nothing else. You stood by not leaving him intentionally. Miguel was going to do that for you, but Hobie decided to take a much gentler approach. Trapping you in a box when you’ve done nothing wrong was, as he said, fucking mental. 

“Don’t struggle, yeah? It makes me uncomfortable,” Hobie muttered as he reached for your waist and pulled you up. He slapped his hands on your shoulders dramatically and turned you around. “The portal is gonna feel doozy. You might vomit. If you feel like you’ll vomit, do it when we arrive at HQ. Preferably all over the floor. Just splatter it around like a sprinkler.”

“Huh…?” You did a double-take at what he said. “That’s disgusting.”

“Vomiting? Yeah. Vomiting on an establishment?” He hummed and tilted his head. “Debatable.”

“I’m sorry, but I really am having a hard time understanding you, Spiderman,” you said, your sobs increasing because you thought Hobie might take it as an insult. 

“Why are you apologizing? You haven’t said anything you shouldn’t,” he said, the panic in his voice unnoticeable. “Also, call me Hobie, not Spiderman.”

“I’m sorry,” you squeezed your eyes as if to produce more tears, “I know that’s your name. I just didn’t use it because we’re not close.”

“Don’t be silly,” Hobie mused, a hand slipping from the top of your head as a makeshift pat. “I’m more friends with you than those three over there.”

You let the faintest giggle of disbelief escape your lips and turned back to Miles. Hobie continued to pull you away from the floor and toward the portal, not taking a moment’s rest. You didn’t struggle against him; eventually, your hand slipped from Miles’s.

[skateordiebitch]

Enemies to lovers!Dom and him being in secretly in love with you because I’m a sucker for clichés lol💕

CABIN FEVER || D.F x reader

summary: dominic fike is your childhood best friend turned enemy. every conversation is a recipe for disaster... but, what happens when you guys have to share a room in a cabin for a weekend?

ah yes the enemies to lovers clichè...... love her dearly!!! dominic gives that vibe heavy for some reason LMAO. it was a little too easy to write this. anyways, per usual requests are open and enjoy!

Dominic and you had a rhythm to your rivalry — if you could call it that. It was the kind of relationship where you’d sooner pretend to be total strangers than acknowledge the magnetic, impossible-to-ignore pull between you.

The friends you shared, however, were not blind to this ongoing feud; they thrived on it, watching with half-amused, half-exasperated smiles every time you and Dominic ended up in the same room.

There was a long list of reasons why you couldn’t stand him. 

The ego was a big part, for one. He knew he was a big deal and didn’t care who knew it, throwing around his charm like it was a game, getting whatever he wanted without so much as lifting a finger. 

And the worst part? 

Everyone else seemed to eat it up.

Except you.

You found the arrogance insufferable. It didn’t help that he’d never hesitated to pick you apart, finding flaws and quirks he could tease, always seeming to know exactly how to get under your skin. 

If you made a comment about his music career, he’d fire back with a smirk, implying that you could only dream of being so successful.

The mutual friends between you knew better than to let you two share a ride to group outings. 

There was one infamous night, when you’d been forced to share an Uber home after a party. 

The whole drive was a back-and-forth argument that could have been the script for a rom-com — only there was nothing “romantic” about the way you hurled insults and Dominic rolled his eyes, making jabs about how you were “almost as stubborn as you were clueless.” 

It had gotten so heated that the Uber driver had kicked you both out halfway home.

And that became the norm. 

Snide remarks, bickering, and a constant battle of who could out-wit the other. It was never kind, never playful. If anything, it felt like every interaction was just barely avoiding a complete explosion.

Your ongoing rivalry with Dominic had become such a given that no one even tried to keep you two apart anymore. 

It was easier to just let you both simmer, each party assuming you’d work out your differences — or at least tolerate each other. 

But when your mutual friend, Kevin, decided to celebrate his birthday with a weekend trip to the mountains, the room assignments threw a wrench in everyone’s plans.

And there was no doubt that it wasn’t just a ‘coincidence.’

You practically laughed when he said, “You’re with Dominic.” Until you realized he was serious.

“No way,” you protested. “Oh, absolutely not. There’s no way.”

He just raised an eyebrow. “I’m not splitting you guys up at this point. You guys need to learn how to get along.”

“We aren’t five, Kev,” you say in protest, “I just don’t wanna be with… him.”

All Kevin did was laugh in your face, “Tell yourself, that. Maybe some forced time together will make you both act like normal human beings.”

You knew better than to argue when Kevin had that look on his face. That look that said ‘room with him, or don’t come at all.’

So, with no choice but to accept the arrangement, you found yourself sleeping in the same room with the one person you’d much rather avoid.

The cabin itself was beautiful, set against a backdrop of pine trees and snowy mountains. It was the sort of place meant for cozying up, but that idea made you laugh in spite of yourself as you and Dominic entered the small, shared room.

He tossed his bag onto the bed with a dramatic sigh, shooting you a glare. “This has got to be a fucking joke.”

“Yeah, tell me about it,” you muttered, already strategizing how you’d manage to avoid him for the next three days.

Unfortunately, there was no escape.

The room was too small, and the cabin was filled with your friends, all of whom seemed to think your bickering was just a “cute quirk.”

You threw your bag on the bed closest to the window, hoping to claim the best spot. Dominic followed suit, watching you like you’d just challenged him to a duel.

“Are you seriously taking the bed by the window?” he scoffed, throwing his own bag onto the other bed. “Typical.”

“Typical?” you echoed, raising a brow. “Oh, that’s rich coming from the guy who has to turn everything into a competition.”

He rolled his eyes, crossing his arms as he leaned back against the bed frame. “Right, because this is all about me. You’re the one who walked in here like it’s some sort of battleground. But sure, pull the victim card if it makes you feel better.”

“Victim?!” You could practically feel your blood pressure spike. “God, Dominic. You are actually unbelievable!”

“Glad to see I’m still under your skin,” he said with that infuriating smirk, his tone dripping with smugness. He leaned a little closer, his eyes glinting with mischief. “I’ll try not to keep you up too much tonight. You know, since you seem so... affected by my presence.”

You laughed, mirthless. “You really think that highly of yourself, huh? I can’t wait to be so far on the other side of the room I forget you’re even here.”

“Oh, please,” he shot back, feigning hurt. “You’d be bored to death without me around. Admit it. You’re secretly thrilled to have me as your little roommate.”

“In your dreams, Dominic.”

He leaned in, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “Funny, because I’m betting I’ll be in yours tonight.”

The weekend had barely started, and you already felt on edge, like you were navigating a minefield. 

“Whatever,” You say, unpacking your things.

“Just saying, you know the clichè, right?” Dominic asks, plopping down on his bed.

You shake your head, “What are you even talking about?”

“The clichè— Where the two enemies forced to be together? By the end of it, they’re in love.”

You almost burst out laughing, “You’re delusional, Dom.”

“Everyone knows that’s how this works!”

You nodded your head, “Yeah, it works in books and movies. Not real life, which you seem to not live in, anyways.”

Dominic seemed determined to make this the most unbearable three days of your life, and the worst part was, you couldn’t shake the thrill of it.

—

The first night passed in silence, both of you avoiding eye contact as you got ready for bed. 

“Sweet dreams, Y/N. Try not to wake up flustered.”

“Shut up.”

The room was so small that every little movement was noticed, every breath too loud. 

You lay on your side, facing the wall, determined to ignore the fact that Dominic was just a few feet away. But in the silence, you could practically feel his presence, that maddening, familiar energy filling the room.

In the morning, things didn’t get any better. You were both tired, and it only took a sideways glance from him to set you off.

“Dominic,” you said, voice laced with warning as you passed him in the kitchen.

“What? I haven’t even said anything,” he replied, but his eyes gleamed with amusement.

“You don’t have to,” you shot back. “Your whole existence is enough to irritate me.”

“Good to know,” he replied, arching a brow, his voice low. “Seems like I’ve made an impact on you.”

The tension was getting thicker, and your friends couldn’t help but notice. They threw each other subtle, knowing looks as if they were all in on some inside joke.

—

By the second night, the snowstorm had hit hard, trapping everyone indoors with no signal and no escape. 

You’d never been the kind of person who got easily bored, but being trapped with Dominic had a way of testing your patience.

Somehow, you’d all ended up playing a game of “truth or dare” — though, with Dominic around, it became less of a game and more of an excuse for him to test your limits.

“Truth,” you said, hoping for a harmless question from one of your friends.

But Dominic jumped in, his smirk unmistakable. “What’s one thing you actually like about me?”

You stared at him, momentarily thrown. “No, I’m not answering anything from you.”

Dominic scoffed, “Oh, c’mon, Y/N! That’s not fair, you asked, I answered.”

“No.”

“Yes,” He smirks, “Don’t be like this.”

You rolled your eyes, “Dominic, that’s not even a real question.”

“Oh, yes it is,” he replied, his gaze fixed on you. “And I’m genuinely curious. One good thing, that’s all I ask.”

Your friends laughed, but Dominic’s expression was all challenge. He knew you’d never say anything remotely kind about him — and you weren’t about to give him the satisfaction.

After a moment of silence, you sighed, rolling your eyes. “Fine. I guess you’re… persistent.”

“Persistent?” he echoed, brow raised. “That’s it?”

“That’s all you’re getting,” you replied, shifting uncomfortably under his intense gaze.

The boy groaned, obviously irritated at your answer, “Persistent. Right. That’s just code for ‘annoying,’ isn’t it?”

“Not everything’s about you,” you replied, tone sharp, though the heat from his gaze was already crawling under your skin. “Maybe it’s a compliment. Who knows?”

He chuckled, a low, grating sound. “You? Compliment me? Hell would freeze over before that.”

“Oh, trust me,” you shot back, “I’m regretting saying anything already.”

The game went on, but the room was thick with tension, a charged undercurrent that was impossible to ignore. 

Every time Dominic looked your way, you felt it — like a daring challenge, a spark, something that neither of you were willing to acknowledge out loud.

The night dragged on with endless rounds of “truth or dare,” and each turn with Dominic somehow turned up the heat. 

He was relentless, always choosing you to ask his questions, each one more infuriating than the last.

“Truth or dare?” he asked for what felt like the hundredth time, his voice smooth as silk, his gaze locked onto yours.

“Truth,” you answered, wary of whatever he’d throw at you next.

“What’s the worst thing about me?” he asked, the corners of his mouth lifting just slightly.

You scoffed, pretending to think. “Where the hell do I start?”

His eyes glinted, a mix of amusement and something darker, something that made your pulse race. “Try me. Hurt my feelings. Make me cry.”

“I’m not gonna make you cry,” You say, watching your friends get really good at being a laugh track. 

“So there’s nothing bad about me then, huh? You seem to be avoiding this one.”

“You’re the most egotistical person I have ever met, you never take anything seriously, and you act like everyone’s here for your entertainment.” 

Dominic nods his head, “Yeah, sounds about right.” He smirks right at you, “You know me so well…”

Something in you fueled you to keep going. Like this was the weight of his presence being lifted from your shoulders—

“You literally make me nauseous every time you enter the room, because I know we’re just gonna fucking argue. And it’s funny, because at one point— I never wanted to be without you! In fact, I hated every second we were apart!”

The room went silent, as all of your guys’ friends looked around at each other.

You sigh, “Now, it’s impossible for me to even breathe the same air as you. There. Happy?”

For a moment, you thought perhaps that was too much. Too harsh. That it could genuinely upset him. 

But instead of being offended, he just grinned wider, leaning in closer. “You really think about me that much, huh? How romantic, Y/N, truly. I’m flattered!”

Your friends let out a collective “ooh,” but all you could focus on was Dominic’s gaze, so intense it was like the rest of the room had disappeared.

“Please,” you muttered, refusing to look away. “As if I’d waste time on that.”

“Waste time on me? Funny, you look pretty worked up for someone who doesn’t care,” he said, leaning back with a smug, self-satisfied look. “Or is this just some dramatic little act of yours?”

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms. “Oh, I forgot, Mr. Ego here thinks he’s some great mystery worth unraveling.”

“Ouch. Here I was, thinking you’d have at least one nice thing to say about me. Or are you too proud to admit I might actually have some redeeming qualities?”

“Nice things?” You scoffed, narrowing your eyes at him. “Please, I don’t think ‘nice’ and ‘Dominic’ even belong in the same sentence.”

He chuckled, a low, dark laugh that seemed to echo in the space between you. “See, that’s what I like about you, Y/N. Always keeping it real. Just too bad it’s also what makes you insufferable.”

“Insufferable? That’s rich coming from your smug ass.” You shot back, leaning closer, feeling a mix of anger and something else, something you couldn’t quite name.

“Maybe so,” he replied, gaze darkening as he matched your stare. “But at least I’m honest about it… Can you say the same?”

Your friends let out another round of gasps and snickers, but neither of you broke eye contact. 

The air was charged, as if neither of you were willing to back down first. 

Then, he leaned in a fraction closer, his voice dropping so only you could hear.

“Careful, Y/N. Keep pushing like that, and who knows what you might find out.”

The challenge was there, thick and unspoken, and every nerve in your body seemed to hum with it. 

“Trust me, Dom, I don’t need to know anything more than what I already do. And I’m not pushing. I’m pulling away as fast as I can.”

“Oh, really?” His voice was almost a murmur now, but it was edged with something hot and dangerous. “Could’ve fooled me.”

With that, he shot you one last infuriating smirk, leaning back like he hadn’t just raised the stakes, leaving you feeling like the whole room had started spinning.

—

Later that night, after everyone had drifted off to bed, you found yourself in the kitchen, unable to sleep. The quiet felt like a relief — until you heard footsteps, and Dominic appeared in the doorway, his expression unreadable.

“Can’t sleep?” he asked, leaning against the counter.

You shrugged, pouring yourself a glass of water. “Not with you in the same room.”

He chuckled, but there was an edge to it. “Funny, I was thinking the same thing. I’m sorry, was I making you nauseous?”

“No, I just— I don’t know. I just can’t sleep.”

“Was my ego taking up too much space?” He asked, and it was then you realized. He was bringing up the answers you gave in the stupid game. 

Was he actually upset? 

Did you actually say things to hurt him?

“Dominic, what are you saying right now?” 

For a moment, there was silence, a tension thick enough to cut. Then he surprised you by saying, “You know, that game got me thinking. You’re right, it wasn’t always like this between us.”

You frowned, caught off guard. “Yeah, I’m aware. What’s that supposed to mean?”

He looked down, his expression softening. “I don’t know. Back in high school, I actually thought… Well, I thought we could be something.”

You blinked, too stunned to respond immediately. He’d never been this honest, never even hinted at any real feelings. “What happened to that, then?”

He hesitated, looking out the window. “I don’t know. Things just changed. I was trying to figure myself out, the music was taking off… I guess I thought it’d be easier if I pushed you away.”

“That’s your excuse? Really, Dom?” you asked, anger bubbling up. “You just… gave up? And for what? To become this arrogant, self-absorbed version of yourself?”

“Maybe,” he said quietly, his voice almost a whisper. “But, maybe I just didn’t want to get hurt.”

“Did I actually hurt your feelings or something? What’s with you tonight?” You chuckled, wanting to believe that he wasn’t just doing all of this to make him forget about what could have been.

Dominic shrugged, “I mean, I definitely wasn’t expecting the answer you gave me. I don’t know, whatever,” He sighed, “Just forget it. Goodnight.”

He turned around to walk back to the room.

“Dominic—“ You start as he cut you off immediately, “You know what? Just sleep on the couch at this point, if it’s really that big of a deal to sleep in the same room as me.”

“Dom…” You said, with a tone that surprised you. A disappointed tone. Like you were upset… that Dominic seemed upset.

The small admission lingered in the kitchen, raw and vulnerable. And suddenly you realized, for the first time in years, you saw him differently — not as the arrogant musician who’d become a stranger, but as the boy you’d once known, the friend you’d once cared about.

—

The next morning, as everyone packed up their gear to go sledding, you found yourself walking beside Dominic, who seemed uncharacteristically quiet. 

The snowstorm had died down, leaving the trees dusted with powder, the air crisp and fresh.

The group had decided on a steep hill for sledding, which quickly proved to be a mistake. One by one, your friends wiped out in spectacular fashion, laughing as they tumbled down the hill.

When it was your turn, Dominic joined you, grabbing a sled and flashing you a grin. “Scared?”

You narrowed your eyes. “Of sledding? Not a chance.”

With a push, the two of you shot down the hill, the sled picking up speed as it zipped over bumps and divots. 

For a moment, you felt exhilarated, laughing as the cold wind whipped through your hair. But then the sled veered off course, heading straight for a small tree.

Without thinking, Dominic threw his arm around you, pulling you close as the sled came to a sudden halt. You landed in a heap in the snow, Dominic’s arms still around you, his face inches from yours.

For a moment, neither of you moved. 

The world seemed to go silent, the only sound your heavy breathing as you stared at each other. You felt your heart racing, but whether from the thrill of the sledding or the intensity of his gaze, you couldn’t say.

“Are you okay?” he asked softly, his voice barely a whisper.

You nodded, barely trusting yourself to speak. 

His face was so close, his eyes searching yours as if he were seeing you for the first time. And in that moment, something shifted — a spark, a connection you’d spent years ignoring.

But before you could make sense of it, he pulled back, clearing his throat as he helped you to your feet. “Guess I saved your life, huh?”

You scoffed, brushing snow off your coat. “Oh, please. Don’t flatter yourself.”

But as you walked back up the hill, your heart was still pounding, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that, for the first time in years, things between you and Dominic were starting to change.

—

That night, back at the cabin, the tension between you and Dominic was impossible to ignore. You could feel his gaze on you as you sat by the fire, laughing with your friends, but every time you looked his way, he seemed to look away.

Eventually, as the night wore on, you found yourself alone with him again, this time on the back deck, watching the snow fall in silence.

“Do you actually hate me that much?” he asked, his voice low, almost challenging.

You blinked, taken off guard. “Why does it matter, Dom? Didn’t we already talk about this?”

He shrugged, looking away. “Maybe I’m curious. Maybe I just can’t figure out why you’re the only one who doesn’t seem to think I’m worth the time.”

“That’s on you, Dom,” you replied, your voice sharper than you’d intended. “You’re the one who changed.”

“And you’re the one who never gave me a chance to explain,” he shot back, stepping closer.

You crossed your arms, feeling a strange ache at his words. “Explain what? That you pushed me away on purpose? Do you even know how selfish that is?”

He paused, a flicker of something vulnerable crossing his face. “You never gave me a chance to explain why I pushed you away. Why I… why things are like this between us.”

You stayed silent, heart pounding, daring him to go on. The unspoken tension, years of bitterness and misunderstandings, hung thick between you.

“Look,” he finally said, his voice softening. “I didn’t know how to handle it, alright? I didn’t know how to… deal with you, with us. I thought if I pushed you away, maybe it’d be easier. But it wasn’t.”

“What does that even mean? Deal with what?” The words escaped before you could stop them, heavy with every feeling you’d tried so hard to bury.

He took a shaky breath, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that left you breathless. “Deal with the fact… that I’ve been in love with you since I was seventeen.”

The confession hit you like a punch to the gut, leaving you stunned, the silence between you loud and unbearable.

“Are you kidding me?” you whispered, fighting the sudden wave of anger and something else, something that felt too much like hope.

“No,” he replied, his voice steady, eyes never leaving yours. “I’m not kidding. And I’ve been an idiot about it. I thought… I thought if I kept my distance, I’d get over it. But it just made everything worse.”

You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t think. The boy who’d tormented you, infuriated you, had somehow harbored feelings you’d never known.

His gaze flickered down, his jaw tense as he struggled to find the words. “I thought it would be easier to let you go,” he admitted, his voice low. “Back then, everything was changing, and I was… scared. I was getting all this attention from my music, people wanting things from me, expecting me to be someone I didn’t even understand. And the more I thought about it, the more I realized I didn’t want you to get dragged into that.”

You stared at him, disbelieving. “So instead of letting me be there for you, you pushed me away?”

He nodded, looking away as if the sight of your hurt expression was too much to bear. “I thought I could handle it on my own. But all it did was make me miss you… more than I ever thought I would.”

A silence stretched between you, raw and heavy. 

He looked at you with a vulnerability you hadn’t seen in years, and for the first time, you saw the Dominic you used to know, the one you’d once cared about so deeply it hurt.

“Do you have any idea what that was like for me?” Your voice was barely a whisper. “One day, you’re there, the next, you’re gone. You were my best friend, Dom. My rock, my person,” You say, feeling yourself on the verge of tears, “You didn’t even give me a chance to understand that you weren’t there anymore. And now… you just expect me to forget that?”

His hand reached out, almost reflexively, to touch yours, and though you wanted to pull away, you couldn’t. 

“I don’t expect you to forget, Y/N. What I did, I can’t even forgive myself for it. I just… I want to try and make things right. I’m tired of pretending like I hate you.”

You looked down at his hand, fingers brushing against yours, and felt the anger slipping, replaced by something else. “But, you hurt me, Dom,” you admitted, voice barely holding steady. “You hurt me in a way I didn’t think you could.”

The air between you grew thick, heavy with words unsaid and emotions neither of you knew how to voice. 

He looked at you with an intensity that made your heart pound, and without thinking, you leaned into him, letting his warmth chase away the bitter chill of the night.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice hoarse. “I know that will never be enough, but I am. I never meant to hurt you. I just… didn’t know how to deal with it — with you.”

“Deal with what, Dom? You keep saying that,” you repeated again, your voice softer now, searching his eyes. “What was it about me that you had to ‘deal with,’ Dominic? That you liked me? I’m just… I’m so confused, right now.”

He hesitated, his hand squeezing yours as he took a shaky breath. “That I wanted you, so badly,” he said finally, voice raw.

“More than just a friend, more than anything I’d ever let myself admit. I was terrified of what it’d mean if I let you get too close, because I am not a good person, Y/N. I’m fucked up, rude, and selfish, and I feel like… I’ve always been that way. I’ve always been the person you think I am today. And you didn’t deserve someone like that, not even as a friend.”

“Dominic…” You said softly, “I never thought you were a bad person…”

“But, I was, Y/N! I still am,” He pleads, “Look at what I did to us. Look at how badly I fucked things up between us. This is the first time in years we’ve had an actual conversation…”

He sighed, his expression open and raw. "I’m not kidding. I’ve tried to push it down, ignore it, even tell myself that maybe it wasn’t real. But every time I look at you—every time I see you laugh, every time you look at me with that fire in your eyes, I know it’s still there."

You could hardly believe what you were hearing. 

The Dominic you’d come to know, with his arrogance, his endless teasing, the constant back-and-forth—it had all masked something so vulnerable, something so sincere, that it was hard to process.

"Why now, Dominic?" you managed to ask, your voice trembling despite yourself. "After all these years, all the arguments, all the things you’ve said, the way you’ve acted—why are you telling me this now?"

He looked away, his jaw tightening. "Because I can’t do it anymore. I can’t keep pretending like I hate you, like I don’t feel anything when we argue, like I don’t care. And now, I just—" He paused, his gaze meeting yours. "I want you to know the truth, even if you hate me for it."

You stared at him, the weight of his words sinking in, all the bitterness and hurt somehow transformed into something else. 

Something softer, something you’d long denied. 

You didn’t know how long you both stood there, the air charged with the unspoken things between you.

"Dominic," you said quietly, fighting to keep your voice steady. "Maybe… maybe we both need to let go of what’s in the past. Because honestly, I’m exhausted too."

He watched you, a hint of hope in his eyes. "Does that mean—are you saying you might actually forgive me?"

You took a deep breath, the warmth of the cabin lights casting a glow over the snow-covered ground. "I’m saying maybe it’s time we stop running in circles. I’m saying maybe… I don’t hate you as much as I let on."

For the first time in years, Dominic’s smile wasn’t a smirk or a tease. It was soft, genuine, and it made your heart race. 

He stepped closer, his voice barely above a whisper. "Then let’s see where this goes, without the walls, without the defenses. Just us. A fresh start.”

You looked up at him, something in you finally letting go. 

And as his hand brushed yours, it was like the years of tension, rivalry, and unspoken feelings melted away, leaving only the beginning of something real.

“Please,” he murmured, his voice breaking slightly. “I’m asking you to give me a chance. To let me show you that I can be better. That I can be the person you deserve.”

You wanted to stay angry, to hold onto the bitterness, but his words cracked something inside you. 

He looked at you like you were the only person in the world, and he always had. Even when you guys would argue, bicker, his eyes never showed anger. His eyes never lefts yours. 

And in that moment, you realized that despite everything, you still cared. 

You still wanted him, still wanted to believe that there was a part of him that hadn’t changed.

His confession hung in the air, and your heart skipped a beat, pounding with emotions you weren’t sure how to process. 

You could feel the weight of every missed opportunity, every moment you’d spent pushing each other away.

Before you could stop yourself, you closed the gap between you, pressing your lips to his in a kiss that held years of pent-up frustration, hurt, and longing. 

He responded instantly, his hands finding your waist as he pulled you close, deepening the kiss with an urgency that took your breath away.

For a moment, the world fell away, and all that mattered was the feel of him against you, the way his fingers tangled in your hair, the warmth of his mouth as it moved against yours, desperate and tender all at once. 

It was as if every argument, every insult, had been leading up to this, the intensity of it all crashing over you like a wave.

When you finally pulled away, breathless and dazed, his eyes were on you, filled with a vulnerability that made your heart ache. 

“I just… I didn’t realize how much I needed you,” he whispered, his forehead pressed against yours. “Until it was too late.”

You took a deep, steadying breath, feeling the weight of his words, the truth they carried. “Then maybe it doesn’t have to be too late,” you whispered back, fingers brushing against his cheek.

He looked at you, a small, tentative smile tugging at his lips. Without a word, he led you back inside, your fingers laced together as if he were afraid to let you go.

—

Back in the quiet of your shared room, he hesitated for a moment, as if unsure if you’d let him stay this close. But you tugged him closer, pulling him onto the bed beside you, feeling his warmth seep into you as you settled beside him.

Neither of you said anything, the silence filled with an unspoken understanding, a sense of peace you hadn’t felt in years. You rested your head against his shoulder.

“You still think the clichè only happens in books and movies?” Dominic asks, as you feel his hand slide around your waist, pulling you close.

You smile softly, “Shut up, idiot.”

“Mhm, you know that’s not true…” 

Without thinking, you leaned forward, pressing your lips to his in a kiss that was slow, hesitant, filled with years of unsaid words and buried feelings. His hand came up to cradle your face, his touch gentle.

It just felt so right.

When you pulled away, his eyes were soft, filled with a tenderness that made your heart ache. He pressed his forehead to yours, his thumb tracing slow circles along your jaw.

You lay back down beside him, your head resting on his shoulder, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your cheek. 

“Again, I’m not asking you to forgive me right now, or forget what happened,” he whispered. “But I’m asking you to give me a try.”

You nodded, a silent promise that you’d give him — give both of you — a chance to heal, to find your way back to each other. 

For now, that was enough.

[blablaganov]

Non is the one behind the mask and Jin is our living for now proof of that

So our homeboy just found out that no, Non didn’t ride off into the sunset with teacher Keng, but based on what we learned in episode 10 was handed over to Uncle Joe and vanished. And Jin’s initial reaction to this reveal isn’t horror at the thought that Non might already be dead, but anger at how the story of Non’s supposed escape with a teacher has affected his family?? Which is sweet, to care about them, but you just learned that your friend has really disappeared, so maybe focus on that first? But at least this reaction is consistent with what we’ve seen from him so far: Jin's response is emotional and explosive. It checks.

And then Tee drops the bomb - Non is dead. This should have been a huge shock for Jin, who was the only one to still hold on to the belief that Non was still out there, alive. Reactions of Tan and Phee is understandable; they have had years to accept that Non is most likely no longer alive, but Jin BELIEVED. So, I fully expected him to lash out, to start yelling at Tee, to start a fight. And what Jin gives me? Nothing.

Except for a murderous look, he does not react at all to the news about the death of someone he claims to care about and feel guilty towards.  The character who shown to be impulsive, to react without thinking, whose emotions can be explosive DOESN’T SHOW US ANY REACTION. Which, of cource, is a reaction on itself, so my question is: Jin, sweetie, do you maybe have something to share with class?

Speaking of murderous looks. We’ve already seen them twice:

in the first episode, when Phee puts the tape on

And everyone from the original group looks various degrees of uncomfortable, especially after asked about Non, but not Jin. He is too busy trying to murder everyone with the glare until the mention of the camera snaps him out of it.

in the second episode, when the gang discusses what to do next

And again, while everyone’s anxiety is almost palpable, Jin is just standing there, looking disgusted by everyone but not in the slightest bothered by the fact that someone got Por impaled?? Someone left marks on his arms! The conversation isn’t merely about the possibility of Non’s ghost; it’s about the real, tangible danger lurking in the woods. And yet, Jin doesn’t look scared or concerned in any way, too busy trying to once again commit murder with the glare.

Knife

The marks on Por’s arms are the main reason I’m convinced that Non is the one hiding behind the mask. It's possible that Tan somehow slipped out of the living room and lured Por into the trap, but what about the marks? We’ve seen several times that Tan is one to outsource his murder, not too eager to harm with his own hands. Even after Tee’s confession about Non’s death, Tan doesn’t attempt to snatch the gun and kill Tee himself. So why get personal with Por? To convince everyone that it wasn’t an accident? But cuts don’t look ghosty; if anything, it’s a proof that a real, leaving person is behind it. And who has all the reasons to get personal with Por? NON And it with the same knife he used three years ago – a knife that someone present at the scene after Non got dragged away had to pick up and keep until now.

I am also mildly convinced that the knife attack is the main reason why Jin lied to the police in the first place. If he had admitted that Non was with them that day, everyone else would have probably said, 'Oh yes, he was with us, and he attacked us with the knife. He was screaming about killing us all, poor Top even got a scar. Here are the security camera recordings as proof.' We've already established that Jin is not the best decision-maker, so I can see how, from his perspective, lying to the police seemed like a better option.

And isn’t it interesting how Jin was the one who first noticed the cuts and also the one who took the knife in his hand to compare it with the cuts?

Jin, dear, no one said anything about someone hiding in the house...

Uncle Dang

I'm unsure which one of the brothers is responsible for this death, but it is interesting how closely it mirrors one of the scenes in episode 7.

In the past, Por sends Non to get food on Uncle Dang's bike, while he himself starts shooting. In the present, Uncle Dang dies delivering food for the boys on the same bike, simultaneously extinguishing their last chance of escape.

In the past, everyone was so eager to exclude Non and shoot the movie he wrote without him. In the present, they are willing to do anything just to get out of this place, and Por, bleeding out on the couch, needs it more than anyone. Sorry, but it's too late; this time around, you'll have to play your part the way Non wants you to.

Episode 7 is also where this dialogue between Jin and Por happens.

I know that logically Phee and Tan were the ones who slipped in the cassette, but were they also the ones who created it? Or did they just find it when they came to the house for the first time to scout it out? Because the last scene with Jin running out of the house was shot after Non's disappearance. It wasn't merely an old version; Someone intentionally added Non's scene post-credits. And who was the one doing all the cutting? Right.

Hallucinations

Jin’s hallucinations were what sold me on the "Non is alive" theory. Everyone who thinks Non is already dead also sees some version of Non/masked murderer. Not Jin, of course; he convinced Non to be alive and well, somewhere far away with teacher Keng. Oh wait… How is it possible that he believes something terrible happened to teacher Keng, but not to Non? That the video he took is the cause of teacher Keng’s death, but not Non’s? Haven’t they supposedly run off together? Unless Jin knows that Non is alive. Unless Non told Jin that Mr. Keng was killed by the mafia.

It also would explain Jin’s reaction after Phee confession.

The person you have a lot of complicated feelings about

so many that you decide the best time to bring up your past situationship is while you both are trapped in a creepy temple. One also doesn’t try to bite off the dick of someone they are indifferent towards

just confessed to being Non's ex-boyfriend and getting close to you to get information about him, and your first reaction is not a "Was Everything Between Us a Lie?" rage but a sad puppy "So You Never Saw Us As Friends?" Once again, Jin, sweetie, we need to talk about your priorities; also about the fact that you not once looked surprised about the whole thing.

Fun fact: One of Jin's listed hobbies is camping, so hypothetically he should know his way around the woods, yet he doesn’t even attempt to help Phee while they are looking for the way out of the forest. The only thing he does is complain and cling to Phee in a very damsel-in-distress fashion. And still manages to be the one who points in the right direction in the end. I'm not even sure if Jin’s shoulder dislocation is genuine because if horror movies have taught me anything, it's to never trust a character who injures themselves while escaping a murderer, especially when they then very conveniently trip over the air at just the right moment for another character to drop their weapon.

To sum it up:

Did he now?

[holewithinahole]

The Spirit’s in It | Egon Spengler x nb!reader [3/3]

Summary: “I didn’t know psychology doctors also specialized in particle physics, is all.”

What you meant as a light joke to relax him did quite the opposite. He straightens, righting up his glasses one more pointless time. “I have a degree in nuclear engineering,” he states before walking out, leaving you confused and feeling like you’ve spent the entire time offending him unintentionally.

Warnings: angst, non-native writer, non-beta’d

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

And here’s the end. I apologise in advance. It's funny despite how aromantic I am how I'm the best at romanticising relationships lmao. I wanted to explore how romantic relationsips are inherently different for neurodivergent people, especially ppl on the autism spectrum. Yeah...

The end is pretty cliché and I kinda hate it but hey, I live for the tropes. I'm gone, bye! Thank for reading this to its end!

At first, you haven’t been able to swing by the Ghostbusters headquarters as much as you would’ve liked, too busy assisting students for future exams. As Egon predicted, psychokinetic energy has kept rising in New York, meaning the three of them were called all the time to assist here and there. Their secretary – Janine Melnitz you learned when Egon introduced you, has been looking more and more like a ghost herself, and you were sincerely impressed by how much energy she still managed to conjure to send people away. All of that resulted in the hiring of a new member of the team, Winston Zeddmore, a gentle soul of a man who took the place of Egon on the field. It’s often easy to read: ‘I didn’t sign up for this bullshit’ on his face, but he’s resilient and hardworking which is everything the Ghostbusters could have needed and more.

A week after your fresh new meeting, you ended up telling Egon and Dr. Stantz about their research papers stored at your place. The latter had been delighted and thanked you profusely. The retrieval had gone without any incident, although you did notice the baffled look that passed between the two of them when they saw the several towers of boxes. (There had been a discreet comment from Egon questioning humans’ propensity to stack things.)  

Why you ended up at Egon’s place you have no idea. Well, you do know how – most of the files were his after all and you couldn’t let Dr. Stantz handle the walking up five flights of stairs on his own. Plus, Egon wanted to look back at some old papers of his; something about a new plan of approach concerning the storage facility issue. So, there you stood, looking around awkwardly as Dr. Stantz retrieved the last box downstairs. It was a simple apartment, messy and not intended to be anything more than an occasional place to sleep – or, surprisingly, a fungus breeding farm.

Your questioning gaze certainly didn’t go unnoticed. “I collect spores and fungi,” he explained.

“Neat.” You didn’t really think before you carried on, “Is that why you studied microbiology?”

“…amongst other things,” Egon said, looking slightly surprised. “I didn’t realize you knew.”

“Uh,” you trailed off. “I’ve read your papers.”

“All of them?”

Can it get any more embarrassing than that? “…might have.”

He didn’t answer and you thanked him internally for it. The visit was short and to the point, Egon clearly looking uncomfortable having other people trespass into his space. That’s what you kept telling yourself anyway, not especially fond of diving back into the whole ‘I’m an embarrassment to myself, him, and society’ spiral.

In itself, routine didn’t change much. You kept doing most of your research at the university, exchanging with the different professors of the lab, giving your opinions on the students’ ongoing thesis and avoiding Dean Yaeger. Then, you’d meet with the doctors after work to discuss the improvements of the containment facility. But the more the days went by, the more Egon’s temper seemed to flare. Not in the usual, explosive or passive-aggressive nature but in the dwindling of words, and the psychosomatic tremor of his eyelid. You hadn’t been truly able to understand why, when, or how.

Which led you to your actual predicament.

“I don’t think it’ll work, Egon.”

Sitting at a desk, you scratch an equation, staring dejectedly at the example of ‘ionization radiation decay meter’ Egon sketched. The man himself has taken his glasses off and pressed his eyes to alleviate his migraine. “We’ll have to include the system later,” he concedes, looking crossed. “I have to analyze today’s samples.”

After downing the cup of cold coffee you forgot on the desk with a disgusted grimace, you slouch on your chair. You watch Egon from the corner of your eye, busy staring and typing on his computer. He lets out an uncharacteristic annoyed noise.

“Not good?” you ask.

“Like I thought, it’s exponential.” He sighs. “Two days ago, PKE was three times less important than today.”

“Something big on the horizon.”

“Yes,” he says.

This tense atmosphere has you overly cautious as if one wrong word could make this artificial veil of normalcy shatter. It makes your skin crawl, inadequately feeling like your mere presence is making things worse. Leaving his computer behind to sit on the couch, he browses through the results he printed. His tiredness is noticeable even from where you are. You’re about to say something when Venkman comes waltzing in, his energy clashing with the general atmosphere of the room, which he notices immediately.

“Well, well,” he says in a singsong tone. “Who are we burying today?”

Egon doesn’t grace him with an answer, only with a glare before looking back at his results.

“It’s been a long day, I guess,” you answer truthfully to loosen the tension.

Venkman, always in theatrics, opens his arms wide. “Look who we’ve got here! Hello there.” He has his usual smirk on. “You’ve been hanging ‘round here more often.”

“Hello, Dr. Venkman.” You smile. “Just trying to help Egon.”

“And why aren’t we on a first-name basis?”

You certainly don’t voice aloud that you don’t want to give him any ideas, which he gets well enough on his own. Egon, for its part, is frowning so hard his eyebrows have merged with the frame of his glasses. You can almost imagine a big molten hole where his eyes are boring through the paper.

“Egon kindly proposed,” you explain.

“Wow, you guys,” Venkman exclaims. You frown at him, confused. “Congrats, Spengie! Don’t forget the invitation.”

This snaps Egon out of his sulking trance, face hardening at Venkman’s inappropriate comment.

“He kindly offered,” you interject, trying your best to look unfazed at the innuendo and to avoid an act of crime against humanity. “You, however, take everything for granted.”

Venkman whistles – which makes you want to strangle him – but at least Egon doesn’t look like he’s going to jump at his throat from across the room anymore.

“Damn, snarky today, uh? Let’s start over then.” Despite his mocking tone, he walks near you and extends a hand that you look at dubiously. “Hi, the name’s Peter.”

A small part of you doesn’t want to shake his hand, just to rile him up but you still do. Strangely enough, there’s an endearing quality to his man, when he wants to.

“Nice to meet you, Peter.”

The man lets out a pleased chuckle. “Now, now, I’m not trying to get you two to leave but this man–” He tugs at his collar. “–has a date tonight and he will be singing in the shower. So, if you want some peace and quiet, now would be a good time to go play in the basement.”

You scoff. “You’ve got a date.”

Venkman seems either completely oblivious or completely disinterested in your tone. “With a sweet creature called Dana Barrett.”

“Don’t forget to ask her about Zuul, Peter,” Egon says, snapping out of his good ten minutes of selective mutism.

Venkman disappears into their common room. “Did I say date?” he shouts. “I meant work meeting.”

True to his words, he starts singing a bad rendition of Queen of Hearts, making sure to annoy the whole building. Even if it grates on your nerves, it’s fascinating to witness this clutter of a place, with such different personas stacked on top of each other. You’ve never heard the story of how the three of them ended up being best buddies and judging by Egon’s closed-up face, today wouldn’t be the day you ask.

After five minutes of excruciating vocalizations, he puts down his results, standing up from the couch. You eye him curiously. “Where’ you going?”

“The basement.”

You frown, standing up. “You know; I don’t think he was serious.”

“I have readings to do downstairs,” he answers shortly.

He walks towards the stairs but stops, pivoting slightly towards you without meeting your eyes. The prickling sensation at the back of your brain is back. You can’t wrap your head around the contrast between his high-strung demeanor and his unspoken invitation to follow him. The confusion suddenly feels too heavy.

“Egon.” He looks up and you’re not expecting the flatness of his expression, how detached he’s looking. “Are you angry?”

It sounds stupid in your own ears, a ridiculous childish question but it’s out of your mouth before you can think about it. Words are wonderful incentives, you think, but sometimes, they just end up pushing people away.

Egon frowns, still not entirely facing you. “No.”

“Then–”

Venkman comes back into the room, whistling loudly. “Still there, lovebirds?”

You turn to answer him but you’re cut off by the loud steps of Egon hurtling down the stairs, leaving you staring dumbly at the invisible trail he left behind. There’s an uncomfortable silence as you frown, heart beating loudly for a reason you can’t really pinpoint. Venkman stands there, undoubtedly conscious of having said the wrong thing.

“Don’t worry, he’s cranky when he doesn’t have his nap.”

You decide to simply gather your belongings and leave. “I’ll come back in a few days.”

Even if Venkman offers to buy you a taxi, you decide to use the subway and as you stare without seeing at the dirty walls of New York’s underground tunnels, you realize that perhaps you’re starting to care a little too much.

Just a tad too much.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Awakening of Gozer

Perhaps you shouldn’t have gone home that day.

For when you heard that in less than twenty-four hours, the Ghostbusters headquarters exploded and that a cloud of psychokinetic energy appeared above Manhattan, you felt that ‘are you angry’ were stupid words to say to somehow you might never see again.

You stand in front of your TV as journalists follow the Ghostbusters’ car through the streets of New York, crowd in a standing ovation. You feel restless as you look through your window, watching the sky turning dark and the full-blown light show the ghosts seem to be throwing downtown. Even when the black clouds dissipate – reminding everyone that it was barely three in the afternoon, you stare, left leg bouncy, at the screen for the final cry of the crowd, hoping, praying, that it’d be of joy.

You’re not truly sure of the feelings rushing through you when they leave this building, dirtied but alive. As soon as you see their proud faces, you turn off the TV, and lay down on the couch, breathing deeply. You close your eyes and contemplate the labyrinth of paths life could have taken in the last two hours. When ten p.m. rolls out, you stand up, driven by some unknown force out of your apartment. Somehow, the sky still holds the purple hues of the paranormal manifestation that plagued New York this evening, ribbons of ghost energy glowing like winter lights and casting discreet colors on the buildings. Tomorrow, you’ll look back at the usual grayish streaks of pollution and everything will feel like a long fever dream.

It’s silly the way the heart and the brain latch on to these human connections like they’re starving. It’s unfortunate, truly. Unfortunate how walking through the chill of the busy streets leads you to his place; a sanctum at the top of a dirty building. And it’s scary how unable you are to stay away, – now and every day – especially when emotions are all over the place; fear in your stomach, anxiety in your loins, need – this unshakable need — in your heart: terrible, voracious, heavy in your limbs as you drag your exhausted body up the stairs. Knocking on the door is, weirdly enough, more nerve-wracking than having witnessed their improbable excursion on television. Egon opens the door, all intrigued eyes and furrowed brows; dressed so casually it seems unreal.

“I know it’s not the time, and that you don’t like people in your space,” you mumble. “But I was— “

Egon steps away from the doorway, inviting you in silently, and it’s almost reluctantly that you step inside. It’s dimly lit but you notice opened notebooks on his table next to three empty mugs.

“Was I interrupting?” you ask, already knowing the answer.

“No,” Egon answers to your surprise. “I was only writing down what happened tonight.”

You hum. “I saw it on TV.”

He gestures to you to take a seat. From your chair, you can see Egon busying himself with his small fungus farm, touching the caps of his mushrooms with the tips of his fingers. “You know; I think you deserve a rest, after saving the city and all.”

“I believe we saved the world.”

The emphasis doesn’t go unnoticed. You chuckle nervously, having found a deep interest in a stain on the floor. “I wonder if your Sumerian God would have been able to conquer the world as a hundred-foot-tall marshmallow man.”

“Gozer is a powerful entity,” he says. “They would have brought the apocalypse on our world.”

“But now it’s gone, eh?” The unusual silence makes you look up at him.  

“We’ve only destroyed a vessel and a portal. There might be more somewhere.”

“Well…” You try to rationalize. “Good thing the Ghostbusters will always be there.”

Egon stills, staring without looking as if he’s debating inside: is it true? Will it be true? Will I do anything to honor this promise? You decide to drop the subject.

“So, how does one destroy the portal of a God? ’Sounds like a lot of molecular bounds to break.”

“We crossed the streams.”

You freeze.

“…I thought you shouldn’t do that, like ever.” It’s easier to fake some lightheartedness in your tone than to face how a simple slip of fate could have made this improvised late-night meeting impossible.

“It did work.”

It’s harder to swallow as if he could suddenly vanish in front of your very eyes, taken away by some dark entity; as if every single particle of his being could disappear forever as they annihilate their counterpart. A total protonic reversal, that’s what Dr. Stantz had said. You unwillingly explore this possibility: how you, safely at home, wouldn’t have known about their utter and complete destruction until the ridiculous vessel of a Sumerian God turned on the city and brought the apocalypse upon the world. Perhaps after a few hours, perhaps after a day, you would have accepted the fact that they had lost. Or you’d have watched an explosion of unimaginable scale, staring blindly at the death of thousands of people and the loss of what became a constant in your life.

You stand up, trying to get rid of the restless energy that has been buzzing underneath your skin for two days now.

“Oh yes, proton-antiproton collisions are usually effective at killing everything around.” You sigh, trying to squash down the trembling in your voice, leaning against his desk. “Even if you weren’t already dead by the annihilation of your own molecules, the explosion would have finished the job.”

But it’s pointless to remind him of what he already knows. Egon still faces his farm but his mechanical movements have stopped. You say, “You’re more of a jackass than I thought.”

“The chances of surviving were low, I’ll admit.”

“No shit,” you mutter lowly. “Bless the uncertainty principle.”

His small cocky smile is an unexpected but welcomed sight. “Quantum theory has never been truly challenging for me.”

It startles a laugh out of you. “You might want to revise your judgment, then.”

Putting down whatever kind of instrument he has been using, he walks closer and leans on the spot next to you; an unusual decision, perhaps even an unspoken attempt at consolation. It’s funny because you’ve never stood this close, ever. There’s always been something between you: a room, a desk, Venkman, your apprehension, his awkwardness… As his shoulder brushes against yours, your heart soars with uneasiness but as soon as you let your bubble of comfort merge with his, it becomes the most natural thing in the world. Only then, at this very instant, does your heartbeat finally slow down, does the gnawing sensation at the pit of your stomach dissipate… leaving you to wonder when it’ll all pop.

“You haven’t told me the purpose of your visit,” Egon says after some time, always traveling the universe at the speed of light.

“Ah yes.” There it is. “I was restless.” He looks at you intently. “It just occurred to me that our last meeting hasn’t been entirely— agreeable.”

You stare at the ground. “I would have preferred not to have left on bad terms.”

“You were worried I wouldn’t come back.” It sounds like an epiphany.

He says ‘I’ and not ‘we’, and you would have liked for his social ineptitude to take a step forward for once, and not his ridiculously sharp sense of observation.

“Well… It’s normal, isn’t it?”

He doesn’t answer. You wish for the world to be ‘normal’ again, or at least the isolated system of your mental landscape. The disruption in the former entity of your thoughts morphs your behaviors, your habits, making you a slave to the random bursts of emotions you’d like to see buried. This energy stays right there, bound by thermodynamics and your fixations. Perhaps this PKE, this conscience energy is the reason for it all.

“I’m afraid that all of this–” You make a half-hearted movement of the arm. “–will disappear.”

“The world?” He asks.

“No. Yes. I mean…“ You swallow. “Here, right now. I’m afraid I’ll wake up in the morning to realize that it’s all gone.”

“I don’t think reality will end during the night.”

You don’t feel like expanding on those uncomfortable feelings so you entertain the idea. “We were about to be wiped out by a God from distant times. If ghosts are proof of anything, it’s that time is meaningless. It could very well end in a few hours.”

Egon doesn’t answer. You let out a sigh. “It’s irrational.”

“Perhaps,” he says after some time. “But fears usually are.”

“People usually fear tangible things, like, I don’t know, ghosts.”

“Ghosts aren’t material per se–”

You chuckle, looking at him. “I knew you’d say that.”

It’s complicated, this situation; how his literal words comfort you in unsuspected ways. It should be annoying, saddening even, to harbor such feelings for someone who lives miles away in his own head of equations, schematics and paranormal theories. You question your behavior, wondering if, in the end, he’s not just another new thing to fixate upon, if he’s not just another unanswered question on your long list of interrogations about life, the universe and everything. If that’s the case then, you can just move on.

“It’s late,” he states.

Perhaps, you can move on. “Yes, I’m gonna go.”

You gather your bag, breaking the fallacy of closeness you had. If the painful torpor your heart is in is any indication, is that it – whatever it is – goes beyond a fixation, but you don't want to confront any of this...

“Goodbye, Egon.”

…unless it’s to run away.

It’s a goodbye, you convince yourself, pushed closer by a disillusioned thought and a hint of desperation. On his face, you can read a plethora of interrogations, each for one flicker of a lid, for one shift of an eye; unique movements as his body stays right in place. It spurs you on, makes you cross the remaining distance between you. And as you place your hand on his arm to not buckle under the pressure, you give a single kiss; a furtive indulgence at the corner of his lips. Something that could be more, something that could be nothing.

You haven’t meant to meet his eyes, but it all seemed inescapable when he didn’t even close them in the first place while you hid safely behind the opaque screen of your lids. It’s confusion, likely a little bit of recoil… You burn brighter from a single kiss, a torch shining a little light on him too, but as adrenaline slips away, you’re faced with darkness again. There’s nothing you can fault him for as it’s your own two legs that took you there in the first place. It’s your own weak heart that pushed you up those stairs as everything else was dragged down by gravity.

You’re out of his apartment as quickly as you can. You know that if you abuse this kindness, your wider smile and warmer face will be the devil’s work; the consequence of pillaging of benevolence you wouldn’t be able to bring yourself to stop. Even with genuine motions, his telltale beat will never follow yours, and even the strongest, wildest embers won’t alienate it faster. You will be a parched man facing a mirage, a moth to an ephemeral flame that will love everything until it’s consumed. But a flame doesn’t love back and love is a sin for the ones that feel it the most.

The next day, the sky is back to its usual color.

[skkflower]

Trans Chuuya thoughts I posted on twitter. It got super long so I’m posting it under the cut…

Chuuya realizes he feels “wrong”after post explosion birth and after being socialized by the Sheep…he brushes it off as proof of not being human…as he learns more about society he decides to present himself as a boy because his enemies take him seriously that way (in my head the Sheep were orphans from Suribachi and runaways so there’s probably a pretty big queer community there)…totally ignoring the fact that being called a boy makes him happier.

Basically his logic up until he joins the mafia is “I’m probably a boy, but I have bigger problems” and his dysphoria over being human is stronger than anything really…but I think when he meets the flags (and Kouyou I have a whole section for her), he starts to think more he starts to think more about presentation vs identity (ie learns that women don’t have to dress as men to be taken seriously, gnc Lippmann, insert other flags hcs I have)…Chuuya realizes he is trans…Doc offers to get him HRT and surgery but Chuuya’s really in his “I don’t trust anyone in the Mafia” phase and doesn’t want to really stake his transition on an unstable source/ hates depending on people…so he’s fine with rocking with the masc leaning androgyny…his dysphoria lessens a bit because he now realizes his gender confusion isn’t what makes him not human…

BUT THEN BAM STORMBRINGER JUMPSCARE (the only way to really think about sb actually)… Verlaine is also trans *insert the singularity metaphor thread here* and Chuuya literally watches his past self die in his arms (trauma and trans metaphor two in one combo)…although Chuuya is king of repression…he probably channels all his sb trauma into a complete gender crisis…cuts his hair and starts binding with transtape…wants to start HRT but is still uneasy about doctors and all. But after weaponizing Corruption as Soukoku…he starts getting really bad dysphoria/dysmorphia about his sense of humanity again…which translate over to gender dysphoria and he goes through a bad mental state for a bit, so he ultimately decides staring HRT will be best.

(Kouyou is transfem in my head and she sits him down and is like “you’re clearly suffering right now and we can help you” and they decide to send him abroad to a hormone specialist because he’s a labrat kid lol)

Yes my explanation for why Chuuya is not in dark era is transgenderism…Dazai defects…he gets promoted to Executive…finds out he’s definitely human and starts HRT…gets more confident in his gender identity and starts presenting more gnc again…it was mostly about control for him and having stability in his place in the mafia helped him feel more confident. A lot of his confidence is a mask (autistic chuuya), but he is secure. TransChuuya is so real to me!!!

Bonus Thoughts:

Soukoku was definitely making out/hooking up post SB, but Dazai respecting Chuuya’s boundaries increased their mutual trust and made them such a strong duo…knowing each other inside and out and also respecting (they were never safe enough to say love yet) each other…

Dazai is deffo gender apathetic nonbinary…he also probably has more of a humanity dysphoria there…their gender crisis starts during the 2 year isolation…to quote my partner who hasn’t watched bsd, “dazai to me is those pretransition trans women who look so miserable (dark era) and then when she transitions you can see the light in her eyes and a spring in her step”

Chuuya has not gotten top surgery because of medicinal trauma and also because I said so…

TRANS PEOPLE DO DON’T TRANSITION OR PRESENT OUTWARDLY IN A WAY DEEMED “SOCIALLY ACCEPTABLE” ARE SO VALID!!!

Anyway please take this stupid skit of bungo stray woke:

*soukoku arguing during reunion*

Chuuya: you weren’t there for me!!

Dazai: of course not, I left the mafia!!

Chuuya: no I was talking about me starting HRT…

Dazai: oh…WELL YOU WEREN’T THERE WHEN I REALIZED IM NONBINARY

Chuuya: oh congrats

Dazai: yea I use any pronouns now

Chuuya: coolio

Dazai: you look better…more chuuya now…

Chuuya: thanks

*awkard pause*

Chuuya: okay im going back to kicking your ass

Dazai: yea fair enough

[grayhyacinth]

The Wishmaker Star

Go watch season three of The Owl House! I hope you guys enjoy another work I wrote. Unfortuantly, school is about to start again, so I'm not sure when I'll create another work. But, I won't forget about you.

Links: ao3, tumblr, masterlist

Hunter’s POV:

“…do you think she’s going to like it?”

“Dude, you know she’s been wanting a palisman for like... over five years!” Augustus sighed in exasperation, pinching the bridge of his nose before sliding his fingers down the length of it.

“Yeah! I know, but—”

“Plus, you’ve been carving palistrom wood to make her the perfect palisman.” Gus added air quotes, emphasizing the last two words with a teasing smirk. “She’s going to love it.”

“…really? You think so?” The former Golden Guard turned the small, carefully wrapped gift box in his hand a few times, as if the motion could help him decide whether its contents were truly enough.

“Really.” Gus nodded with confidence, locking eyes with Hunter. “Now, come on! We’re gonna be late to the party!” He stopped mid-stride, suddenly grabbing Hunter’s hand and tugging him into a sprint.

“Haha, hey! Okay!” Despite the laughter in his voice, Hunter couldn’t shake the undercurrent of anxiety brewing inside him. What if you hated it? What if the last thing you wanted was a gift from someone who used to serve Belos?

His fingers tightened around the gift as they dashed through the forest, the sight of The Owl House growing closer. Deep down, he desperately hoped you’d appreciate it. More than that—he hoped you’d understand what the gift really meant to him. What you meant to him.

He blinked in shock. Did he really just think that? His ears burned bright red, and he forced the thoughts away, but they lingered, hanging in the back of his mind as they neared the clearing.

The trees thinned, revealing the tip of the familiar crooked roof, smoke billowing from a lit, bubbling cauldron. The scent of delicious food greeted them, and the sound of laughter echoed through the clearing, filling the space with warmth.

His eyes were instantly drawn to you.

“Haha, seriously, Luz?”

“Oh, come on! Don’t tell me you didn’t find that funny!” Luz was grinning, clearly proud of herself, but you were shaking your head, still chuckling.

“Your attempt at a dazzling light show ended up with random colorful sparks chasing each other around! You almost set King on fire!”

Your laugh rang out again, your head tilted back, eyes crinkled in a way that made you absolutely radiant in Hunter’s eyes. It had been three long months since your last visit to the Boiling Isles. And he missed you.

(Y/n) POV:

Returning to the Boiling Isle was like a breath of fresh air after drowning in the Human world. While Luz occasionally visited the Isle, you had thrown yourself into preparing for your exams, working day and night to secure your place at your dream university.

And now, you had done it. The letter was sitting back in your room, in the Owl House, confirming your acceptance. Tonight’s "Night Under the Stars" party wasn’t just a reunion with friends—it was the perfect chance to announce your plans for the future. But that didn’t stop the nerves boiling beneath your excitement.

Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted Gus and Hunter making their way through the crowd. The moment your gaze met Hunter’s, a wide smile spread across your face, and you waved energetically.

“Gus! Hunter! You made it!”

Gus approached first, grinning as he handed you a blue gift bag decorated with silver stars. “The party looks awesome, (Y/N)!”

“Thanks, Gus!” You took the bag, your excitement bubbling over. “You didn’t have to get me anything, though!”

He shrugged dramatically. “It’s either a gift or a firework show, and let’s just say... my track record with fireworks isn’t the best.”

You laughed. “You mean the time you nearly set Luz’s eyebrows on fire?”

Gus pointed at you. “Exactly! See, I’m learning from my mistakes. No more ‘explosive’ gifts. I went safe this time.” He gestured to the bag.

Peeking into the shimmering tissue paper, you raised an eyebrow. “Should I be worried about this gift now?”

Gus waved his hands quickly, eyes wide. “No, no! I swear, it’s not dangerous. This time it’s actually cool! Just, uh, make sure you open it carefully… outside.”

You shot him a playful glare. “Gus!”

He laughed, nudging you. “Just kidding.”

Hunter stood a little behind Gus, awkwardly shifting the small, carefully wrapped box in his hands. He took a deep breath, holding the gift out to you, his gaze darting nervously to the ground.

“I… uh, made this. For you.” His voice was quiet, and his ears were still red. “I hope you like it.”

You took a step away from Gus, eyeing the gift box with curiosity. It was wrapped in a beautiful shade of magenta, one that almost perfectly resembled Hunter’s eyes. A neatly tied yellow ribbon sat on top, forming a large, slightly uneven bow that added a cute, personal touch. You couldn’t help but smile—Hunter was really getting good at arts and crafts.

“This is…?” you asked, your voice soft as you carefully reached out, your fingers brushing against his as he held the box. His hand felt warm and rough, calloused from endless hours of training and carving. You couldn’t help but notice the small bandages wrapped around each finger, a testament to how much care and effort he must have put into this.

Your eyes flicked up to his face. Hunter’s blush deepened, his freckled cheeks glowing a light pink as his eyes darted anywhere but yours. He seemed frozen, caught between the hope that you'd like it and the fear that you wouldn’t. It was endearing, seeing the normally composed Hunter so nervous.

His voice barely came out in a whisper. “It’s, uh... just something I made. I wasn’t sure if it was good enough…”

You smiled, squeezing his hand gently to reassure him. “Hunter, you didn’t have to—”

“I wanted to,” he interrupted quickly, almost panicking at the thought that you might dismiss it. His eyes finally met yours for a second before he looked away again, clearly embarrassed by his own outburst. “I mean, I just… I thought you might like it. If you don’t, that’s fine too! I just—”

You cut him off with a soft laugh, feeling your own cheeks warm. “I haven’t even opened it yet, but I already know I’m going to love it.”

Hunter blinked, surprised by your words, but his shoulders relaxed ever so slightly. His lips twitched upward in the smallest of smiles as he mumbled, “I’m glad…”

You carefully took the box from his hands, your heart fluttering at how much thought he must have put into this. Whatever was inside, it already felt special. You looked up at him again, giving him another warm smile. "Thank you, Hunter. Really."

He cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. "Yeah, uh... you're welcome." He stole a quick glance at you, his blush deepening again.

You glanced over at Luz, who was giving you and Hunter a smirking look, clearly enjoying the awkward tension. “I think there’s a couple more things left to do before the party can start, right, Luz?” You raised an eyebrow at her, trying to shift the attention away from you and Hunter.

Luz’s smirk widened, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “Oh, totally! But, you know, I think we could give you two a little more time to… finish your moment.” She wiggled her eyebrows dramatically.

You rolled your eyes, suppressing a laugh. “Luz.”

She snickered. “Okay, okay! I’ll behave. But yeah, there’s a couple last-minute things to get done. I’ll go grab the snacks from the kitchen, and King’s in charge of making sure everything goes well. You know how much he loves bossing everyone around.”

Hunter let out a small, awkward laugh, scratching the back of his head. “Sounds like King…”

“Yup! Little guy’s already giving me a lecture about optimal stargazing positions,” Luz added with a grin. “But we’ve got it all under control. You two just… keep doing whatever you’re doing.”

“Luz!” you called, a mix of embarrassment and amusement coloring your tone as she dashed off with a mischievous wave.

Hunter stood beside you, looking slightly flustered but smiling softly. You turned back to him, giving him an apologetic shrug. “She’s… well, Luz.”

“Yeah,” he chuckled, eyes softening as he looked at you. “She is.”

While Amity worked her culinary magic in the kitchen, preparing delicious treats and savory bites, Willow was outside weaving a tapestry of glowing enchanted flowers. Gus was busy setting up a stereo system and curating a playlist.

Lilith, ever the organizer, took charge of a trivia game focused on the magical history of stars and constellations. Eda zipped around with King to assist wherever needed—whether it was adjusting decorations, fetching supplies, or simply keeping an eye on things to make sure everything was running smoothly.

Hooty, with his characteristic enthusiasm, took on the role of party greeter and entertainer. He offered his over-the-top hospitality, engaging in animated conversations.

As for you and Hunter, you were hard at work preparing the stargazing area. Together, you laid out an array of soft blankets and pillows, arranging them in inviting clusters around the open space. You made sure there were ample cozy spots for guests to lounge and gaze up at the stars. Hunter adjusted the placement of a few blankets to ensure that everyone had an unobstructed view of the night sky.

Taking a step back, you admired the sight before you. The sun was dipping below the horizon, casting a final burst of orange and pink across the sky. As the daylight faded, the first stars began to twinkle, their light growing clearer against the deepening blue of the evening. It was a breathtaking backdrop for the night’s festivities.

With a deep breath, you called out, “Everyone! It’s time!” Your voice carried across the gathering, amplified by the excitement in the air.

Gradually, the guests made their way to their chosen spots, finding cozy places among the clusters of blankets and pillows you and Hunter had arranged. Plates of snacks and small bites were passed around, with some guests holding their treats in hand as they settled in. The soft murmur of conversation began to mingle with the occasional burst of laughter, while the louder chatter from Hooty and the background music set a lively, cheerful tone.

As everyone settled in, the trivia game organized by Lilith started to draw interest, with guests eagerly gathering around to test their knowledge of magical history.

"What rare type of star is known for emitting a gentle, calming glow that can soothe even the most agitated magical beings?”

“Oh! I know!” Willow immediately raised her hand. She was literally clutching a finger, hence the name for finger food, and waved it around excitedly. “The Tranquil Star?”

“Very good, Willow!” Lilith responded with a proud smile. She marked a point on her chalkboard, which rested on her lap. “Next question: Which star is known to be the source of the most potent moonlight magic used in spells and enchantments?”

“Hmmm…” You furrowed your brow, trying to recall your Astrology Class lessons at Hexite. But before you could come up with the answer, Eda chimed in, leaning back with a confident grin.

“Obviously, the Silver Beacon,” Eda declared, casually biting into a piece of spicy manticore jerky. “These questions are too easy. Either you’re getting rusty with your history, Lilly, or I’m just a natural.”

Lilith’s smile widened, clearly enjoying the challenge. She noted a point for Eda on the chalkboard. “Alright then,” she said, rubbing her hands together in preparation for a tougher question. “What is the name of the mystical star that is said to appear only once every hundred years and grants a single wish to those who find it?”

A hush fell over the group. Everyone furrowed their brows, deep in thought, but no one could come up with the answer.

Lilith’s eyes twinkled with a mix of anticipation and mischief. “Come on, folks,” she teased. “Anyone want to take a guess, or should I reveal the answer?”

Amity speaks first, tapping her chin thoughtfully with a finger. Her other arm is wrapped securely around Luz, drawing her close. “How about giving us a hint?” she suggests, her tone light but eager.

Everyone nods in agreement. Lilith, clearly enjoying the playful challenge, grins and leans forward. “Alright, I’ll give you a hint,” she says, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “The name of this star is said in stories we read to children.”

You spent a lot of time in the library, a habit sparked partly by Amity and Luz’s influence, but also because you genuinely enjoyed delving into the rich history and lore of the Boiling Isles. As you pondered Lilith's hint, a classic children's story came to mind. You murmured the title under your breath, “The Wishmaker Star.”

Hearing your whispered answer, Lilith’s eyes lit up with approval. “That’s right!” she exclaimed. “Nicely done, (Y/n)!”

The group erupted in applause, impressed by your knowledge. Lilith marked another point on her chalkboard, and the trivia game continued with a renewed sense of enthusiasm.

Once the trivia game ended, with Gus emerging as the clear winner, the friendly competition had everyone in high spirits, and now it was time for the much-anticipated moment: opening the wrapped gifts.

You gathered the colorful packages, each one tied with cheerful ribbons and adorned with heartfelt tags.

The first gift you unwrapped was from Amity. It came in a shimmering purple bag, and as you carefully lifted the tissue paper, you found a beautifully crafted crystal pendant. The pendant was shaped like a star, with intricate details that caught the light in a mesmerizing way.

Amity watched with a hopeful smile as you admired the pendant. “I thought it might be a nice reminder of the stars we’ve spent so many nights talking about,” she explained.

You were touched by the thoughtful gift and hugged Amity gratefully. “It’s perfect, Amity. Thank you so much!” you said, your voice filled with warmth.

The next gift was from Luz. In her yellow gift bag, you discovered a small, leather-bound journal. The journal’s pages were blank, inviting you to fill them with your thoughts, dreams, and magical discoveries. Luz had added a personal touch by writing a heartfelt note on the first page, expressing her pride in your achievements and her hopes for your future. You rushed over to hug her tightly.

Luz’s said enthusiastically. “I’m glad you like it. I thought it would be perfect for your new adventures,” she said, her tone filled with sincerity.

After that, you made sure to open each gift and to express gratitude with heartfelt joy.

Eda had gifted you a charming, hand-carved wooden charm that depicted a playful owl. The charm was both whimsical and meaningful, capturing Eda’s unique sense of magic and mischief. “I figured you could use a bit of my own brand of luck,” Eda said with a wink. “Besides, owls are good for keeping watch!”

Lilith’s gift was a beautifully crafted set of magical candles, each one infused with different enchantments. There was a candle for relaxation, one for focus, and another for inspiration. “These are to help you with your studies and your adventures,” Lilith explained with a warm smile. “Light them when you need a little extra magic.”

Gus’s gift was a set of magical quills and enchanted ink. Gus had been excited to see you use them, and his enthusiasm was evident. “I just knew you’d appreciate these for your notes and sketches,” he had said. “Be careful with that though. Only write with the bright green ink when you want something to come to life!”

Willow’s present was a collection of enchanted botanical seeds. Each seed had its own magical properties, such as glowing flowers or plants that could change colors with the seasons. “I thought you’d enjoy growing these,” Willow said with a shy but proud smile. “They’re a little bit of nature’s magic for your home.”

Next, was Hooty’s gift. The eccentric owl had been practically bursting with excitement, his eyes gleaming as he hopped around. With a dramatic flourish, he coughed up a large, oddly-shaped package that landed with a soft thud in front of you.

As you carefully peeled away the wrapping dripping with salvia, you discovered a bizarre but intriguing gift: a large, enchanted plushie that looked like a cross between a fuzzy critter and a whimsical creature. The plushie had multiple eyes and an array of mismatched limbs that wiggled amusingly.

Hooty, still brimming with enthusiasm, explained, “Surprise! I thought you could use a little friend to keep you company. This is Hooty’s special buddy, Fluffernox!”

“Haha…” You held the disturbing stuffed animal at arms length. “Thanks… Hooty…”

Lastly, you turned your attention to Hunter’s gift. His hands trembled slightly as you carefully untied the ribbon and unfolded the wrapping paper. Inside was a small, intricately carved wooden box. You noticed that the lid of the box had your initials. As you lifted the lid, you discovered a delicate, handcrafted palisman. The palisman was adorned with symbols and a subtle glow, reflecting the effort and care Hunter had put into its creation.

You were momentarily speechless, your eyes wide with amazement. “Hunter… This is incredible!” you finally managed to say, your voice filled with awe. “I’m truly surprised. It’s beautiful.” You held up the small creature, admiring it’s weight in your hand and the aesthetic.

Hunter leaned in, his hair brushing lightly against your forehead as he gently cupped your hands, holding the palisman between you. “All it needs to come to life is to know your deepest desire,” he whispered, his voice soft and intent. The warmth of his hands and the fresh scent of his shampoo made your pulse quicken. Heat rose to your cheeks, but Hunter was so focused on the palisman, he didn’t notice the way your gaze lingered on him.

“I—” you hesitated, the words catching in your throat. What was your deepest desire? What did you truly want? The weight of that question felt almost unbearable, and you swallowed hard, feeling the pressure of the moment closing in. Now was the time to tell them—about your future, your plans, everything.

You gently pulled your hands back, allowing the palisman to fall into Hunter’s palms. His expression shifted to one of confusion, but before he could ask, you stepped away, the silence from everyone around you suddenly heavy. Their eyes were on you—waiting, watching. You felt as though the weight of their expectations was pressing down on you, making it hard to breathe.

Your hand trembled as you clenched it into a tight fist, trying to steady yourself. You took a deep breath, scanning the faces of the people you cherished. They all looked at you with concern, curiosity, and affection.

“I… I have something to tell you guys,” you finally managed, your voice cracking just a little under the pressure. The words hung in the air, each one harder to say than the last. “I’m staying in the Human Realm.”

They blinked Everyone stared at you, stunned. You could feel the weight of their surprise, their confusion, and the sharp, heavy moment that seemed to stretch between all of you.

The silence that followed your announcement felt endless, thick with shock. You could see the confusion in their eyes, the sudden tension between excitement and uncertainty. Even Hooty, usually brimming with chatter, was silent, his long body frozen in place.

Luz instantly stood up, her wide eyes reflecting disbelief before she finally broke the silence. “Wait… you’re staying?” Her voice was a mix of confusion and hurt.

You nodded, your throat tightening. “Yeah. I got accepted into my dream university in the human world. It’s… it’s a huge opportunity for me.”

Amity’s eyes widened in understanding, but there was a flicker of sadness. She squeezed Luz’s hand. “You didn’t tell us. All this time, you’ve been planning to leave?”

“I didn’t know how to say it,” you admitted, feeling your heart pound harder in your chest. “I didn’t want to make anyone upset.”

Eda let out a low whistle, crossing her arms. Her usual smirk was replaced with something else, something more thoughtful. “Well, kid, that’s one heck of an announcement. I get it, though. You’ve got big dreams.”

Gus, stepped forward with his usual enthusiasm dimmed by concern. “Does this mean you won’t be coming back? Like, ever?”

Hunter, still holding the palisman in his hands, was the quietest. His magenta eyes darted between you and the small creature. His mouth opened slightly, but he hesitated to speak, clearly grappling with what this meant.

The pressure from their reactions hit you hard, and you tried to steady yourself. “I didn’t tell you guys sooner because…” you paused, taking a shaky breath, “because I wasn’t sure. It wasn’t an easy decision, but after everything that’s happened, I think it’s what I need.”

Luz’s lips trembled, her hand gripping Amity’s tighter. “But we’re your family too,” she said softly, her voice breaking slightly. “Are we… not enough?”

Her words cut deep, and you felt your heart ache as you tried to explain. “It’s not about that,” you said quickly, “it’s not about any of you not being enough. I love you all so much. But… I have a life back in the Human Realm. I’ve worked so hard to get into this university. I need to follow through with that, with my own future.”

Eda let out a small sigh and rubbed the back of her neck. “You’ve got to do what feels right for you, kid,” she said, her voice softer now. “It’s a tough call, but… I get it.”

Hunter, finally finding his voice, spoke quietly. “And the palisman…?” His eyes searched yours, his fingers brushing over the wooden surface. “It won’t come to life if you don’t… if you’re not here.”

You looked down at the palisman, the weight of his words sinking in. This creature, a symbol of magic, connection, and belonging in the Boiling Isles, would never awaken in the Human Realm. You felt a pang of guilt, but you stood by your choice.

Hunter didn’t said anything else, but his eyes met yours for a brief moment. There was something deeper in his gaze—something that made your stomach flutter with uncertainty. Finally, he broke the silence. “I’m happy for you,” he said quietly, his voice steady but laced with something unspoken. “This palisman… it’s for you, wherever you go.”

He reached out his arm, beckoning for you to take the palisman. You looked up at him and then back towards the creature. “Thank you, Hunter.” You said, your voice heavy. “I’ll—”

“Will you be gone forever?” Willow’s voice trembled, her lips quivering. She adjusted her glasses to hide the sight of tears brimming the edges of her eyes.

You shook your head quickly. “No, I mean—I’ll visit, of course. I’m not disappearing forever. I just… I need to do this. For myself.”

Lilith reached out and squeezed your arm gently. “We’re happy for you, you know? It’s just… we’re going to miss you.” She was the first to squish you into a hug. Everyone else followed suit, attaching themselves to you as if they could somehow keep you from leaving by holding you close. It was overwhelming, the way everyone piled on with their arms wrapped around you—each hug a reminder of the bond you shared.

“We’ll be like one of those inter-dimensional friend groups!” Gus continued, his voice muffled by the group hug. “We’ll visit you in the Human Realm, and you can visit us here. It’ll be epic!”

Luz, still clinging tightly to you, added, “Yeah! We’ve got portals! Nothing’s stopping us from seeing you.” "You better not forget about me, your majesty!" King puff out his chest. "After all, who else is going to teach you about ruling the world? I can’t have my future co-ruler running off to the Human Realm without a plan!"

Hunter stood a little apart, watching quietly. His arms folded across his chest, but you could tell he was trying to process it all in his own way. He still held the palisman carefully, his fingers tracing the edges absentmindedly.

As for Hooty, he'd suddenly stretch his long, bendy body over to you, making his presence known with his usual unsettling enthusiasm. "OH, (Y/N), MY BEST FRIEND IN THE WHOLE WORLD! YOU CAN'T LEAVE ME!" He’d dramatically sob, then in a disturbing twist, he’d blurt out, "Do you need a Hooty-sized suitcase? I can pack myself inside and come with you!"

You looked at the weird creature. Hooty was… unexplainable. You were gonna miss him.

Eda, ever the practical one, ruffled your hair gently. “Kid, you’ve gotta do what makes you happy. We’ll survive without you... somehow,” she teased, but there was a glimmer of emotion in her eyes too.

As the hugs loosened and everyone stepped back, the weight of the moment settled in. You weren’t disappearing from their lives, but things would be different. There was a bittersweetness in the air, knowing that this was a goodbye of sorts—not forever, but for now.

As the group slowly dispersed, leaving you a moment to catch your breath, you faced the blond boy. He stood there quietly, his hands shoved into his pockets, his gaze shifting between you and the sky above.

"Hey," you said softly, trying to catch his eye.

He looked at you, his usual guarded expression softer than you’d seen it before. “(Y/n)…” he replied, though his voice was quieter than usual. It was like he wanted to say something, but he couldn’t find the words. For a moment, there was silence—neither of you quite knowing what to say.

“I... I guess this is it, huh?” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. His gaze finally lifted, and you could see the mixture of emotions swirling in his magenta eyes—uncertainty, sadness, and something else that made your heart skip a beat.

You offered him a small smile, stepping closer until you were only a breath away. “It’s not goodbye, Hunter,” you said softly. “It’s more like... see you later.”

He nodded, though his shoulders still seemed tense. “Yeah, but... it won’t be the same. I won’t be able to just... you know, see you whenever.” His hand clenched around the palisman for a moment before he loosened his grip, offering it to you again. “Here. Take it. You should have it.”

You reached out and gently closed your hand over his, pushing the it back toward him. “No, Hunter,” you said, your voice steady. “I want you to keep it safe for me. That way... I’ll have a reason to come back. To see you.”

Hunter’s breath hitched slightly, and his eyes widened in surprise. For a moment, it was as if the world had quieted around the two of you. Then, with a soft exhale, he smiled—a real, genuine smile that lit up his face in a way you hadn’t seen before.

“I... I’ll keep it safe,” he promised, his voice more certain now. “And... I’ll be here. Waiting.”

Without thinking, you closed the distance between you, wrapping your arms around him in a tight, warm hug. He stiffened for a second, clearly taken by surprise, but then he slowly relaxed into the embrace, his arms wrapping around you in return. It was a quiet, tender moment—no words needed, just the unspoken understanding between you.

“I’ll miss you,” you whispered, your cheek resting against his shoulder.

Hunter’s grip tightened slightly, his breath warm against your hair. “I’ll miss you too,” he whispered back, his voice soft but full of sincerity.

As everyone murmured in agreement to start star gazing, Hunter tugged you along to a soft picnic blanket. As the night grew deeper and the stars twinkled above, a particularly bright one caught your eye. It shimmered in the sky, a little brighter than the rest, almost like it was watching over you. You recognized it immediately, your breath catching in your throat.

“The Wishmaker Star,” you whispered, pointing it out to Hunter.

Hunter’s eyes followed your gesture, widening when he saw it. “What would you wish for?” Hunter’s voice was quiet, almost hesitant, as he looked over at you. His hand was still wrapped in yours, grounding you in the present.

You looked up at the star, thinking about everything—your journey, the friendships you’d built, and the uncertain path that lay ahead in the human world. But then your gaze shifted to Hunter, sitting beside you, his face illuminated by the soft starlight. After a long pause, you answered.

“I don’t think I need to make a wish,” you said softly, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “I already have everything I need. Friends who care about me... and people I’ll always come back to.”

Hunter’s expression softened, his grip on your hand tightening slightly. “I think I’d wish for the same thing,” he murmured, glancing back at the Wishmaker Star. “To keep what I’ve found.”

A moment of comfortable silence passed between you, the star continuing to shine brightly above, as if blessing the quiet bond you shared. You leaned your head against Hunter’s shoulder, your heart full, and together, you both watched as the star slowly began to fade into the night.

And as it vanished into the sea of stars, leaving only its soft glow behind, you felt a sense of peace wash over you. Wishes weren’t always about longing for something new—they could be about holding onto the moments and people you already had. And under that starlit sky, you knew that no matter where life took you, this connection, this feeling, would stay with you—just like the legend of the Wishmaker Star.

Hunter whispered, almost to himself, “Maybe we didn’t need the star to grant our wish. Maybe it’s already come true.”

And under the vast, starry sky, with the warmth of his hand in yours, you couldn’t help but think he was right.

[ersatz-ostrich]

Fox x gn!Senator!Reader: Partners in Crime

[A/N]: Another old work from Quotev. I've changed the name of this chapter so many times that it's getting to me.

Summary: A Separatist attack group detonates a bomb in Coruscant's massive Senate Building, causing a frenzy among senators and staff. Not long after the bomb explodes, the Separatists manage to breach the building's security barriers and invade the government building. Commander Fox is tasked with protecting the Chancellor alongside the rest of the Coruscant Guard, but when he is separated from his squad and the Chancellor, he collaborates with the clever Senator L/N to devise a plan to drive the Seppies out of the building for good.

Warnings: None, canon-typical violence

read it here on ao3!

"Senator L/N, this is your last warning! Evacuate the building!" A clone shouted through your commlink, which lay on your desk by an overwhelming stack of datapads and reports.

"I'm on my way!" You called out. You snatched up the commlink, taking the blaster from its hiding place in your office—you’d learned the hard way that Senators like yourself had to resign to quietly arming yourselves in times of espionage, civil unrest, and Senate infighting. You were rushing out the doors of your office as another explosion shook the Senate Building. Finding no one there to either kill you or escort you to safety, you dashed down the corridor with no apparent destination but the exit. The deadly silence prodded at your rationality, urging you to lose your calm. Fear threatened to render you helpless when the sound of marching droids met your ears, so you dove into the nearest office—which just so happened to be Chancellor Palpatine's. 

"Senator L/N! Are you unhurt?" Palpatine began from behind his desk, voice laced with worry. He was flanked with at least a dozen of the Coruscant Guard's finest shock troopers.

"I’m unharmed, but I heard droids in the hallways. We can't stay long." You replied. 

"Well then, we must not tarry." The guards followed Palpatine out of his spacious office, only to be met by a flurry of blaster bolts. Headed by a bounty hunter, what appeared to be an entire platoon of droids trained their blasters on the Chancellor. Each of the guards returned fire, as did you, and ushered you and Palpatine towards the nearest elevator that would hopefully lower you to safety.

"Get the Chancellor!" Commander Fox commanded, hammering the elevator's down button. Beside him, you knocked down a few droids with your blaster. Finally, the doors opened, and the Chancellor toppled in, followed by the rest of the present Coruscant Guard. Fox hammered the close button with vigor, gesturing wildly for you to get in as well—but you were still under fire and were unable to make it into the elevator when the doors slammed shut.

"Senator!" Palpatine exclaimed, disappearing down into the floor below. With only you and Fox left behind, you decided that it was worth a shot to escape.

"Run for it, Fox!" You cried, evading blaster fire as best as you could while dashing down the corridor. Fox matched your pace, and you took refuge in a deserted office once again. Panting quietly, you shut the doors and barricaded them with what you could find. 

"They'll be back soon." Fox mused, beginning to search the office for anything to use in defense against the number of droids and bounty hunters milling through the Senate Building.

"It's even more serious this time. The Separatists didn't just bring bounty hunters, they brought droids and even more explosives." You remarked, also searching through the office. After a long pause, you slid behind the desk and began to examine its contents. "Why don't we do something? I don't think we can just wait out the droids in this office."

"What do you think we should do, Senator? We've been separated from the Chancellor and the rest of the Coruscant Guard. This entire floor's crawling with clankers, too." Fox replied. Continuing to rummage through the desk and finding a spare commlink, an idea popped into your head.

"How about we set a trap?"

A few scrapped ideas later, you and Fox came up with a plan. The sound of muffled blaster fire continued, and time was running out.

"I think this will do fine...so, I'll comm Senators Amidala and Chuchi. I might be able to reach Mothma, too. They'll contact the rest of the Senators we can connect without showing up on the droid's channels. We'll meet at this rendezvous point—" You pointed to a room tucked away from public view in a holographic map of the Senate Building. "—Senators Amidala and Mothma will likely be armed, but we'll be outgunned. Still, we can hold our own until we can herd the droids into this plaza area, where detonators and EMPs will be rigged." Fox nodded, deep in thought. 

"With all due respect, Senator—this plan seems to be a bit too daring for the likes of you. Are you sure you can contact the senators without revealing your connection to the droids?" Fox sassed. You flashed him a knowing smile.

"There's a lot you don't know about us senators, Fox." You teased with a wink. "I know I can reach Senator Amidala just fine." 

"Well then, what about the detonators? I've got a few charges, but not nearly enough to wreck however many droids are in the Senate Building right now." 

"We can blast our way through the armory and lay the trap."

"Also..."

"What?"

"Why haven't the Jedi arrived yet?"

"Senator Amidala, come in! I repeat, Senator Amidala! Is anyone there?" You barked into the comm, punching Padmé's comm address again, hoping to get a response. Finally, a crackling noise was heard, piquing Fox's attention from across the room where he was scrubbing away at his twin DC-17 blasters. 

"This is Senator Padmé Amidala. Senator Y/N L/N, is that you?"

"I hear you loud and clear, Senator. Where are you?" You asked.

"I was on the second floor of the Senate Building when the firefight broke out. I'm...hiding in a storage closet on the second floor." Padmé hissed. "I heard a couple squads of droids pass by, but none of them noticed me.

"Do you know if the Jedi are aware of the attack?"

"I can't say. However, it doesn't appear to be so." The senator paused. "Do you know where Riyo and Mon are?" She inquired.

"I haven't got the slightest idea. I intend to comm them soon, though." You replied. "How close are you to the southernmost entrance?"

"A few corridors away."

"Each of us are going to grab all the senators we can reach and gather them there. Fox and I can acquire some charges here in the lower-level armories. We're going to rig the meeting area, where we will leave our comms on the droids' scramble setting. They won't find any of us there, just a few comms and some droid-poppers."

"Sounds like a plan Ani would come up with." Padmé replied with a giggle. "All right, I'll meet you there. I'll also try to get in touch with the other senators. Stay safe, Y/N." Padmé bid you goodbye, the commlink going dark. Stepping forward, Fox extended a gloved hand in invitation.

"Shall we?" You lugged away the heavy chaise from in front of the office doors. 

"Let's go."

Upon exiting the office, you and Fox were met with little resistance—you assumed that the droids had finished sweeping the floor you were on. Checking a chrono on the corridor wall, you'd realized you'd spent upwards of ten minutes pondering in the barricaded office. Reaching the end of the deserted hallway, you and your partner in crime headed for the elevator. Unluckily for you, though, the doors hissed open to reveal an entire gaggle of B1s, headed by a Commando droid.

"Well, this complicates things..." You tsked. Blaster bolts soon began flying to and fro. Thankfully, Fox was able to down the Commando; as for you, the rest of the unlucky B1s became your prey, thus securing the elevator compartment for both of you. Beginning the next phase of your tricky operation, you tried to comm Senator Chuchi from the elevator on the network you'd called Senator Amidala with. 

"Riyo, come in!" Nothing. "Riyo, I swear! This isn't about Bly and Aayla!" This time, the senator responded almost immediately. 

"This is Senator Chuchi. Identify yourself!"

"This is Y/N speaking, and it should be obvious that we've got an emergency!" You repeated the plan once again, and Riyo pitched in her thoughts as well. 

"I'll grab a few humanoid droids. That'll throw off the Separatists." A great clattering and clamoring of droid-speak was heard on the commlink. 

"Fox, why don't we stop here and check on Senate communications? We might be able to alert the Jedi." You suggested as the doors of the elevator slid open. 

He nodded in confirmation, so you continued down the corridor, blaster at the ready. You dashed into the nearest room, which was pitch-black save for an abandoned desk lamp. Whichever senator had occupied said quarters was long gone—inching closer to the desk, you noticed a slumped form on the floor—the senator had already been killed. 

Backing out of the office, Fox waved you into a meeting room where you could make an attempt to contact the Jedi Temple. Both of you fiddled away at controls for a moment, messing with holos and constantly switching communications channels. It wasn't long until the sound of marching came about, though—so you had to think fast.

"Y/N!" Fox hissed, knocking you to the ground. Lying on the floor underneath the conference table, you heard a couple of droids enter the room. With Fox lying on top of you, half-straddling your hips, you prayed to the Force that they wouldn't grow suspicious of the glowing blue holos still powered on in the conference room, set to Jedi frequencies. 

Fox’s body heat, radiating from his gloves and the exposed segments in his armor, bloomed over your skin as the silence dragged on, sending chills down your spine. Finally, the droids stepped out, not even bothering to check under the table or further in the conference room. You hoped Fox couldn't see your trembling and blushing from underneath that bucket of his. Thankfully, he was quick to leap off of the ground, trying to conceal his own flushed face and stuttering pulse from underneath his helmet. You quickly returned to work, trying to figure out what was going on with the Jedi communications networks. 

"The droids have been doing something, probably overloading or jamming our communications. The Jedi haven't realized a single thing!" You exclaimed, hunched over rows upon rows of glowing blue Aurebesh. 

"Can you contact them with your private networks?" Fox asked, raising an eyebrow from beneath his bucket. 

"Sorry, but those chats are for senators only." You answered, already on your way out of the meeting room. "Come on! We've got more Senators to rescue."

After a couple of floors' worth of sweeping, you picked up Onaconda Farr, Orn Free Taa, and dozens more prominent senators. Even Mon Mothma found her own escape party of about fourteen using secret comm channels, which, once upon a time, were used for both gossip and long-distance communication over the cavernous Senate chamber. 

You finally found Riyo Chuchi and Padmé Amidala waiting at the rendezvous point, and you'd also stopped by the armories while Riyo and Padmé had managed to rescue their own groups of senators. 

In total, there were over one hundred senators crowded into the huge atrium and dozens more staff in the cavernous room. With the rest of the massive Senate dead, escaping, or off-world, you and Fox had done everything in your power to covertly gather the surviving senators and staff into the atrium. Everything was going all according to plan, save for the amount of senators you'd managed to rescue—it seemed to be that the reach of said secret comm channels were not as far as you had expected. Following the projected destruction of nearly all of the patrolling droids and the south atrium, there was a possibility that you and Fox would have to conduct even more rescue missions.

"Deposit your commlinks here, please." You instructed, activating your own commlink. You tried to contact the droids and bounty hunters stationed around the building. After a few tries, a Weequay bounty hunter answered the commlink.

"What do you want, senator?" The hunter spat. 

"This is Senator Y/N L/N. I've gathered myself and the rest of the available senators in the southern atrium. We want to negotiate." The bounty hunter paused, then sighed.

"Do you have any guidelines for...say, a surrender of the Senate building? I would be more than happy to patch Count Dooku in..."

"Nonsense. We will settle this right here, right now, with Dooku or without." You answered sternly, shaking your head. 

"Fine, then. I'll meet you there." The bounty hunter waved along his droid troops, and the final phase of the plan was set into motion.

"Y/N!" A voice called out. Appearing in the southern entrance was Chancellor Palpatine, still flanked by the Coruscant Guard  as the crowd of senators and staff parted for their Supreme Chancellor. The Guard seemed to be missing a few troopers, but other than that, Palpatine appeared to be unharmed.

"Chancellor!" Padmé exclaimed. "Thank goodness you're alright." Fox immediately regrouped with his squad, waving signals frantically. The remaining troopers marched to the entrances to the southern atrium and stood guard. 

"There were so many droids..." Palpatine lamented. "I'm afraid we were unable to call for reinforcements." 

"Don't worry! I've got a plan, Chancellor. We've got some EMPs and charges here, along with our comms and some humanoid droids to lure the Separatists here." Fox and his comrades produced what was left of their thermal detonators and EMPs, also setting them about the plaza. "We'll be gone by then." 

"But what about the droids stationed outside?" Palpatine asked. You shared a look of askance with Fox. Other droids? How did he even know that there were more outside!? The Chancellor awkwardly cleared his throat. "I saw some B1s patrolling through the window. I'm worried we won't get past them alive."

"Sir, that's what we're here for." Stone cleared his throat, gesturing towards his brothers. "We'll make sure that you get out of here alive." Fox nodded, cocking his DC-17. 

"Turn on the comms, Y/N. It's time to move out." You nodded and quickly powered on all of the commlinks piled up on the plaza's floor with. Falling silent, Fox and the rest of the guard soon burst out of the Senate building, immediately attracting Separatist blaster fire. Thankfully, there were little more than B1s and a couple of B2 Supers on border patrol, leading you to the docking area where senators could be ferried to wherever they needed to go. 

Casting one last look at the Senate Building, you surveyed the damage it had sustained—the droids' heavy weapons and explosives had scorched spots of the large dome, and the interior that was once elegantly and sleekly decorated was now pockmarked with blemishes made by blaster fire and scorch marks. Nearly all of its staff had been evacuated, and more were dead. You couldn't think of how many lives that had been lost at the hands of a super's wrist gun or a pirate's rifle. However, you were snapped out of your reverie when you saw a massive group of droids approach your carefully-set up trap through the towering glass doors of the Senate entrance. You grinned mischievously. 

"Time to detonate the charges!" You sang, pressing the button rigged to all of the explosives, waiting for your sweet revenge.

Meanwhile, the majority of the perpetrators and droids gathered round the southern entrance, searching for where the senator's transmission had originated. 

"Huh? Where are the senators?" One droid asked, looking around with confusion. Only a few moments later, the Separatists' attention was directed to the comms sitting in a heap on the atrium floor, still on and tracking the Separatist frequency.

“Oh, n—” Scattered around the room and piled near the comms were dozens upon dozens of EMPs and thermal charges, each of them bidding the Separatist perpetrators a swift but painful death by combustion or permanent deactivation. From outside the Senate Building, you locked eyes with Fox as an explosion shook the gargantuan durasteel structure. Blood-orange flames and tendrils of electricity from the remaining EMPs licked at the busted-open doors of the Senate Building, nearly all of the droids up in thick smoke and the majority of the senators evacuated. 

"We did good today, right?" You beamed brightly at Fox, who in turn removed his bucket and smiled tiredly.

"Yes. Better than I had expected, Senator." Clasping his gloved hand and leaning into his shoulder, you watched on as the southern atrium burned, the Separatists left to die. The day had been won, but not without casualties. 

"I couldn't have asked for a better partner in crime, Fox." You replied. He chuckled, pulling you closer. 

"Me neither, Senator. Me neither.”

Fun fact: This oneshot was initially labeled as platonic when I first published it (years ago). I’m not sure what I was thinking when I said this was platonic. Must be the sleep deprivation talking.

Want to be on my general or Star Wars taglist? Let me know! Until next time x

[wonderfulworldofmichaelford]

Psycho Analysis: Gus Fring

(WARNING! This analysis contains SPOILERS!)

Breaking Bad is known for its fantastic cast of characters, all of whom have some level of critical acclaim and iconic status. Seriously, go to Wikipedia and go to any character’s page from the show (basically every major character has one) and look at the “Reception” part, pretty much all of them are universally beloved. Chief among that crowd is the only villain in the show to give our rascally villain protagonist Walt a run for his money, the criminal mastermind that is Gustavo “Gus” Fring.

If you think I’m going to do anything other than add to those heaps of praise, you’re surely mistaken; I love Gus as much as anyone else who has seen the show. But where most are willing to overlook certain aspects of the character that don’t work so well because he is cool and gay, I acknowledge those flaws and love Gus anyway. We are not the same.

Motivation/Goals: Gus is a businessman, plain and simple. Be it Los Pollos Hermanos or his secret meth business, Gus wants perfection in every aspect of his professional life. That being said, he’s a pretty fair boss, and if you pull your weight you will be rewarded; he treats his employees at Los Pollos Hermanos so well that you know the show takes place in a fantasy world, because no boss is that nice. And he was way too lenient with Walt all throughout that man’s career working with him.

Of course, Gus is also driven by revenge. Don Eladio, Hector Salamanca, and the rest of the cartel are responsible for the death of his lover Max, and Gus refuses to rest until the entire operation has crumbled, with only him left standing tall and Hecor lefty broken and crippled to be finished off last as he’s the one who pulled the trigger. It’s a very classic villain motivation, and it helps give a little bit of sympathy to a character who is otherwise too cold and mysterious to really delve into the mind of. At any rate, it makes it very easy to root for Gus and cheer him on as he plays his supposed superiors for suckers and orchestrates their downfalls all while coming up with dozens of plans to cover his own ass.

Performance: Giancarlo Esposito has such an air of elegance and menace to him when he’s playing Gus. You can really see why he man ended up typecast after this, playing cunning antagonists, because he really kills it here. He does have one incredibly major flaw, though: He’s not a native Spanish speaker like Gus is. This leads to pretty much any point where Gus is required to speak the language falling flat, especially since most of the time he’s up against actors who are actually fluent and even if you’re not a native speaker you can pick up on how clunky he is in comparison to Michael Mando or Tony Dalton.

Final Fate: Gustavo Fring got outplayed by both Walter and Hector, and the result is perhaps one of the single greatest villain deaths of all time.

As many have pointed out, it is genuinely hilarious how Gus hated Hector so fucking much that he refused to die in the same room as him. And hey, maybe this isn’t very accurate to how a person would realistically look after taking an explosion directly to the face… But it’s one hell of a cool visual. Sometimes it’s better to check realism at the door for the sake of symbolism and cool prosthetic gore.

Best Scene: I think it is genuinely hard to top Gus’ awesome moments, even if he doesn’t ever really get an entire episode of focus. I think his crowning moment, the moment where we as an audience and Walt as a character learn that us is not even remotely fucking around, is his silent preparations before he comes up to his lackey Victor and violently slits his throat in “Box Cutter,” before equally silently getting dressed once more. Right before leaving, he simply says, “Get back to work” before leaving a stunned Walt, Mike, and Jesse behind.

There’s also Gus taking down Don Eladio and all his capos in “Salud.” It’s such wonderful, beautiful vengeance, and it’s all made better by the fact Gus poisoned himself, went to the bathroom, neatly placed a towel on the floor and knelt down on it, and then induced vomiting. This man would pick the fruitiest way imaginable to save his own life.

Finally, there is his scene in “Fun and Games,” the first and only time we see Gus just out enjoying himself. We get to see him pretty obviously flirting with a sommelier, but as soon as the man leaves for a moment Gus makes the decision to commit himself fully to his mission and rule out the possibility of love again after what happened to Max. This is the moment where we see Gus fully become the man we know him as in Breaking Bad, and it’s honestly pretty tragic. He could have been happy if he’d just let go some of his hate, and maybe he’d even still be alive.

Final Thoughts & Score: Gus is one of the best villains ever to grave television, and considering he’s in a show filled to the brim with some of the greatest villains ever devised, that’s really saying something.

Part of what makes him so genuinely great is just how utterly unknowable he is. Over the course of both Breaking Bad and Better Call Saul, he is almost like a god of the criminal underworld, untouchable and mysterious. What very little tidbits we get of his past paint a conflicting picture that could mean any number of things, and at every other point he manages to command respect and fear from all those around him, with those not wise enough to do so ending up dead by his masterful machinations. It ultimately makes the single scene where we see him not doing business, the one where he flirts with the man at the bar, so much more impactful. We see that Gus has rejected his humanity, his chance at ever being happy again, so that he can be consumed by his work and his vengeance. Gus is what he is by choice.

It’s why, even if it’s not really “good” that Walt won, it is so satisfying and cathartic. Gus spends his screentime pulling off superhuman schemes and feats of vengeance, orchestrating the deaths of the entire Salamanca family and his own cartel superiors, and yet he is done in by an absolute bumbling buffoon of a criminal like Walt. It’s a classic case of David and Goliath, with the untouchable adversary being taken down due to viewing his foe as so far beneath him that he didn’t realize he was screwed until it was too late. Gus was sadly too smart for his own good, never bothering to consider the erratic chemistry teacher could ever pull off anything big enough to defeat him.

With all that, Gus gets a 10/10. With how much I love Gus and how I consider him one of my favorite villains ever, you might be wondering why I didn’t bump him up to a 10.5 to denote him being a cut above the garden variety 10. Well, Gus has one issue with his character that I feels really hampers him in crucial moments: His inability to speak Spanish. Giancarlo Esposito, despite being an absolutely fantastic actor in every other regard, does not speak Spanish and needs his lines given to him phonetically. Native speakers have called his accent stilted and unnatural, and it has led to moments that should be epic and powerful such as his monologue to Lalo before killing him becoming nonsensical gibberish to trained ears. Considering that character is a native Spanish speaker, this is an absolutely unforgivable and glaring flaw. It certainly doesn’t ruin the character, but it does hold him back just a little bit.

But it really does speak volumes that as soon as Gus is taken out, the quality of the villains just plummets. The final season has Walt facing off against a bunch of Nazis and fucking Lydia, the annoying businesswoman. The final season is still peak, but boy are those villains living in Gus’ shadow. In spite of his flaws (or, well, his singular but rather major flaw), he’s still one of the greatest villains in television history, and is up there with Walt and Saul as the greatest villains in the series.

[rosainta]

“Advice Unmasked: Team Fortress 2”

{Transcript}

Miss Pauling: “Thanks for listening, Spy. I’m sorry if I got a bit melodramatic at the end there.”

Spy: “No problem, ma chère. Remember— these things take time, so just keep aiming to improve yourself.”

Miss Pauling: “Yeah, I… think I can do that.”

Spy: “Good. Now, run along and shoot Scout for me, will you?”

Miss Pauling: “Hah, alright.”

Description: Spy giving his usual high-quality French advice after listening to Miss Pauling vent about work problems.

(Made with a hint of inspiration from the AO3 fic “A Pauling’s Attire” by Lizziefij / elrong, with her wonderful headcanon of Spy and Miss Pauling being somewhat close— specifically stylistically!

Here is the link- go read it when you can. It’s super well-written, professional, and the artwork that goes along with it is just phenomenal!! <3 :

~ * ~

Started January 28th, 2024 at 1:00AM, Home Finished January 30th, 2024 at 4:45, Home

Art Notes:

This is a gift / apology art for the user @slimsnipes , after them being very kind (and tolerant of my incessant blabber mouth… so sorry about that... 😭) during a stream and helping improve my art skills and motivating me to keep creating!

Please, if you haven’t already, go check them out! They make wonderful art— especially Speeding Bullet-related content!!! >u< — and are just really cool in general, so if you want to be crying in awe for two hours straight (like me…), here’s the person to go to!

As for the artwork, I made it really late at night and really quickly— not because I was rushing but more because I made it during a spontaneous burst of inspiration at 1AM that even my sleepiness couldn't stop. -w-

Probably due to my inability to think straight from the tardy inspo-explosion, I made a mistake when drawing where Spy's ear and jawline ended up being WAYYY closer to his eyes than physically possible. I re-drew it in Markup and covered it up with shading (because I can't be bothered to erase the colouring and rip the paper LOL), and now, aside from the general area and lineart being slightly darker than the rest of his face, you can barely tell there was a change at all!

Plus, it helped improve my colouring a little bit, which was great because that was my initial goal with this drawing in the first place.

This work is not something I'm immensely proud of since there are a lot of flaws with it, like the entire wonky anatomy of Spy, that I feel I could have avoided if I had just made it during the day and... not so randomly... but I'm still going to post it here just to document the experience and take it as a lesson to learn from!

And, again, to reiterate, my standards are pretty low for what I post here-- anything that doesn't look like chicken scratch or scribbles-- because I want to post things that I truly express myself with, so I won't be leaving this one out!

Anyhow, that's about it for this one! Remember to check out slimsnipes and Lizziefij when you can, they are both super talented and they've really shaped the way I create, and I'm sure they'll inspire you too, in the best way possible!

Have a good one, pally~ ^.^

~ Rosain Quivan

Credits: ‘Team Fortress 2’ by Valve, “A Pauling’s Attire” by Lizziefij / elrong, slimsnipes Image source: Rosain Quivan Created by: Rosain Quivan {Cross posted on Amino ( Rosain Quivan )}

[moonfurthetemmie]

Untitled.MP4

Previous | Next | First (with warnings)

Part 16

June 30, 20XX_TL_1

Zuli is sitting in front of the camera. There’s a mess of wires and vials before him, off to the side of the camera’s view. He seems shaky, but solemn. Resolve is clear in his voice. There’s no sign of the tears he’d had yesterday.

“We’re blowing up the manor.”

He pauses, working on the device in front of him. 

“Mercury’s infected. We noticed the white patches on his skin as he was working on the cure. Here, in the office. I’m sure I’m infected too. The cure is nowhere near done. If I worked on it, I might make it, but I don’t know anything about how chemicals mix, nevermind medicine. And this sickness advances way too fast; I’d probably only have a few hours at best. We’re not going to make it out of here. The least we can do is make sure this thing doesn’t, either.”

Something clicks into place in the device on the desk.

“Before I was kidnapped by Obsidian, I was training to be part of an elite military force in my universe. During that time, I learned how to make explosives. We’re going to make a dozen or so pipebombs and firebombs, hide them around, lure the Colony in close to the manor, and set them off. We don’t have a lot of time. Mercury helped me make a few, and he’s setting them out now. Still in a hazmat suit; the more spores he breathes in, the faster he’ll go, and we need all the time we can get.

“Some of the failed cures we found did slow the progression of the disease, so I had him take any that weren’t deadly. And some were. He said that’s a common problem when trying to treat fungal diseases, so I’m kind of impressed how many were safe, even if they weren’t ever quite enough.”

Zuli carefully wraps his contraption in gauze and medical tape. He grabs more supplies from off-screen, and gets to work on another.

“We know the Colony has done something to make creating portals impossible. We don’t know how, but we know it has. And we know that it wants to infect everyone before it lets anyone leave. Koroit probably could, but it doesn’t want her to. I don’t know why; with how advanced her case is, she could probably infect a town in just a few hours. But, it sounds like it’ll try to absorb the manor into its own structure once it’s sure the last few people in the manor are infected. So…all we need to do is convince it we’ve been infected. And that won’t be too hard. 

“This is the last video. None of us are going to survive this. The fungus burns easily, and burns fast. Anyone who’s infected will die quickly, if painfully. But as long as we can get the big thing outside, this will also help make sure that there’s nothing infectious here; as long as we can get the whole place to burn. Mercury thinks we can. I hope he’s right. If this thing gets out…”

He shakes his head, and finally looks right at the camera.

“Peridot, whoever you are, and whatever it is you do, we’ve dropped a pretty big weight on your shoulders, and I’m sorry. If you’re in a position to do something directly, do it. If you can’t do anything, send these to someone who can. Anyone who might know what to do.

“If someone needs to investigate here, they need to wear good hazmat suits. And they need to make sure they have a way to decontaminate their suits before they leave. We’ve been using strong hydrogen peroxide, but Mercury says that it’s a bad idea for use long-term, so hopefully whoever comes knows something better. 

“We’ve taken more pictures, as many as we could, and we’re sending them with the videos. Pictures of everyone. Mercury’s current symptoms. The mold and fungus on the walls and floor. The…the thing outside. Anything to help you–or whoever you might have to send these to–know what to look for.”

Zuli finally takes a breath. He turns back to the unassembled bomb on the desk, and begins working.

“This is the last one I have to make. Once I’ve placed them, I’m…I’m going to go see Jade.”

His voice cracks.

“I should’ve killed him when he asked me to. It would’ve been so much less painful than this. And I think the fungus will have covered him too much for me to cut him out and give him an easier way out before the bombs go off, and the fire spreads. At least if I’m near him without a suit, it won’t take long for the spores to get to me. I just need to last long enough to be able to set off the bombs when the Colony closes in.”

Zuli slowly reaches forwards. There’s tears in his eyes.

“Peridot. You are our only chance. I’m sorry this has been pushed on you, and I know that this being sent from people who live with Obsidian–one of whom works for him–is going to make you wary of helping. But this isn’t about Obsidian. This disease, wherever it came from, is a much bigger threat than Obsidian could ever hope to be. Unintelligent life suffocates from the mushrooms. Humans–and maybe monsters–are made living agents of infection, who live only to serve the Colony and spread it’s reach. It’s alive. It’s sentient. It can be multiple places at once. And it makes anyone it comes into contact with willing conspirators. Obsidian is an agonized mass of fungus and mold because of this thing. 

“You can’t save us now, but you can save others. Don’t let what happened here spread.”

The video ends.

[soggysocks-thescourge]

I genuinely need to hear more abt your oc because they look so sweet omg (⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠)

ofc!!!

so where to start?????

so I’m assuming you r talking about my MHA OC, so I’m gonna start with her quirk.

Her quirk is called hammerspace. The Hammerspace for those who don’t know is a space between space if that makes sense, it’s where you can store objects without a limit to how much, and the user (my OC) can locate them instantly. And she discovers new uses for her quirk all the time. She one day figured out that she can open multiple “windows” to the hammer space at one time. She ended up being able to use them for teleportation, and she is still figuring out different ways to use her quirk for the good as it is a very versatile quirk.

Her name is Erin, and I still don’t have a last name for her, she moved to Japan from America when she was eight, because of her parent’s work.

Some lore: she had a best friend who she met when she moved from America to Japan. I don’t have name for this best friend, but the the two wanted to be hero’s together. Her best friend’s quirk was alchemy, it was very similar to momo's quirk and he could basically create elements and elemental compounds with his quirk. The two friends went to the UA entrance exams and both passed. But a few weeks later during the time before the first day of UA. The friend was killed in a hit and run. If he was alive he would have replaced the dude who gets stronger from eating sugar since I personally think that his quirk was kinda useless compared to others, nor does he really feel involved too much. Erin replaces invisiblility girl in this au since I think her character and quirk were not very good either. So because of her best friend’s sudden death, Erin is closed off at the start of the series due to grief. She remains somewhat reserved throughout quite a bit of it but warms up to others starting at the is camp.

Some ways she would slightly change the series: She would get a pretty high place in the sports festival due to the hammerspace portals and being able to finished the obstacle course pretty easily, but she would not be able to span it in one portal since it a more recently learned ability, she would also be able to capture her opponents in the hammer space, easily dumping them out of bounds. Her and bakugo would compete in the finals, and bakugo would win, by using the explosions to keep himself from being trapped, but in the end he would definitely feel like Erin was a threat to him, causing a rivalry. The two will have an enemies to frenimies to lovers arc. The two don’t make it official for awhile, and most people are surprised since they never would have guessed there was anything romantic between them.

so yeah if there are any questions feel free to ask