#not the one at the person scanner the one at the bag one

[writing-until-i-drop]

Wildflowers For A Hangman Ch. 13

Summary:

Daisy, a career novelist, moves in with her college best friend Phoenix who has been permanently assigned to Top Gun with Dagger Squad. She finds herself instantly connected with a cocky pilot who's soft only for her and Jake can't help but want to know everything about her. When the past comes knocking at both of their doors, will they stand together or fall apart?

Or: The Dagger Squad can't cook and Jake falls in love with a woman who makes a mean lasagna while they work their personal trauma.

Jake "Hangman" Seresin x writer!femOC | 18+ (eventually) minors dni. Fluff, smut (eventual), idiots in love, past trauma.

A/N: Daisy and Jake get ready to leave for their Thanksgiving trip but things don't go as planned.

AO3 Link

Previous Chapter

October had been a blur of soccer games, conference calls with my agent and publisher planning a book tour for the new year, and lots of time spent apologizing to Harvey. He was mad at me still but he understood why I had kept him in the dark, at least enough to invite me to spend Christmas with him.

Jake had been swinging between calm and absolutely wired when it came to making the Thanksgiving trip to Texas for Thanksgiving. One moment he was telling me how excited he was and how much his family was going to love me, the next he was wringing his hands, silently staring into the distance. He was doing the same thing now, standing in the line for TSA.

“Baby,” I tugged him forward in line by his hand, “What’s bothering you?” He shrugged, pulling off his boots. “Don’t give me that.”

“Just thinking, Wildflower.” I rolled my eyes, double checking that my pockets were empty before pushing my bin forward. “I just want this to go well and I’m nervous.” 

“It’s going to be fine, pretty boy. Don’t forget to take off your hat,” I flicked the rim of the cowboy hat he rarely wore. “But I know that’s not all, you’re being way too frowny for that to be it.” He sighed but didn’t respond, staying silent as we processed through the body scanner and pulled our shoes back on. Jake’s silence was tugging at my heart strings, a million possibilities more ludicrous than the last running through my mind. The thoughts slowed when he wrapped his arm over my shoulder, pulling me into his side, but didn’t fade completely.

“My mama’s going to pick us up from the airport and then we’re going to get lunch with my sisters.” I hummed, knowing the plan already. We had gone over it twice in the car alone. “Are you upset with me?” 

“I’m not upset with you, I’m worried because you’re being weird and not telling me why.” Jake kissed the top of my head, guiding us off to the side of the main walkway. Jake’s eyes were soft but his jaw was tight, relaxing and tensing repeatedly as he stared me down. I waited patiently, fiddling with the button on my suitcase’s handle.

“I’ve never brought someone home before,” He confessed and it all made sense. I cupped his face, swiping my thumb over the stubble that had appeared in the last two days.

“Happy to be your first, Hangman,” Jake pulled me closer by the waist, a goofy grin on his face.

“That’s the same thing you said to me the night we met.” Back when I thought Jake was just some cocky pilot flirting with me for fun. I had never been happier to be wrong in my life. “I thought you were the prettiest girl in the bar.” 

“I didn’t even want to go that night,” Jake chuckled at my confession. “And I about died of embarrassment when you introduced yourself by kissing my head.” He leaned down, giving me a sweet kiss that made my heart flutter.

“‘I’m glad you came that night,” 

“‘Me too.” 

Jake and I made our way to the gate, stopping at the overpriced market for a share-size bag of M&Ms that I didn’t plan on sharing and caffeine for Jake, who despite having to be up early every day for work, was decidedly not a morning person.

“I love you,” Jake nuzzled his face into my neck, kissing it softly. My cheeks burned red, catching the scandalized glance of an older couple across from us. “And I can’t wait for you to meet my family.” 

“People are looking at us, pretty boy,” I tried to push him away gently but he wrapped an arm around me, keeping me as close as possible despite the arm rest between us. He breathed in deeply, keeping his face concealed in my hair as people shot us poorly concealed looks.

“Don’t care, Wildflower. Unless it makes you uncomfortable?” 

“A little,” Jake gave my neck one last kiss before pulling back. “But I love you too.” His phone rang and when he looked at the caller ID, his face fell.

“Lt. Seresin,” I couldn’t hear the conversation over the noise of the airport but the look on Jake’s face was enough to make my stomach twist with anxiety. “Rear Admiral, I understand the situation but I’m on approved leave for-” He ground his teeth, obviously being cut off by someone. “Yes, sir,” He hung up. Jake buried his face in his hands, grunting in frustration. I rubbed circles onto his back,

“What’s wrong, Jake?” 

“The team’s being called in for an emergency, I have to go.” My heart dropped, hearing how broken his voice was. “Fuck, I hate this.” 

“It’s okay, baby,” I kissed his hair, still rubbing his back. “Let’s get out of here, I’ll figure out the bags later.” I stood, shouldering my bag, “Come on, Jake. We’ll call your mama in the car and arrange something for when you get back.” 

“No,” He said firmly, standing. I raised a brow, confused. Jake lifted my bag from my shoulder, depositing in the chair he had just been sitting in.

“Jake?” He shook his head, running a hand down his face. “What are you doing?” 

“I want you to meet my family and they’re so excited to meet you, I don’t want my job to ruin this.” He wanted me to meet his family without him? Was he insane? “Take a deep breath, baby. You look like you’re going to pass out.” I inhaled deeply, trying to school my face into one that looked slightly less terrified. 

“I’m not meeting your family without you.”

“Please, Daisy?” He pulled me in for a sweet kiss, “Do it for me?” I groaned, resting my head on his chest. Jake hugged me tight, swaying us from side to side. This was a big deal for both of us. I had never met someone’s parents and he had never brought a girl home before, it was something new to both of us. Something big and scary but something that had to be done, especially if I was going to marry him some day. 

I smiled, thinking about Jake in his dress whites, the rest of the Daggers standing in uniform beside him, except for Natasha who was by my side like always. I didn’t have many people who could stand on my side of the aisle but that didn’t ruin the image.

“I’ll do it.” 

X

When Jacob had sent me a text to explain the change of plans, I nearly dropped my phone in surprise. That was not the plan. It was not the plan at all. We were all over the moon to finally meet Daisy but there was so much more we needed to discuss, all of which had to be done in person and Jake getting pulled away on a last minute mission complicated things. 

“What are we going to do?” My husband, Franklin, asked. “We’ve got to tell him.” I shook my head, wringing my hands.

“We do but right now we’re in the same pickle we’ve been in for the last six months. We’ll tell him when he gets back, whether it’s over the phone or in person.” Franklin kissed my forehead, passing the truck keys to me.

“Go pick up our future daughter-in-law, Honey Bunny,” Franklin was having a good day, standing tall, his hands steady for the most part. It pained me to see him so thin, his flannel hanging off of him in a way it hadn’t in years. “We’ll figure out how to handle this later.” 

“We’re meeting the girls for lunch but I left some soup for you in the fridge if you get hungry,” Franklin hummed in acknowledgement but I had a feeling the soup would still be there when I got home. “I love you,” 

“I love you too.” 

The airport was busy as always but I managed to find a parking spot in front of arrivals. I hopped out of the truck, grabbing the bouquet of daisies Caroline had insisted on picking up from the store the night before. I glanced at the last photo of Daisy that Jacob had sent to the family group chat. She was a pretty, little thing with red hair that always seemed to be tied up in a messy knot, holding up a casserole with a bright smile, Jacob's friends gathered around her. It was easy to see how much everyone loved her and how much she enjoyed being surrounded by them. It was comforting, knowing that my baby boy had found someone who brought so much light to his life. 

The red hair was easy to spot amongst the crowd, I waved her down.

“Daisy, honey! Over here,” The young woman’s head perked up. She smiled nervously when she saw me, making her way through the droves of people. “Oh my goodness, what a cutie pie you are!” I gushed, bringing her into a tight hug. She patted my back softly, not quite relaxing into the embrace. “It’s so nice to finally meet you in person. Jacob’s told us all about you.”

“It’s nice to meet you too, ma’am.” I pulled back, a big smile on my face. 

“You can just call me mama, sweetheart.” There was a flash of sadness over her features and it hit me that Jacob had mentioned that Daisy’s parents were both dead. I quickly changed the subject, “It’s a shame Jacob couldn’t make it but this means we don’t have to sneak away to the kitchen for me to show you his baby pictures.” 

“Oh I can’t wait,” Daisy giggled, “Jake was also worried about you telling me embarrassing childhood stories.” She finally seemed relaxed, taking the bouquet with a small thank you.

“I’ve got plenty of those to share, I’ll even send you home with the recording of his 3rd grade talent show.” 

“Please, please, please tell me it was a magic act,” Daisy laughed, helping me load her bags into the truck bed.

“Even better, he sang Should've Been A Cowboy.”

Taglist: @theforevermorereject @beltzboys2015-blog @writingrose @sinners-98-world @nerdgirljen @candlejuice @a-court-of-roscoe-and-baby @football1921 @katiemcrae @emma8895eb @itsdesiree86 Want to be added to this list? Just ask!

Next Chapter

[apollos-boyfriend]

it’s a non-christmas christmas miracle. my tits didn’t set off the tsa scanner war is fucking over

[solar-wing]

⚣ Paralyzed 🕷️

⚣🕷️ A/N → so the yandere/whump fic starring our very own Miguel O'Hara becomes a reality. watching his scenes back in the movie really gets you thinking. Either way definitely will be doing more content with him. WARNINGS: 18+ MDNI | Yandere Miguel O'Hara | Darling Male Reader | Reader is Spiderman in their dimension | Abduction/Kidnapping | Forced Paralysis |Bondage | Emotional & Mental Manipulation |

⚣🕷️ Summary → He should've seen the signs. Should have paid attention to the warnings. If he'd been aware of what he was capable of, he could've been prepared, or at least gotten away safely. Then again, an obsession was something people didn't just give up easily, especially Miguel O'Hara.

⚣🕷️ Words → 2.6K

REBLOGS & replies are greatly appreciated, please! 💛

⚣ ENJOY 🕷️

The signs were clear from the beginning.

All he could think about as his body lay limp was how he missed, or rather ignored every single sign that led to this. Every red flag that was warning him of this moment as the cause of his current paralyzed state kneeled behind him, propping his body up while fastening and securing the scarlet-red web bonds around his body.

“No more running. No more hiding. No volverás a escaparte de mí, cariño.”

The words were not met without merit. From his securely tied legs to the red webs wrapped around his body keeping his arms trapped to his sides, his captor took away any possibility of an escape attempt. He'd lost him once, and he would allow even the slightest chance of losing him again to exist in this dimension or any other for that matter.

It didn't stop him from trying though as he struggled, doing his best to will his body into healing and purging the paralytic toxins from his blood so he could regain his mobility. But, it was no use.

His fate had been set in stone as he was lifted off the ground and placed on the hulking man's shoulder, carried out of the motel room he’d been hiding staying in, the last view of his freedom slipping away farther and farther. Now, it was back to a life of captivity and restrictions all around him, bound to someone he would never love, but who would never not love him.

Had Y/N known Miguel O’Hara, aka Spiderman 2099, would have turned out to be an obsessive and demented mental case, determined to live out his failed love life through him, he'd have thought twice before accepting the Spider's invitation to join his team. Heck, he never would've even showed up to that damn fight with that anomaly on his Earth all that time ago that led to all this.

*13 Months Ago*

Y/N could hear the static noise from the police scanner that was in his book bag, ears perking at the voice coming on the other side detailing an incident or attack at Madison Square Garden, where his dad and other police were working security detail for an event. From the description, it sounded like Kraven, only Y/N couldn't think of a reason why he would attack such a massive event when his usual goal was always to capture him.

However, when Y/N arrived on the scene after getting the police and his dad out of harm's way, he was surprised to see that whoever the Kraven that he knew was not the Kraven attacking the event center. In fact, he wasn't even sure this was Kraven, though he had the same attire. This guy was massive, built like a giant, and dressed like a caveman or Neanderthal.

He apparently shared similar abilities to the hunter he knew, able to track him and move fast, but unlike his usual counterpart, the one in front of him seemed to be stronger. And it would seem he knew him too or at least another version of him if the way he started screaming "Spider! Spider! Spider," over and over again, switching his focus from attacking random attendees and venue staff to now trying to catch him.

Of course, different person, with different tactics, ones Y/N was not used to as he leaped, dodged, and fought with the primate Kraven in the event center, the guy seemingly trying less to straight up kill him and more trying to capture him. Maybe not that different from his Kraven at all.

After some more time and failed attempts, the primate hunter seemed to realize he wouldn't be able to catch him or his web the way he was trying and instead changed tactics, making a break for the door. Panicking at the thought of this guy getting loose in his city, he without thinking rationally went after him only to fall right into hunter's trap when he found himself getting tackled into a wall after the guy jumped out of his hiding spot when he realized his lure worked.

His mind was fuzzy as the hunter held him against the wall by his neck, his feet not touching the ground. He was struggling to breathe and was trying to free his wrists from the tight grip they were being held in.

"Caught you, Spider," the hunter chuckled, squeezing tighter, his large fingers digging into the flesh of his neck as he lifted him off the wall and held him in the air. Y/N's eyes were wide with fear, his hands holding on the wrists of the hunter as he struggled to breathe and keep himself up.

Suddenly, he was over the hunter's shoulder, his vision blurry from the lack of oxygen and the rapid movement.

"Let me go!" He heard a raspy voice shout, and it took him a minute to register that it was his own. He was kicking and fighting, but the hunter held him tightly, not allowing him any chance of escape.

The hunter walked slowly through the empty hallways of the arena as the sound of police sirens rang outside, seemingly overwhelmed by all the noises around him but still looking for something. "Den. Home. This not home," he grumbled, his voice deep and low.

"No kidding," He mumbled, continuing his struggle as he was carried.

The hunter's hand gripped the back of his knees, squeezing slightly in warning. "Find den. Go home."

When they made it to the stadium center, Kraven stood at the top of a staircase looking around while the Spider looked for a way out. While he was looking, he found himself abruptly, on the ground and no longer being held by the hunter, who seemed to be having some uncontrollable, tweaking moment.

Weird, but convenient until the Hunter grabbed him again before he could web away to a safe distance. Suddenly, just behind where they came from, something bright and wide appeared in the middle of the path, swirling with colors, like a portal.

"What the..." He didn't get a chance to finish before the hunter turned around to also observe the phenomenon, a loud whirring coming from it before a red and blue figure suddenly shot out of the portal, tackling the primate Kraven, causing him to drop the Spider again.

Serves him right.

When Y/N made his way down to the floor, he came across his savior, standing up from the ground with a digital cape that dematerialized as he stood up to his full height. His head turned slightly to the approaching Spiderwing behind him cautiously.

"Okay, weird and spontaneous entrance aside, and thanks for the save, but who the heck are you?" Y/N asked.

"Classified," the man, Miguel said, his voice was gruff, and his demeanor overly serious and imposing.

Y/N held a hand to his chin, analyzing the man before him, "Blue Assassin?"

"No," the man replied.

"The Red Caped Crusader?"

"No, I'm–"

"Attitude Dracula?"

"No, stop–"

"Cyber Luchador?"

"No, I'm from a different dimension," Miguel interrupted, his irritation growing.

"A different dimension?" Y/N feigned shock, "Yeah, that's not as shocking as you think it is, big guy."

Miguel raised an eyebrow, "I'm sorry, what? How are you not freaked out by this? I just came out of a dimensional portal in the middle of a public arena and you're not surprised?"

"Dude, I got bit by a radioactive spider, got superhuman abilities, and fight crazy idiots on a regular basis who come up with all sorts of hair-brained schemes. Plus, I watch a ridiculous amount of SCI-FI and supernatural shows and movies. Different dimensions are really not as plot-twisting as you think it is. Now, back to the important questions...Emo Daffy?"

"Not funny," The man interjected, "My name is Miguel O'Hara, also known as Spiderman in my dimension like you are in yours."

"So, not Emo Daffy then? Huh, that name would've suited better," Y/N smirked, earning a glare from Miguel as he looked him over, noticing the watch on his wrist, "Oh, nice watch. That how you dimension hop?" He asked, reaching for the watch.

"It's much cooler than a watch," Miguel replied, reaching his wrist back to keep the smaller Spider at bay.

"Yikes, sensitive much? Well, nice to meet you, Miguel. But, there's a confused and brutish caveman hunter probably stomping around, that I should get back to dealing with, so if you don't mind," He pointed toward the direction they came from.

"From what I saw before I came in, better you stay out of the way.. I'll take it from here," Miguel responded, not so subtly shading him for his earlier 'position' with the hunter, who speaking of, was slowly creeping up behind the red-and-blue masked Spider.

"No problem, knock yourself out," Y/N said leaning to the side.

"Huh, why are you saying it like that?"

Y/N stepped to the side as a very pissed-off hunter charged and tackled him from behind, chuckling a little when Miguel yelled at him for not being funny before going to help.

With the added backup now (not that he needed it), Y/N could better focus his attacks now that the hunter's full attention was on him. And since his sudden new partner seemed to know more about this than he did, he got a little more context.

This version of Kraven was from a dimension where they indeed still lived like primates or cavemen, but still had their own developed societies. That world's version of Spiderman was this Kraven's target, that part remained consistent.

However, the reasons he was trying to capture the Spider may have been a little different than what Y/N was expecting. Suddenly, he found himself a bit more grateful for Emo Daffy's appearance.

But, despite their initial introduction, the two Spiders were able to work well together, and with this Kraven having no experience against their weapons and abilities, especially Miguel's, they were able to take him down fairly quickly. Y/N had missed the part where the Spiderman from 2099 used a more special ability to incapacitate the hunter, making it easier to handle him since he couldn't move.

After Miguel had properly secured the hunter, he used the same watch Y/N was ogling earlier to open another portal. Before he left, he delivered some unexpected news to the Earth-6998 Spider.

"Well, that's that. Nice working with you, Spider. Try not to almost get captured next time," he said, in a sarcastic tone.

"Can't help it that I'm such a prize in their eyes," Y/N said.

Despite his joking tone, an air of suspense could be felt by the smaller Spider. Y/N couldn't tell due to the mask, but there was a quick, almost fleeting moment where he could feel Miguel's gaze on him, staring him down. It made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

"Yeah, you are," he finally said.

Though, it was definitely plausible that he could've said that in a completely unserious, sarcastic manner as he'd been doing the entire time they'd spent fighting the hunter who was currently hanging over his shoulder (ironic), it didn't feel like it. There was something else there, a hint of emotion that Y/N couldn't pinpoint.

"Yeah, we'll see you around, I guess. Thanks for the help," Y/N said.

"Hold on," the older Spider interjected, "I know you just met me, but have you ever wondered exactly how many others like you are out there?"

"Like me? You mean other spiders? I mean, yeah sure. Pretty sure everyone has had that thought at some point," the younger man joked, "What's your point?"

Hence, the beginning of a new journey in the young Spiderwing's life, and the first warning sign ignored.

Miguel decided to take the scenic route home, wanting to enjoy the relieving feeling of finally having his love back in his arms safe. There was nothing wrong with him wanting to relish in his victory a little.

He did have to bite him again when Y/N's healing had managed to rid enough of his venom from his blood, giving him enough control back over his body to fight against his hold. Despite the warnings Miguel tried to give him, Y/N wouldn't listen, still trying to free himself, even if it wouldn't accomplish anything due to his restrained state.

And while it did hurt him to see his love fighting so hard to get away from him, Miguel couldn't deny the pleasure he got from forcing him into defeat. When the young Spider knocked himself a little too hard into the side of Miguel's head, the Earth-982 reveled in sick joy grabbing his prize off the ground, pressing him against the brick surface, and forcing his head to the side so he could sink his venomous fangs into the delicate skin once more.

He only injected a small dose, not wanting to leave any permanent effects on him, but he enjoyed the feeling of the smaller body squirming against his own until it eventually went limp once more. The sounds of his moans and whines as he bit and kissed his skin, tasting his flesh, was a delicious symphony to his ears.

"If I were you Y/N, I would quit it with the defiant behavior and escape attempts. I may have been easy on you since I was so relieved at finding you safe, but don't think I'm above handling you with more forceful methods. Especially considering my unaddressed grief from your long disappearance. All that to say, no me presiones, cariño," Miguel whispered into his ear, a threat and a promise.

Miguel's elongated claws pressed into the helpless Spider's body, eliciting more whimpers from the paralyzed man. Even in his powerless state, the brawny Latino could feel the distress and panic from the smaller Spider, which accomplished nothing but turning him on.

He could've taken him right there in that alley. Could've forced him on his knees and fucked his mouth, or pressed his face against the wall and taken him from behind, his cries muffled against the cold bricks, the fabric of his suit torn to expose parts of his body from their earlier scuffle in his motel room.

He was already half-hard in his suit, his member twitching and aching to be released, missing the tight heat of his love's body. But, he was a patient man. He could wait until the time was right.

Miguel looked down into the orbs staring up at him in hatred and fear, feeling his gut twist unpleasantly at the sight. He do something about that in the future, vowing to earn his love's affection and respect, to make him happy, and to show him that the life he wanted to give him was worth the freedom and choices taken away.

But, for now, he was content to accept the docile and forced submission from the Spider, his expression in defeat but the defiant spirit in his eyes still there. He'd take care of that too in time.

Y/N stared up at the man towering above him, truly seeing him as the monster and villain that he hid from everyone around him. This was the real Miguel O'Hara, a sight that lived in his nightmares before and would continue to with this new memory burned into his mind for ages to come.

"Let's go, mi amor,” Miguel said, hoisting the paralyzed man onto his shoulder once more, "Nunca volverás a estar lejos de mí, mi amor."

☀️ | Miguel O'Hara/Spiderman 2099 | ☀️

☀️ | Masterlists | ☀️

[mixingpumpkins]

Man, we really lost when we decided that the best way to feel safe or to try to prevent bad things from happening is to assume malicious intent from everyone and police every little fucking thing about existing.

Want to go shopping? You'll be treated like a thief. Security cameras, anti-theft sensors by the door, and a staff that may or may not follow you around isn't enough; we're also putting security tags on every single piece of $4 underwear in the bargain bin and keeping everything on the shelves under lock and key, so you can't even look at it without staff assistance/supervision. No, cameras and staff monitoring checkouts isn't enough. We also need someone else searching your bags and verifying your receipts at the door. (And god help you if a security sensor somewhere didn't get deactivated properly and the door alarm goes off.)

Are you a student taking an exam? We've already decided you're a cheater. Of course you are — all students cheat. So you get assigned, spaced out seats in the testing room, surrounded by cameras. Show us your photo ID at the door. Nothing goes in the room with you but your pencil. Leave your phone, wallet, water, and anything else in a locker outside. All your jewelry, too. No long sleeves. Let us check your hair/headbands/pockets/ears/religious garb in case you're smuggling something in. Need to leave for the restroom? No, you don't, or your exam is done. Emergency? You can choose between literally shitting yourself or failing your course and risking expulsion for cheating.

Online exam? Prepare to be subject to literal spyware. Your eyes better not waver a fraction out of the "acceptable" gaze window. Don't press any button you're not supposed to or mis-click anything; that's proof you're trying to cheat. Don't even think about shifting in your seat, even if your test is two hours long.

Do you work? It'd better be at top speed and no errors at all times. We have security cameras trained on you every moment, sensitive enough to read the text of any paper you handle. We're tracking exactly what you do and how fast. Did your metrics slip for even a second? Unacceptable, even if your rate is otherwise within our "acceptable" range, because we know you can work faster. Yawn? How dare you — we don't pay you to be tired. You're not working hard enough. You must not have enough to do — your requirements have now tripled and we've cut your pay as an incentive not to waste time again. Make a mistake? You must have done it on purpose. You must be trying to steal or sabotage. We'll be evaluating to see how quickly we can fire you and if we can press charges or sue you for damages.

Need to travel via plane? It doesn't matter if you're paying through the nose to do so; you're clearly a criminal who's only not committing a crime at this very moment because you're outnumbered by security officers. We need to question you excessively if you don't look exactly like your ID picture taken three years ago. Take off half your clothes and walk through our scanners that will basically show you without them. (Then prepare to be wanded, and possibly groped — maybe even by more than one person — and if we really feel like it, taken to another room to be stripped and questioned further.) You can't take some necessities with you. Your belongings will be x-rayed and pawed through and commented upon, and they're maybe even a reason to detain and question you further. Why does your purse have suspicious organic matter in it? No, that can't possibly be a bag of fruit snacks you bought from the kiosk 20 feet away; you're trying to hide explosives.

Need medication? You're lying. You're faking. You're just trying to get drugs. You're an addict. You're a dealer. No, you don't have a condition that really requires medication; if you just slept more/lost weight/did yoga/were a better person, you wouldn't have to feel like you need to use drugs. We don't care if your doctor says you need this medication — your insurance company says you don't. Oh, you can afford it anyway? At that price? You must be reselling. We need to investigate and put notes on your file.

Communicating via message? God forbid you take even a fraction of a second too long to respond. You must be trying to hide something. You're slacking off your work. You must be cheating on your partner. You must have a problem with the sender and are leaving them out of something. You left them on read; you're being a bitch. You edited a response or took too long to type something — you're actually being mean and manipulative by not just saying what was on your mind first. Company policy is we get to see everything on your devices. You shouldn't have a problem sharing your personal location/passwords/etc. with your partner if you're not up to no good.

Want to simply exist where a stranger might see you? That's suspicious. What are you doing out here? We don't recognize you. You must be stealing. You must be casing the houses or stores in this neighborhood. You must be looking for someone to rob/assault/harass/etc. You must be part of that rabble claiming they're protesting to cover up the nuisances and criminals they are. Why did you hold a door for me — are you trying to get behind me? Why have I seen you more than once while I'm shopping here — are you following me? Why did you smile at me — do you have a problem? Why are you walking down the street? Why are you sitting on a bench? Why are you visiting the library? Why are you eating alone at the cafe? You don't look like you belong here. You look like a creep. You need the police to come handle you. (If they use force, that just shows you were up to something and totally deserve it.)

Want to exist online? We need to know everything about you — your real name, address, email, age — to ensure you're not a criminal. But you're probably also lying. We need to spy on everything you do, too: every site you visit (and how long you spend there), every purchase you make, every message you send, every search you do. We will take everything you say in bad faith, so be careful about what you post. But it's also extremely suspicious if you don't post — who doesn't have an extensive social media presence these days? What are you trying to hide? You need to indicate that you think the right way. You aren't posting about this — you must not care; you must be a bad person. You deleted an old post — you must be trying to hide your awful views. You can't possibly just be removing things from your profile that no longer reflect who you are. You posted something that I don't like — I knew there was something off about you. It's not a leap to think you're also into worse things. You're probably a pervert. You're actually a criminal of the worst sort and this is an early warning sign for those of us who are smart enough to see it. We're only accusing you of these things NOW so you don't have an opportunity to do them.

Didn't you know? You need to be constantly watched and humiliated and inconvenienced and sometimes even attacked because that's the only thing standing in the way of bad things happening. If you find all this demeaning, there's something wrong with you. Only criminals would rather trade this for being less safe. You don't want us to go from thinking you're a criminal to knowing you're a criminal, do you?

...

Like, fuck. Aren't you tired of living like this???

Some of this stuff has been around for a long time, and it obviously isn't applied evenly across all demographics. But a lot of it has also gotten exponentially worse within the past few decades. Please don't ever accept any of this as normal or necessary or good, because it's not. I'm going insane watching people shrugging off the increasing infantilization and dehumanization of everyone just because this is all they can remember.

It doesn't have to be this way. Don't ever take this shit as a given — it wasn't that long ago that some of this would have been unthinkable. And the instant someone starts talking about doing things a certain way/supporting certain things because of "safety" or "security," be very careful about blindly agreeing with them. We lose very real, important things in pursuit of the nebulous concept of "safety."

[blindbeta]

Hello! I recently got into a ship where one of the characters is blind. I mostly write domestic fanfics and so I’d like to know: what are some items or tools that are common to see in a blind person’s living space? What are some things that their partner or daughter might help them with in their day-to-day life? Thank you!

Here is a post with ideas about making homes accessible.

Here is post I made with ideas for accessible cooking.

A lot of YouTubers, such as those listed here, post about making their homes accessible or ideas they would like to implement. Molly Burke and Sam from TheBlindLife have several videos on this topic.

Claire at canseecantsee is on YouTube and TikTok. She posts often about how she does household and work tasks.

If your story is not modern, here is an example of finding assistance devices to use that work for your story’s time period. You can read it here.

Here are two asks about partners and romance: one and two.

Ideas that are common in a blind person’s living space might include:

-different types of labels

-a cane or guide animal, with a cane often hanging somewhere, in a bag the character uses daily, or resting against a wall by the door

-eye drops or other medication for their eye condition, potential eye strain, or tangentially related pain management

-ice and heating packs for eye strain

-a slate and stylus

-perhaps items such as a Braille display, computer, phone, scanner, or magnification device for reading

-perhaps Braille or large print books, particularly if this person is an elder or a young student, with the caveat that Braille literacy is declining and Braille books also take up a lot of space and so are not as popular

-talking or tactile devices

-bump dots, such as for microwaves

-tactile items, such as figures, tactile art, textured elements, or comfort items like stuffed animals. While this does not only apply to blind folks, we do tend to engage with touch more often and our comfort items and decorative items reflect this

-various lighting devices

-glasses or sunglasses

Depending on your character, you can justify almost anything in their home even if it is not common. For example, a person who plays goal ball or blind football might have a room strewn about with uniforms, shoes, bandages, medication, and sports equipment if needed. In another example, an elderly blind person might continue to use a tape player with books on tape for nostalgia purposes.

Those are some ideas. I hope this helps.

[tihgnari]

ꕤ 50. i think i ruined your PJs (ღ)

tw: none! :') / wc: 1.7k

you stare at your phonescreen, watching it vibrate on the kitchen counter. your hands sweat, and your heart races, as you hesitate to answer his call, contemplating about what to say.

a door slams and thoma appears in front of you in an instant. paper bags of fast food left on the dining table. "what are you doing?" he says, eyeing the phone before staring back at you. "answer it al—"

the phone stops ringing, ayato's caller ID disappears, and it returns to your lock screen. the panic you feel is indescribable, and you defeatedly think of calling him back and saying sorry for being unable to answer his call the first time.

ayaka lets out a pained groan. "you both are absolutely impossible! why didn't you answer it?!"

"i was nervous! i don't know what to say—"

"just answer it already!" thoma exclaims with a frustrated expression similar to ayaka's.

you wanted to pull your hair. why can't you just woman up and answer it?! you grab your phone off the counter, irritated at yourself, as you snap back at thoma.

"well, i can't anymore. it stopped ringing!"

as if on cue, the phone lights up, vibrating in your hands as your heart drops once again at the sight of ayato's caller ID. thoma audibly gasps and hurriedly rounds the kitchen counter to grab your shoulders. "answer it! now!"

"alright!" you push his hands away before clearing your throat, trying to level your voice so he won't find out that you were 100% freaking out at his sudden call.

"hello?" you speak into the phone. after a few seconds, when no one answers, you hesitantly say. "…ayato?"

no one is speaking on the other end, you can't even detect faint breathing. you pull the phone away from your ear, checking to see if the call is still ongoing, and the increasing seconds displayed on your lock screen confirm that it is. why isn't he speaking? should i not have answered?

faintly, you hear thoma and ayaka's enthusiastic "what's he saying?" behind you, but you stay silent, waiting for him. you open your mouth, wanting to address the person on the other line once again, when—

"hey."

his voice sounds defeated as if he's been crying for hours. you knew he wasn't in a good state right now from the voice alone.

your cheeks heat up, and you grip the phone harder. "hey," you answer stupidly, dazed and running on autopilot as you space out. every fiber and molecule of your being on edge as you give ayato your full attention.

you bite your lips, wanting to say a certain something to him after going weeks and weeks of not speaking to him. however, you held yourself back.

"i was thinking," ayato starts. "maybe you'd like to talk? you know… about everything?"

a small smile appears on your face, and you unconsciously nod even if he won't see you.

"i'd love to."

—

"are you really sure you guys don't wanna come up with me?" you ask ayaka, who sits behind the wheel in her white lexus and thoma in the back seat. you three are at the parking lot of the hotel ayato told you where he was staying.

he initially asked where you were so he could come to you, but after thorough persuasion, he relented on you going to him instead.

ayaka takes off her seat belt. "we're sure. he only asked to see you."

"just update us about how he's been. we'll wait for you here." thoma says.

you nod, stepping out of the car and walking toward the elevator. you met eyes with a woman at the front desk. she bows to you, a customer-service smile on her face, as she approaches you. ayato says he'd ring the front desk, so you can just come straight to his suite. the woman follows you to the elevator and taps the key card into a scanner before pressing a certain floor. whether or not she recognizes you, she doesn't say nor make it noticeable as she turns her heel back to the front desk.

you chew on your bottom lip, emotions running at an all-time high. you don't even notice the popping sensation in your ears as the floors get higher, your mind preoccupied with what you'll say to him, how you'll act. after all, the last proper conversation you had with him was back at their hospital's VIP room—which is weeks ago, give or take, and it did not even end well.

the elevator dings! and the doors open, sealing your fate.

there were only three rooms on this floor, and ayato instructed you to make two lefts to get to his room at the end of the hallway. the carpet is spotless, and your dirty white sneakers look so out of place as you make your way to his suite. just as you raise your hand to ring the doorbell, the door swings open, and there stands before you in all his glory—

"ayato," you say, dumbstruck. you don't notice how he is in mismatched silk pajamas, nor how a few of his hair stands on weird angles; you see his already pale skin that looks paler than usual and the bags under his tired eyes.

"yn—hey," he says, just as dazed as you. as if he can't believe you're actually standing before him right now. "uhm, come in."

the first thing you see is the thick white curtains hiding the floor-to-ceiling windows, blocking out the skies' magnificent orange and yellow hues as the sun has begun to set. the suite looked much like any other hotel room, only it looked fancier and more luxurious with its white marble accents paired with wooden furniture. the living room is well-lit, and from where you're standing, the sliding door to the bedroom is open, allowing you a slight peak.

you see a leather bag open on the lamp desk, chargers, and other necessities placed haphazardly around it. one of his carry-on is sprawled open on the floor behind the bed, while the rest is zipped shut at the far corner of the room, looking untouched.

"so—"

"yn—"

you both speak at the same time. he meets your eyes sheepishly, letting out a small laugh, a hand rubbing the nape of his neck sheepishly. "ladies first," he insists, and you don't argue.

"when did you fly back? seems to me you've been here for a few days now," you say, looking around. "i thought for sure you were still in another country."

"oh, i flew back a day after the wedding."

you nodded understandingly.

silence surrounds you both until ayato breaks it.

"would you like anything to drink or eat? i can order room service."

you smile, "a glass of water would be fine."

"alright, take a seat."

so you settle yourself on the plush sofa as he disappears in the kitchen for a few minutes before coming back to place your water on the low coffee table. you expected him to sit nearer to you, however he sits on the sofa across from you, and a frown tugs at your lips until you remember he's just being cautious. you guys did end on a bad note…

when your eyes meet, he shoots you a small smile as he nods. giving you the opportunity to speak first.

"well, i wanna start by saying i'm sorry," you interlace your fingers together on your lap. "for deceiving you. you definitely did not deserve that, i just got so scared—that i'd lose ayaka, and what your reaction would be if you found out… which you did, still."

ayato hums. "i understand your point, with ayaka. however i'm still quite hurt with our dates, as i did put my utmost time and effort into them," a solemn tone takes over his voice, and you can feel your heart breaking. "i would've accepted a proper rejection. i know how to respect a woman's decision."

"no." you answer in a heartbeat. "look, i know sabotaging our dates can possibly come off as me not reciprocating your feelings but that was just me making bad decisions."

ayato blinks, dumb founded. it takes time for him to properly start speaking. "i'm afraid i'm not following…?"

you sigh, not really knowing what to say—well, technically, you knew what to say, you just didn't know how.

well, might as well bite the bullet and blurt it out.

"i like you, ayato. i like you so much, even if i know i don't deserve you. because… because…" you didn't know you were crying, attention focused on the man in front of you to even notice the wetness of your cheeks.

your throat feels clogged up, and you choke on your words, unable to carry their weight. "i know how much i hurt you. i lied to you and didn't even stop to think about what you could've felt, i completely disregarded your efforts, and i was selfish. so i get it, when you told… told me that you shouldn't have liked me because i wouldn't… wouldn't like someone like me either —"

his scent engulfs you whole as he pulls you into an embrace. you feel a slight tremble in his hands as he firmly holds onto you, almost as if making it a confirmation if you truly were in between his arms. you break down in front of someone for the first time in weeks, your mind playing flashbacks of how you had to stifle your crying in the bathroom so ayaka won't hear.

it was as if a dam broke, and you couldn't stop your tears from cascading down your cheeks. you didn't know what you were crying about — you can't exactly pinpoint if it was because of this concrete fear of nearly losing ayato, of the harsh criticisms of the public, or you were just so overjoyed to be in his arms without having to worry about anyone or anything.

despite all the snot and tears you're probably getting on his expensive pajamas, ayato holds you tight, gently rocking you back and forth because he knew, he just knew, that his silent presence can comfort you more than his words at that exact moment.

after you have calmed down, resorting to small sniffles every now and then, did you decide to pull away. not completely, just enough to meet his gentle eyes. he smiles, tilting his head. "do you feel better?"

you nod slightly, shame suddenly washing over you.

"i'm sorry, i think i ruined your PJs."

"oh, these?" he shrugs his shoulder, laughing. "i have ten more sets of these, and you can cry on each and every single one of them if you want to."

LOWKEY » previous : masterlist : next

a kamisato ayato social media au

summary — it was only recently you found out kamisato ayaka was, in fact, not an only child after all! seeing ayato for the first time gave you the severest case of the butterflies but according to ayaka, he’s off limits, especially to you as her most treasured friend. well, what she doesn’t know won’t hurt, right?

notes — the end lol jk

🏷 i. @rinrinchin @nejibot @viiolettee @katsumikumo @starryeyedkoko @xingqiusliegee @boxdisappeared @lovelyycherries @love6cks @kiyowoir @luvvmeilin @blackberri-jelli @moonlightbqe @kazooms @tricethecharm @lynnforever @kaedear @xiaoisahawtie @crowbird @apotatouwu @xinii @euryrue @aequha​@nuttytani @plinkuro @aixaingela @milesluvrrad @windasteriaa @cherrytomato2 @zannivrs @eishtar @wccycc @ceylestia @sweet-almonds @queenaveryrules @veyu002 @ukinya @adeptusx @x-xxiaos @loveyoutothestars @ssalamanderr

[objectheadzine]

WELCOME TO THE 10TH ANNIVERSARY OF THE OBJECT HEAD ZINE!

In celebration, the 2024's edition will be a Grab Bag - draw whatever object head you like (so long as it fits the guidelines, see below). In Lieu of a theme, all submissions MUST HAVE ASHLEY (the megaphone mascot) in the piece! Feel free to make him as large or as small as you want in the composition. He can be hanging out with your characters or he can be on a flyer, just so long he's somewhere in the picture! Reference of all his outfits can be found here. But don't feel like you're restricted to his previous outfits. Feel free to dress him up in anything you'd like. Content is also free for whatever! You want to date the lil man? Go for it! You want to tease or go on the attack? Also fine! Ignore him and let him live his life? Sure thing.

ALL submissions will be accepted as long as they fit guidelines and each person has a limit of up to 3 submissions. Submit your pieces to the zine email objectheadzine(@)hotmail(.)com along with the email/website/name you’d like to be credited as. (Feel free to omit emails if that is more comfortable). When you’ve finished your piece(s), you are allowed to post them to your blogs as long as you link back to the zine blog! This will be a DIGITAL ZINE ONLY and will be available free upon completion (donation optional).

The guidelines are as follow:

Illustration-quality works in either digital or traditional mediums. Both colour and b/w acceptable; background required. *BG can be as simple as a pattern or colour block! Avoid utilizing a camera to submit your images, please use a scanner. 

The default size will be 6″x9″, 300 dpi (1800px x 2700px) but feel free to go larger or smaller, so long as it follows those proportions. Please work in a vertical format.

For consistency’s sake, keep faces to a minimum (You can have eye(s) or you can have mouth(s) but don’t have both in a humanoid arrangement.)

Ashley, the megaphone head mascot, must be included in your piece. He can be small in the picture or a large factor but he must be included. When submitting, if he is not obvious, please point him out to me. References are found here.

Please go for original characters (or fanart of your friend’s characters) and not so much established object heads (e.g. the popcorn and soda heads from No More).

If you want to include humans, that’s fine as well but keep the ratio of people to object heads 1:1.

Content should be at most PG-13: Romance is fine but after-hours business should not be implied, Blood is fine but no gore. In the end, use your common sense.

Feel free to draw a comic or just an illustration! A comic counts as one submission.

Some facts about Ashley that could help with your piece: He's 5'2", he's of Chinese nationality, he's a TV show host, he's a bubbly, happy-go-lucky kind of guy and he has a Samyoed dog named Cotton!

Note that if a submission does not meet the above guidelines, I will either reject your submission or suggest improvements that would help your piece fulfill them. Please email me at objectheadzine(@)hotmail(.)com if you have any further questions and I’ll do my best to reply promptly. If you do not receive a message from me within a few days, please send it again. Final pieces submitted should be either in PNG or a one layer PSD file format.

Want to share your piece as you're working on them? Come on over to the Object Head Zine discord!

THE DUE DATE FOR SUBMISSIONS IS NOVEMBER 9TH.

[simp-ly-writes]

Suits, Ties, and Thus Spies (pt.4)

Pairing: Spy!Task Force 141 x Handler!Reader

Summary: Taking notes off the recent missions and getting pushed into another. More intensive training has your new relationships straining beyond what you imagined. You can only hope that they all will be with you for when the actual mission starts.

Warnings:4000~ words, light swearing, blood, violence, torture. A/N: a bit of a longer one stuffed with drama... Masterlist | Taglist | edited.

10:00 AM | Autumn | Taylor Tailors Headquarters 

Stuffed inside the private vehicle. Price was gripping the dividing wall in front of him as the car drifted slightly at the slurry forming beneath the tires. Winter had decided to come at a sudden and the team captain was restless not being the one responsible for the vehicle. A voice came over the intercom- only further irritating the man. “I do assure you agents-in-training that I have been driving for the company longer than many of your careers. Oh,” the woman laughs out, bright red lipstick reflecting in the windshield as she soars down the driveway and into the parking garage. “Stop pissing in your pants now, we are almost there- promise.” 

Riley shakes his head, leaning against the window as Johnny bounces across from him, bumping Price's shoulder repeatedly. Gaz inspects his suit, wondering where you all were headed- he was praying for something warm but from all the seemingly random items you forced them to back within their bags… he was still quite unsure of it all. 

The door is soon thrown open, Riley turns slowly- glaring into an eye-widened surprise to see Samantha who only sharpens her smile, lips turning into a thin smile. Her black hair shimmers under the artificial lighting as the car honks-locked. The group trailing and presenting their IDs to the scanner, the front desk seemingly empty as a phone rings softly from behind the wood. Johnny makes a joke reaching towards the phone before Samantha turns sharply back on her heel, tea and muffin in hand within the blink of an eye- slapping his hand away with a wink. “Hello Agent Whitby-yes. They have just arrived, I’ll send them your way in just a moment.”

Turning her head upwards, she greets them all with a handshake before another team moves their bags into the locker room. Samantha's heels click against the tiles as she ascends the stairs. Still stunned by the headquarters interior, Price bumps into Kyle who can only smile before admiring the tree sculptures of fighters into what appears to be an artificial sunroom. Whitby stands in the centre, his shirt misplaced as he fights off the AI people that swarm him. Their pixels crumble towards the floor as they are defeated just as another spawns in his spot. 

Samantha claps her hands, the heat leaving the room as an artificial voice speaks of Whitby's score. Smiling as Samantha hands him the muffin, she takes a sip of her tea- eyeing the way his shoulders rise and fall before turning and smiling at the rest of the men. “Have a good session you all, I will be at the front desk for the next few hours if you need anything.” The door softly clicking closed behind her just as the air conditioning comes in and benches emerge from the floors. 

Taking a seat while drying himself off, Whitby motions a hand over, “Handler D has sent me the reports from our last mission with some personal notes… nothing to be ashamed of really- just the things we do a bit differently here.” Snapping his fingers, scans of cards appear in front of the task forces faces as they read through the notes and look through the compiled footage. Like a sports play-by-play little arrows and sticky notes are displayed all over- highlighting the next steps and offering compliments for others. 

The task force all nods over each word as Whitby stands, the screens disappearing just as the sunroom scene displays once more. Heat enters the room as sweat begins to drip from John's brow. “We are going to Greece for the next mission, heat is going to be one of our biggest enemies. Get used to sweating and to drinking wherever you can while out on patrol for hours. Mission file states that our princess has been kidnapped from her guarded tower- guards are shitting themselves- running about like little headless bitches and we are gonna solve all… or well most of their issues.” 

“Alright!” Soap cheers, tearing off his suit-jacket and rolling up his sleeves as the rest follow suit. Whitby stalks around the room, adjusting their position independently and as a team throughout the various planned scenarios. He keeps looking at seemingly a normal wall, making multiple hand signals as the course changes. Kyle narrows his eyes, seeing through to a control room as Doctor Charlotte Derby stands, clipboard in hand as she whispers commands to the operator. The lady smiles and copies, mouth forming a smile as laughs seemingly are shared in the room before Kyle is slipping on the floor beneath him, slipping on the rain that started to fall within the room. 

Shrugging his shoulders he continues to race between halls as the rest of the boys improve upon their communication with the new tools they have on themselves. Time slipping by as late lunch emerges. “Are we going to be seeing Handler Dee at any time today?” Price asks, taking a bite of his meal within one of the restaurants the base provided. Whitby wipes his mouth clean with the provided serviette, taking a sip of his drink before clearing his throat. “Potentially, they are in a fitting currently- are there any concerns?” The agent questions, raising a brow and meeting each of their eyes. 

Slapping a hand on his shoulder, Johnny shakes his head before diving back into his meal. Whitby shuffles his suit back into place, shimmying in his seat before motioning Charlotte to join them. Standing himself up- offering the lady the booth seat, he pulls up a chair from an empty table, sitting at the end before conversation settles upon the files the Doctor spreads across the table. “You all made wonderful improvements, I’m sure Handler Dee is smiling ear to ear at the news from Samantha's call. There are still some mental tests I have to finish with you all today before we can let you board that plane tonight but you should all be proud of yourselves nonetheless.” She finishes with a bright smile, sneaking a bit of Whitby's food with a wink as he playfully glares back before motioning for her to hand him his drink. 

The group revolves into their own conversations as Whitby curses softly underneath his breath, “I do apologise everyone but work is calling, I wish you all a good start to your mission-”

“You’re not coming with us?” Simon asks, addressing the group for the first time today as Whitby has to do a double take, ensuring that he did in fact get a response from the man after hours of trying to spark conversation. “No sadly, though I do look great in a Swimsuit-” Charlotte smacks his shoulder. Taking the offensive hand, Whitby leans over, kissing her on the cheek with a cheesy smile before bowing and leaving out the door. 

John stacks everyone's plates just as Charlotte pays the bill and directs the group over to a private lounge. Papers already wait in a stack, the grandfather clock in the corner ticks lightly as Soap swears to see the eyes of a painting move in his peripheral vision. “Alright, you all have two hours to complete this basic intelligence quiz and I have the languages and mathematics set up for us till the dinner hour. I will be sitting just off to the side here if you have any questions or concerns, good luck you all.” 

–

Whitby quietly enters the fitting room, standing off to the side as he tilts his head- a small smile forming in his eyes before growing as he takes in your new uniform. Cream coloured with a linen dress shirt underneath, you are a cloud drifting its way towards his navy blue suit embroidered with small floral designs only seen underneath the warm lighting. An assistant shakes their head mocking as you step off the pedestal, making a playful runway walk towards the agent just as he picks up your hand, giving you a twirl before pulling you into his chest. 

“You look amazing,” he mumbles before pulling away, still holding your hand. Thomas and Evan wave their sewing materials behind you, signaling for your return as Whitby helps you to stand back up. He takes a seat in front of you, setting a timer on his watch, his head resting against his fist, arm following chairs to the edge in a 90 degree angle. “Anything outstanding to report,” you make small talk, watching as their hands masterfully work the fabric and smile when they remember all the little details you voiced in passing throughout the years. Another favorite to add to the closet, you think to yourself. 

“Nothing quite, love. They all served well- more field time will show everything I’m sure of it. Charlotte said their first written test results are coming out well for not going through our overly formal training. How many missions do we have with them again?” His knee starts to bounce as your eyes snap over to the movements, leading up to his glass-framed eyes as he raises an eyebrow, tilting his head to the side in a cat-like motion- challenging you silently to a staring contest. 

Both your eyes begin to burn, competition brewing under each of your skins as Jason coughs, the head tailor looking bored at the exchange before signaling the assistant to take their breaks as he picks the work back up. “One more after this one and then Laswell and I are even,” you state, blinking rapidly just as Wihtby moves his glasses to rub his eyes. The room falls silent before Whitby stands, turning on the record player as soft classical music starts to surround the room. Humming to the strings, Whitby makes an exit- continuing his performance down the hall and towards the offices for his own mission. 

You watch his exit- eyes softening as a cough from behind has you rolling your head back as Jason squeezes your nose as you scrunch it up in distaste. “What was that for?” you question. “Say yes to that poor man already, you two have been dragging this charade on for a decade too long- who knows what will come first for you both, a new partner, another promotion, death?-”

“Jason!” you hiss out, “Please, not just before a mission- can’t have that especially on something like this. Its our future head of state for fucks sake!” you curse out just as Jason trims the last bit of string from your shoulder, marking the project complete. “Apologies, Handler but I just want to see my two friends happy in a job where temporary is the definition.” You nod your head in response, “Thank you for the suit,” you add in a lightened tone as Jason sends you an apologetic smile- waving as you leave the room and he begins to back up the supplies. 

–

6:00 PM | Autumn | Taylor Tailors Headquarters 

“HANDLER!” a voice shouts, your shoulders jumping up-tensing as you turn on your foot like a robot. “Handler D!” The voice shouts again, footsteps rapid as they turn around the corner, Handler Jacobs nears, a tower of folders underneath his arm, his tie over his shoulder as you help him to address his appearance- taking the papers from underneath his arm as you both make your way towards the lobby. 

“The reports from my side before I send it all over to the higher-ups. Would you mind if I stole the other 3 or so agents you have out in Russia? There has been an uprising in France, some internet criminals rising havac and…” You raise your palm as the Handlers rambles soon fall short. “Yes, Handler,” you state with a smile- eyes going wide as he pulls you into an energetic squeeze. You wince from the impact, the files flooding the floors beneath as you groan out, eyes searching the mess beneath as he lets you go. Slipping on the files in a daze and back down the hall. 

Sighing to yourself, you begin to work through the documents, leveling them back into a stack as a group of footsteps come from behind. You curse, cheeks firing red as you turn around, straightening your hair and kicking another folder off to the side, your eyes flash with horror as your newest agents stop in their tracks, looking at your off-guard appearance with curiosity before snapping towards the mess underneath you. 

Without a word or mocking comment, the men get to work, helping you to pick up the remaining files as Gaz helps you to arrange them back into the appropriate places. “How’d things get like this?” Simon questions as you blink up at the man kneeling beside you, handing you another bundle of papers as you blush in embarrassment. “An over-excited Handler.” Is all you say with a huff, beginning to stand. John rushes to place a hand on the banister above your head. You duck from the movement, standing up more quickly before looking at its placement. Sending him a warm smile, he only nods in reply as Johnny and Kyle split the papers, walking them over to the mailboxes with you. 

‘Thank you all,” you comment while singing off on the last document within the office before the parcel goes through the shoot and up towards the street level. “S’nothing,” Johnny states, eyes crinkling. “Coffee, anyone?” you ask the group once seeing the time on your wrist, a series of tired mumbles sound within the room as you make your way towards the nearby break room. 

Samantha stands in the room, leaning against the water fountain before standing to attention at your presence. “At ease,” you comment as she moves to sit down at an empty table. You take the orders of the room just as Simon helps you to bring the rest of the drinks over as you all sit. With hands wrapped around the warm mug's surface, you lean back in your chair, ankles crossing underneath the table as Samantha starts to read through her messages on her phone- seemingly lost in her own world. “So…” you begin, looking at each tired face with remorse. This is only the beginning…

“How was this morning's training? You think you are alright to finish the rest of the planned material tonight?” you ask softly before taking a sip of your drink, humming contently as the warm liquid floods your senses. “There’s more?” Kyle asks softly, voice carrying strain as Johnny groans beside him, having used all his energy this morning he leans his head into Simon's shoulder who grunts yet does not shove the man off. 

“Well, yes.” You state, “And the most damning of them all unfortunately. I will be walking you all through our captive training. How to live through waterboarding, to not suffocate in toxins. How to find your way outside of restraints in multiple positions and live to see another day,” you perform hands fling off your cup and into the air as you make grand gestures. Samantha looks up from her phone, as if seeing a ghost she rapidly shakes her head. “Good luck you all,” horror flashing through her eyes, “the utter SHIT you experience in there…” she shakes her head, seemingly unable to finish the sentence before standing up quicking and darting out of the room before you could comfort the woman. 

John looks to the group, trying to hide his growing worry as he scratches at his bread before looking back at you staring right through him. Placing a light hand on top of his formed fist upon the table, it uncurls and you pull your hand away soon after. “I will be with you all the whole time.” You state, eyes hollow as you hold out better than Samantha, everyone had to go through this training eventually- yet it stayed with you forever. 

–

You watch from behind the impact and bullet-proof glass. The room slowly starts to fill with water, you listening to their heart monitors flooding your room, raging above the waves. John is already directly out orders, looking around for an escape. The lights flicker, the electrical starting to become enveloped by the quick rising water before turning black. Fighting to open a case underneath the water, Simon rips out a flashlight, tossing it over towards Kyle who turns it on, pressing it in his mouth as he dives under, scanning the floors for a potential secret door. 

He emerges as the rest of the taskforce now treads water- the level almost reaching the ceiling. Each taking one last breath, they twist and turn, eyes wide and burning from the growing pressure. You step back from the glass as John swims up to it, trying to peer into the room as you make your way outside, greeting Charlotte who stands with warm towels ready for the next event. You both mentally count towards ten, the sounds of the glass shattering, the water pouring out underneath the door as you stand cold-faced and unmoving.

The boys stumbled out into the hall, adrenaline still pumping through their ears, their bodies shivering as they ran over to you, gripping a towel around their shoulders. Yet what you don’t expect is for Kyle to hug you seemingly out of the view before dropping you just as quickly. John watches them interacting softly as Simon stands behind him observing quietly as well. Johnny cheers out in celebration once realizing everyone is safe before slinging a still wet arm around the Doctor's shoulders as he bounces up and down. “You had done well to complete the first trial,” you speak in a monotone form that has Simon peering down at you, trying to crack your exterior yet you remain unrelenting. Understanding of your pivotal role during these times just as your past mentors have done so for you. 

“On to the next,” Charlotte announces, stepping away from Johnny before breaking a small shake of his shoulder in congratulations. A series of small separate rooms greet you, tears begin to well in your eyes from the horrors that you had witnessed. Shaking your head, you turn and motion for each man to pick a room as the door locks shut behind them before climbing up a ladder. Through the intercom you ask everyone to sit in the chair. You hear them yell out, former trainees from earlier in the day stand in the observation deck, looking down from the rafters and through the clear ceilings that you walk upon, observing them each, picking up a series of gas masks last minute, distributing a few to Charlotte before starting.  

The chair locks various restraints around their legs, arms, thighs and chest. Various different locks and chains of varying weights tug them into place. Your voice is shaking, “Your goal is to exit the room that will be flooded with gas. I am unable to enter the room while this session is in progress by any means- even in the face of potential death. Good luck, agents.” 

A loud horn sounds, the boxes flooded with red light as the soul illuminate, your grip your hands into fists as Charlotte stands across from you looking down, face falling and covering her features as she watches Simons eyes go wide as he stares up into her own before twisting himself in the chains forcefully, shouting as they allow for minimal movement. John's hands were shaking, the gradual lack of oxygen was going to kick in another 25 minutes and no one had made much progress. Kyle had unlocked the most- his and Soap’s bombs training seemed to provide the upperhead- one of their hands unlocked as they raced to unlock the other. 

A click can be heard, Simon had forced his wrist from underneath a series of chains, you wince at the blood and bruising of his fingertips- his gloves seemingly cut open as blood floods his suits fabric. He fumbles for a piece of his belt as you smile encouragingly down at him, happy that he remembered the hidden set of tools found within the buckle and by the sounds of Johnny's sharp intake of breath- he remembered as well. Looking down at your watch once more, you jump, the glass banging as each one looks up at the sudden noise. 10 minutes remain, Charlotte now grips your hand in her own, watching as the timer counts down.

A loud crash is heard, John is now laying sideways, his chair tipped over as blood seeps from his temple. Skull smashes into a chain just as he manages to kick his shoes off, shimmying off the chains of his feet and loops them around the legs of his chair, grunting before emitting a powerful shout as he tries to force himself back upright. Chair rocking back and forth as your drum begins to sound. Kyle had managed to unlock the remaining chains around his waist as he now stands, one left around his ankle yet he remains unbothered- repeatedly throwing his chair against the glass above- his door unable to open. 

Your eyes become cloudy, imagining yourself in his situation when you were in training. Your breathing becomes shallow, your palms sweating, dropping your tools rust as it runs down from your forehead, mixing in with your eyes as they burn. You cannot hear over your blood as it becomes less of escaping the room but of your panic instants. The drumming becomes loudly as you rush away from the glass as it shatters, you stumble back as Charlotte manages to hold you upright. Throwing the chair into the corner, the siren sounds and gas begins to rise from the floors and up into the air of the concealed rooms. Multiple trainees from the rafters above have fled the scene, throwing up in worry or to try and sleep away their own injuries.

A chain can be heard rustling above the siren, flinging over the side of the enclosure as Kyle pulls himself upwards. As soon as both his knees touch the glass, you are rushing over- slipping a gas mask over his face before Charlotte and a few other scientists pull him away to the final trail. You soon pull your own mask from resting on your neck. 

Much to your surprise, Simon is next out, he rips his mask to above his nose, taking in deep breaths before choking as the gas floods the space - condensing. You help him to strap on the mask just as another assistant tears him away from your grasp, out watch as he turns around to look at you with a panicked gaze before the door slams closed behind them both. In three more minutes, the remaining men would collapse from the lack of oxygen… you looked up into the red lights above, closing your eyes in a prayer before hearing more locks falling to the concrete floors below as you walked off the glass and onto a side stage. Johnny flings himself onto the glass, he does not even feel as it cuts through his skin, body delirious from the gas as his body is carried into the hall. John had two more minutes… you began to count them down, gripping the railing before falling to your knees as tears strained down your cheeks, fogging up your mask. A beep on your watch warned of the gas limit even with your mask on as a group of scientists forcefully removed you from the room as your nails scratched at their arms, you yelled out pleas. Brain seemingly lost to the gas- forgetting all of the formal qualities you were trained to possess for these torturous trials.

↳ Taglist: @thriving-n-jiving @cringeycookies @lilliumrorum @brokenpieces-72 @ashy-kit @notsaelty @hindi-si-ikay @sleepyycatt @no-lessthan3

[raz-writes-the-thing]

Nightmares No More

Tenth Doctor x GN!Reader / Requests are: open and encouraged

Summary: It's no surprise that your nightmares pick up again since beginning travelling with the Doctor, but the Doctor has just the fix.

CW: angst, soft fic, comfort, reader has nightmares

DW tag list: @nyxiethesimp (please inbox me to be added to a tag list)

Nightmares were kind of a given no matter where, who or what you were. At some point in their lives, most people, or people-adjacent (read: aliens) would experience a nightmare. You, who were, in fact, a person and not person-adjacent, were particularly susceptible to nightmares. You always had been. 

It had been a particular source of contention for you when you were younger. Especially when you reached the age where you wanted to watch horror movies but couldn’t unless you wanted to spend the next one to fifteen days without sleep curled up in the blankets in terror. 

And yet, despite this, when the Doctor had asked you if you wanted to go and travel through time and space with him, you had said yes. You had said yes despite the horrors you were sure to and did face. Repeatedly. The Doctor had started to notice that you were slowly growing less chipper, the bags under your eyes growing darker by the day. He was growing concerned. 

Currently, you were asleep in your room and the Doctor was looking through the TARDIS records to see if he could find anything that might be causing your lack of interest in things. He was not having much luck. 

He was almost ready to give up for the day and head to bed himself when he heard a loud shriek. He rushed towards your room immediately assuming the worst. He was good at that, particularly when it came to his mortal companions. He’d lost enough of them. No more. 

His hand slams down on the bio-scanner button. The TARDIS overrides the scanner for him and the door opens with a whoosh. He steps inside, calling your name in a panic. 

He finds you sitting in your bed, tears tracking down your cheeks with your arms wrapped around your knees. He leans on the end of the bed, hands brushing over your face, your arms and over your legs- checking for damage, or bites. Anything. 

“What’s wrong?” He rushes out, cupping your chin to raise your line of sight back up to him. 

“It’s nothing,” you chew on your lip, averting eye contact. You brush each cheek against your arm to wipe the tears away and give him the best approximation of a genuine smile you can muster. “Sorry, stubbed my toe.” 

The Doctor raises a brow at you in disbelief. Your smile slips into something a tad more genuine. He could always see right through you. 

“Ohh, come on, now,” he tuts amusedly, but even he can’t hide the look of concern colouring his eyes. “You shouldn’t lie to your Doctor, you know.” 

You roll your eyes and let out a little puff of air, preparing to tell him the truth. 

“I had a nightmare,” you said simply, wiggling your socked toes for something to focus on. Another tear streaks down your cheek before you can release your knees to wipe it away. 

The Doctor releases your chin to wipe it away and clambers over the bed to sit up against the wall next to you. He draws you into his chest comfortingly.

“Nightmares, huh? I get those too. Not as much fun as travelling through the Chasm of Jewels, are they?” 

You scoff and relax into him, releasing your knees to stretch out. Your heart was beginning to slow now that the dream was over and slowly slipping away from you. 

“No,” you agree quietly. “They’re not.” 

The Doctor is uncharacteristically quiet for a moment, rubbing your shoulder softly. 

“How long have you had them?” 

You shrug and tell him how you’ve always had them. They had just been getting worse of late. He hummed thoughtfully, wondering if there was something that may have triggered them for you. 

He pressed a soft kiss to the side of your head and leaned his own against yours. Such a soft and caring affection. You suddenly wondered why you hadn’t told him about your nightmares before. Of course, he had them too. How could he not?

The Doctor was busy wondering what he could possibly do to make them better. Perhaps a potion from Raxos Five? Something from Earth, perhaps? Whale sounds? He’d heard whale sounds were good to sleep to. He’d tried them once but found himself too enraptured by what they were saying to actually fall asleep. 

And then the answer presented itself to him in the form of a soft snore. You had fallen back to sleep on him. He sat perfectly still, listening to the soft sounds of your breath. You must have been tired. How long had this been going on for? 

The Doctor closed his eyes and smiled. Oh, yes. This was much better. 

He stayed like that all night, laying in quiet comfort as you slept without disturbance for the next several hours. Of course, companionship was the answer to this question. The cure for your nightmares. You’d just needed someone to be there for you.

And the Doctor was more than happy to fill that role for you. Happy to stand guard and keep those demons at bay. 

And he was happy to do it for as long as you needed him to. You didn’t really notice the change at first. You’d fall asleep somewhere on the TARDIS and when you woke, the Doctor would be speaking softly to himself by the controls, or he’d be sat next to you. You’d go to bed and the Doctor would follow along to tell you about some story or legend from another planet, and when you woke he’d be near then too. Never too far away- just in case you had a nightmare. 

On rare occasions that became less rare the longer time went on, you’d wake to him cuddled up to you. Sometimes asleep, sometimes reading something, sometimes just staring off into space. Either way, he was just… always there. 

He was always there when you had nightmares, too.

And one day, you’d realised that it had been quite some time since you’d actually had a nightmare at all. You also realised that it had been quite some time since the Doctor had slept in his own room. The two of you had just gravitated into this new routine. It was safe to say it wasn’t a routine you wanted to give up. 

The Doctor had noticed this too but wasn’t entirely sure he was ready to give up the closeness he’d fostered with you. He didn’t sleep much, but when he did, he’d found that he didn’t have quite as many nightmares as he did before. 

That, and, well, he simply enjoyed being close to you. 

And that was in his books- a good enough reason as any other.

[sungbeam]

𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐝𝐚𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐞

agent!kim sunwoo x agent!fem!reader

6.3k words, enemies 2 implied lovers?, spy au, angst, action, swearing, depictions of violence/blood/weaponry, drinking, UNREALISTIC STANDARDS FOR HOW LONG SOMEONE CAN BLEED OUT T_T, mentions of murder and death, i think that's the bulk of it?

a/n: requests now closed! omg i actually had quite the trouble writing this one 🤧 but i hope it's still enjoyable!! thanks so much @shakalakaboomboo for ur req <3

There was something about the rain tonight that would make the smell of blood even more distinct. The moment you stepped out of the cab, you were hit by a wave of hot, all-consuming heat, accompanied by the insistent drumming of the downpour. The near abandoned streets tonight were doused in the scent of petrichor, and you blinked the water out of your eyes as you made your way toward the entrance of the building of interest.

Just as you had expected, Chanhee had logged your identification into the system, and your card alerted green with no problem. The man standing guard by the scanner passed you a nod. “Evening, Miss.”

You gave a nod back, sweeping your hand through your drenched hair to get it out of your eyes. “Good evening. Is there a bathroom nearby? I’m kind of new to the building.”

He pointed down the hall, around the corner. “Right that way. Have a good night.”

“Thanks, you, too. Stay dry!” You added the last part with a lighthearted smile, coaxing a similar expression from the guard who no doubt had a long night ahead of him. If everything worked out okay, he would still be able to leave alive. If everything worked out perfectly, then everyone could leave this building alive tonight.

You winced to yourself as the soles of your shoes squelched with each step, the shiny marble floors becoming even more shiny as water dripped down to form a trail to the bathroom. You found the ladies’ washroom right where the man had said it would be and let yourself in.

You saw his reflection before you even saw him. Your heart leapt in your chest, but that slowly came back down to Earth when your brain processed who it was. Eyes narrowed, you went over to the middle stall and enclosed yourself within.

“Took you long enough,” Kim Sunwoo, the bane of your existence, drawled. He stood outside of the stalls, leaning against the sink counter, with his body fully equipped with all the necessary items. He seemed to be fully dry, despite it having rained cats and dogs outside. The suit was dry, his hair was dry. Everything about him was pristine and neat and ready to go—howdy doo.

You glared at the door as if you were Superman with x-ray vision and laser eyes. There was a garment bag hanging on the back of the stall that you swiftly unzipped to swap out your drenched clothes with. “What the fuck are you doing in the women’s restroom, you perv?”

“Well, the only other person in here is you, so I wouldn’t say it was much of a scandal. It’s just you, after all,” he replied snidely.

You shivered as the air hit your cold, wet skin, and you hobbled into the pair of dress slacks that were given to you. You really hoped that Chanhee hadn’t given you a pair of chunky loafers just for “fashion’s” sake this time. (You appreciated his fashion advice on any other occasion, except when you were on an assignment.) To your relief, they were a simple pair of flats, and you dug out a note in the left shoe with Chanhee’s scrawl: Found the most boring, “practical” pair of shoes in the closet. You’re welcome.

“Do you ever worry about sounding like an asshole?” You voiced out into the echoey bathroom as you buttoned up your blouse and donned your suit jacket. “Oh, wait. I forgot that assholes don’t have to worry about sounding like an asshole.”

You could hear his eyes roll from behind the door.

Once you were done, you shoved all your sopping wet clothes into the garment bag and stepped out of the stall to twist your hair up and off your shoulders. Sunwoo eyed you from his little corner. There was a screen propped in one of his gloved hands as he went over the schematics of the building and where the two of you needed to go to retrieve the required target before the auction.

“Are we ready, princess?” He asked sarcastically while you double checked the weapons and tools hidden in certain parts of your clothing. Knives, ammo, lock picks, and a gun.

You ignored his mocking nickname for you. "Do you have the money?" You asked him as you both started making your way to the bathroom door.

"No." He nearly crashed face first into your back from how abruptly you stopped. He frowned. "Can you move—?"

You whirled on him. "We can't go to an auction to bid on an item without money," you said, feeling your pulse rise in your neck.

"We can," he huffed, reaching around you to open the door and usher you out, "if we're not there to bid."

"Since when were we not going to bid for it?" Your head went on a swivel, voice low, as you stuck close to Sunwoo on the way over to the private set of elevators further down the hall. It was awfully quiet in the lobby, save for the sounds of your breathing and footsteps.

Sunwoo passed you his device and reached into his jacket pocket to toss you a card on a lanyard. "Since Changmin and I decided it would be easier to just steal the damn thing instead."

Your head raced as you skimmed through the schematics and plans that Sunwoo and Changmin had come up with. These were blueprints of the auction room, neighboring rooms, and vents. Yeah, chunky loafers would not have done you any favors tonight.

But footwear wasn't the problem. The problem was that half the team had gone and decided on a whole new plan without consulting the other half. You jammed your finger against the "up" button to summon the elevator. "Of course, you would go behind my back and just decide this."

He tucked his hands in his pockets, his expression unreadable. "The director already okayed it. Plus, they weren't willing to give us more money than they approved of."

The elevator doors opened, and the both of you stepped inside. Sunwoo reached over and jammed his thumb against floor forty-two.

You leaned your head against the elevator wall, eyes fluttering closed. You would have throttled the director for not approving of more money being put towards this assignment. You thought it would only make sense since the flash drive that was being auctioned off tonight contained such highly sensitive information. It just didn't make sense.

"If we won the auction the right way," Sunwoo suddenly said as you mentally cartwheeled through about a dozen potential scenarios and concerns, "that would simply put a target on our backs for those who want it. Stealing it first would keep our identities low profile."

You had to admit that his words had some reason to them. You watched the numbers on the elevator tick-tock its way up to level forty-two. "So what's the plan, Oh Mighty One?" You asked, inspecting the card on the lanyard around your neck. It had the same identification as the card you'd used to get into the building, but this one had a special seal in the corner that would no doubt be used to get you into the auction itself.

"You're gonna cut the lights, and I'm gonna steal the drive."

Your head whipped toward him. "You're shitting me. I'm not a man-in-the-chair, Sunwoo."

"Never said you were," he said. "It's just too risky to have us both go for it."

Something creeped into your chest and your fingers clenched around your lanyard. "Don't give me that bullshit," you said, having to pull back a full-on snarl. "Just say you have zero faith in me to my face." It was just like the academy all over again. You could hear his taunts egging you on from across the sparring mat, could envision his gaze cutting toward you with every first rank he received. He was good at almost everything, while you had to haul ass to even get to second.

You were so sick of being underestimated.

He considered you for a moment, but you couldn't look him in the eye, choosing instead to stare straight ahead at the steel doors of the elevator. He opened his mouth to say something, but the elevator slowed to a stop and the two of you had to walk out onto the floor.

The two of you fell into step with one another as you made your way down the hall to the large pair of doors at the end. There were two men stationed on either side, dressed in the typical dark suits and earpieces. Attached to their belts, you noted the shotguns hanging there. If you could get closer, you might be able to identify the model…

"IDs," said the one on the right when you and Sunwoo approached.

You and Sunwoo held your cards face up, and both guards took a device from their back pockets to scan the seals in the corner. When their devices lit up green, they reached for the doors and beckoned you through.

The auction room itself looked cavernous with its wall of floor-to-ceiling windows, ceiling dripping with panels of modern lighting, and pedestals littered about the room like a fancy showroom of expensive black market items. You and Sunwoo stuck together mainly, thankfully not sticking out like a sore thumb thanks to the business smart attire you'd changed into. There were a few people with more luxury branded garments on, but other than that, it seemed Chanhee had hit the dress code right on its nose.

Sunwoo tapped you on the arm with the back of his hand, his fingers subtly marking out the chairs, the second floor railing around the perimeter of the room, and the guarded door by the foot of the stage. "We need a distraction to get in there. Once we get inside, we'll have plenty of time to grab the thingamajig since it's the last on the—"

"Hold on—the thingamajig?" Your face screwed up in incredulity.

"Are you judging? Why are you judging?" He asked, plucking twin flutes of champagne off an orbiting waiter's tray. He handed you one. "Drink this. Act natural."

You rolled your eyes and chugged the glass. While you did think Sunwoo was good at a lot of things, alcohol tolerance was one of the few where you came out on top. Right now, you were going to take full advantage of it because that liquid courage was definitely needed. "You say that like I've never done this before, lightweight."

"Oh, shut up."

You and Sunwoo lingered for a moment, pretending to eye the list of auction items being displayed on the flat screen on stage. According to the countdown timer, the two of you only had a few minutes before—

The lights went out.

A gasp fell over the crowd as you placed your empty glass on a nearby table and grabbed Sunwoo by the upper arm. "That wasn't you, was it?" You whispered to him, making your way toward the side of the room where the back door was.

"Yes, because I can control electricity with my mind," he hissed back at you.

"Everyone, please remain calm—" a man had stepped onto the stage and was attempting to placate everyone in the room. He had his hands held out, an easygoing smile on his face. All of the guards and staff members were holding up emergency flashlights, and a few other guests were beginning to pull out their cellphones.

Yours and Sunwoo's eyes darted from the crowd to the man guarding the back door. To your surprise, you saw the man pause at something in his earpiece, before turning around to enter the door he was guarding.

"Fuck, catch the door," you said to Sunwoo, grabbing the glass out of his hand and shoving him toward the door.

He launched for it, barely shoving his body through the opening before it clicked shit. He grimaced as you caught up to him. "This door is fucking heavy," he said, baring his teeth at you when he noticed you were trying to prevent the champagne from spilling. "Can you put down the damn alcohol, Ln?"

"It might come in handy," you quipped, slipping in through the door behind him.

When the door shut behind you, the hallway was encased in darkness, save for the haunting red EXIT signs above your heads, one at each end of the hallway. You followed Sunwoo's lead since he'd been the one to study the blueprints of this place, your free hand grazing over the pistol hanging from your belt beneath the flap of your suit jacket.

"What the hell happened? That wasn't one of us, was it?" You voiced into the dark.

Sunwoo had whipped out a small flashlight and put the butt in his mouth to hold while he jimmied the opposite door open. "Mm-mm," his answer was muffled, but you knew what he meant. The door fell open a little too easily, and Sunwoo only cocked his head in curiosity for a moment, then he was moving forward.

The hair on the back of your neck stood up when you heard voices echoing from somewhere within this next room. The AC was jacked up to a decently high power here, keeping the room cool and dry for all the items that were supposedly being auctioned. This next room was a labyrinth of shelves, and through them, you could make out the movement of lights slicing through the spaces.

"This feels too easy," you murmured to your partner as the two of you peered through the cracks between shelves.

"Yeah, no kidding," he muttered back. "I think somebody is trying to steal something, too."

"The drive?"

"Could be."

The voices came closer, footsteps shuffling and light swarming through the shelves like visible beams through a thick fog.

You grabbed onto Sunwoo again and yanked his arm over your shoulders. You felt him stiffen. "Act drunk, you idiot," you instructed into his ear, "and when they get close enough, do the thing."

He sent you a look. "The thing? And why do I have to be the drunk one again—"

"Freeze!"

Both you and Sunwoo's heads shot up as bright lights blinded your vision. You couldn't tell how many there were—two? Three? But you felt Sunwoo relax in your hold as he sunk into the role you'd assigned him.

"I'm so sorry," you lamented, holding up the flute of champagne in your hand. "My friend over here just drank waaay too much at the open bar and started wandering."

The lights were nearing. "How did you two get back here?" Asked the same voice.

"The door was unlocked during the power outage! I am so—" Your eyes found the circle shapes of the muzzles of handguns being pointed at you and your partner when they had neared enough, "—sorry. We're just a little lost now."

You squeezed Sunwoo's side as you hobbled the two of you closer to the lights like a damsel in distress. "Just point us in the right direction and we'll be—"

If you didn't know Sunwoo like you did, you probably wouldn't have even registered what just happened. But within the blink of an eye, you felt him leave your grasp, and you tossed the glass of champagne at one of your opponents. "Hey, catch!"

On instinct, the one across from you had to drop something to catch the flying glass of champagne, and unlucky for them, it happened to be their gun. Your foot kicked that sucker like a soccer ball beneath the nearest shelf. You grabbed the champagne out of their hand—thanked them for holding it—then smashed the glass over their head.

Quick and easy, yet your heart was pounding against your chest. What the hell was going on?

When you were finished, you leaned down to pick up the fallen flashlight. Sunwoo was looming over his own opponent with his boot on the man's chest, and he pocketed the spare gun while the flashlight hung from his other hand.

You both looked at each other. "We gotta go."

"I can't believe you made me do the drunk scenario."

"Can you just shut up and focus?"

Navigating the maze of shelving was a lot easier with the flashlights. At least now, both of you could see where you were going without fear of anyone else catching you. But when neither of you found the so-called hard drive you were tasked with retrieving, you were met instead by another door leading out to another unknown location.

Sunwoo dove in headfirst. (Right, he studied the maps. Ugh.) "I have a feeling someone's taken the drive already, so be prepared to shoot."

The next room was a long corridor that sloped downward toward a lone elevator. Creepy.

You scowled. "Like I'm never prepared to shoot?"

His gaze was equally as disgruntled. "Just because you got the highest marks in all of our projectiles classes doesn't mean you'll actually shoot."

That remark was something akin to an arrow to your chest. A muscle feathered in your jaw as he called the elevator up to the floor. "You were the top of class in projectile training; you have a license to kill; and yet, you have zero kills in your stats."

How the…? "I don't have to kill to execute my objective. Those aren't assignments I take," you countered, stepping into the elevator when it opened its jaws for you.

Sunwoo crossed his arms over his chest. "Ln, you didn't even take the gun away from the guy earlier. That is protocol."

"I have a gun—"

"That's not the problem, and you know it." He snarled. He took a step near you, both of your tensions rising, heat boiling between your two gazes, nostrils flared. "Just think about it, huh? How many times could you have made it easier on yourself by shooting your way out of something? You know what I would do to have an aim like yours? It's a fucking gift in this field, Ln. And yet, here you are, too scared to even hold a gun—"

You stepped into his space, got up in his face. "You know fucking nothing about me, so quit acting like you do," you snarled and forced the tremor out of your voice. Your hand fisted at your side, close to the weapon you were cursed and gifted to always be tied to.

His tongue poked the inside of his cheek and you were so close to him that you could measure the length of his eyelashes. "What in hell happened to you?"

The elevator dinged. You'd arrived.

You pulled away, mentally shaking yourself away from this conversation. "Don't start acting like you care now."

"I don't," he said as you both walked out of the elevator into a massive underground parking structure beneath the building. "I just need to know that I can count on you if we're in trouble."

"You can," you answered. But there was a microscopic break there, and you were certain he'd heard it, too. There was a question in his stare—he was never as good with guns, but he could fight his way out of a scenario just as well. You were the right choice out of the two of you for anything long range, but the question was if you could still live up to that one-trick reputation.

The underground garage created the perfect echo chamber for loud noises. You and Sunwoo simply followed the audible cacophony coming from further within the garage. Gun rounds were being unloaded without mercy, tire squeals were shut down by no doubt those same gun shots.

You wiped your hand on your pants, sticky from the champagne from earlier, as you and your partner pressed yourselves up against two columns. Just beyond, there was an active shootout taking place—which side had the merchandise, you weren't quite sure of.

Sunwoo signaled to you in a way you recognized from games of capture the flag at the academy. Two fingers swished toward the men behind the cars closest to him, then for you, the ones on your side. Heart hammering against your ribcage, you could only nod, and enclosed your fingers around the handle of the gun in your belt.

You blindly double checked the ammunition loaded up in your firearm, but it was futile since you'd already checked in the bathroom much earlier. It was loaded completely, and very much ready to fire.

You didn't need Sunwoo to signal, because you seemed to know exactly when the other was going to whip around the stone column and take one person out at a time.

Arm—one down—a leg, oh, was that a thigh?—but there went two off your side, as easy as shooting clay pigeons. Instead of a jitteriness filling your nerves, everything seemed to muffle and calm when you had a gun between your fingers. Like second nature, you picked off people (without killing them) before they even realized their mates were gone.

You would nail them in the arm, the shoulder, the butt, the leg, then duck behind the pillar for cover. Guns had become too easy of a game for you.

You barely even noticed that the others on Sunwoo's side started shooting at both of you.

"Fuck," you heard your counterpart curse as he pressed himself against the column.

The two of you connected gazes, and he didn't even have to ask before you were pulling down the hammer again and taking aim—

"LN—YN! BEHIND YOU!"

Your heart lurched into your throat, and you dove.

A line of bullets buried themselves into the concrete where your head had been, and you winced, feeling the burn of concrete through your clothes.

You rolled behind the nearest car, swearing as you clambered to your knees for cover. Somebody had set up a few cars behind you, ready to take you out with an automatic rifle.

"Sunwoo, you need to cover me," you shouted at him, glancing over your shoulder for his visual confirmation.

He gave a firm nod, already leaping into hand-to-hand action and ditching his gun for his more trustworthy melee weapons instead.

Through the windows of the car, you could just make out movement of the gunman. You crawled over to the other side of the car, tracking the feet and legs you could see beneath the vehicles. You reloaded your pistol, smacking the magazine into place, then pressing the hammer down.

Shots suddenly rained down on you, and you pressed yourself further to the ground.

"Come on, come on," you urged, "reload already."

And when you heard that beautiful sound of silence, you yanked yourself to your feet, pointed the barrel through the window, and shot. You heard the curse, and it was enough for you to whip over the back of the car and smack the butt of your gun into their head. The gunman went crashing to the concrete; you tucked your pistol away and picked up the automatic.

The heft of the gun was an old friend—it sank over you in cold realization… how much damage you could do with this.

With pursed lips, you emptied out the gun and kicked it under the car.

You rushed to line up a shot with your pistol to help Sunwoo who was juggling a fight against two others.

He didn't need that much help, but there was the glint of a knife, and you didn't even blink. The bullet buried itself in one of their shoulders, and Sunwoo elbowed him off his back, shoving the other's face into the car in front of him. He yanked his opponent's hair back and smashed their head into the metal again.

"You got it?" You asked him, sliding over the hoods of cars to get back.

He knew what you meant. Blood ran down his nose and there was a purplish cut on his lip. Sweat dripped down the side of his face as he dumped the now unconscious foe to the concrete. "Yeah, it went flying somewhere over there," he inclined his head down a row of cars, and you gave a nod.

The two of you jogged over in the direction Sunwoo asserted and began looking for the discarded drive.

You straightened after ducking beneath a car, but your eyes caught a flash of someone—your instincts lurched.

"Fuck, Sunwoo—!" You had the time to shove him out of the way as the rounds went flying past your heads and you tackled him.

Something pierced into the skin of your shoulder though, and you felt the bullet rip through your clothes and flay your skin as it passed. Your hand slapped over your arm as you fellz Sunwoo's stabilizing you. "Shit, Ln," he said, grasping your good side.

"It's the guy from earlier," you groaned, feeling the blood begin to pool.

"Huh? What guy—"

"The one I didn't take the gun from in the hall." The regret poured into you as swiftly as your blood flowed out of you. "I'll cover you—just find the damn thing."

He sent you a look, but nodded. "Okay."

You were lucky you hadn't been nicked in your good arm, you thought, as you clambered to your knees and peered over the edge of the car.

There he was, the man you'd smashed over the head with a glass. His forehead was bleeding profusely, but he still stumbled toward you, cocking his gun and firing. You ducked, crouching around the car to get to the other side. Mind racing for strategies, you thought you could easily take him down one limb at a time like the others.

All thoughts went flying out the window though when the man started barreling toward you, teeth bared, like a bull seeing red. You yelped as a bullet pelted the ground an inch from your hand. You ducked behind the car, ignoring the pain in your shoulder to palm your gun and aim.

You heard it hit its target.

But he just kept running.

"Are you serious?" You cursed, then regretting it immediately when he threw himself across the hood of the car to knock you down.

You cried out as your head hit the car behind you, the pain stabbing white in your vision. Adrenaline and fear pumped through you as you fought to keep his hands away from your neck. You even found where your bullet had lodged itself and pressed on it.

He grunted at the feeling, nearly twisting your arm off for that. You were trying, trying, trying.

His gun was gone; it didn't matter. You weren't good at hand to hand.

And your grip on his thick fucking wrists slipped. His hands were around your throat. You couldn't breathe—you thrashed around, smashed your gun against his face. He swept your efforts away, determination pressing his thumbs into the hollow—

BANG!

You saw the life drain out of his eyes. He fell over you, blood and a smoking gun sandwiched between your bodies.

Oxygen rushed into your lungs and you coughed. The realization hit you, a hammer striking against the percussion cap.

You just killed this man. You just shot him, point blank.

Oh god—you heaved his limp body off you, his blood staining your clothing, and you felt like Lady Macbeth, scrambling over blood that would not wash away.

"Yn!" Sunwoo's voice.

You wrestled to your hands and knees. "It's not my blood," you coughed, dry gagging at the sight of the pale body, rigid from rigor mortis.

Your mind was everywhere. Another one dead. What if he had a family? What if what if what if—?

"Ln, come on, you're alive. You can do it."

You were on your feet. There was a ringing in your ears from when your head smashed against the car.

Sunwoo ran over to you and threw your good arm over his shoulder to get you to the car he had broken into. "There you go. Hey, I got the drive. How 'bout that?" He wiggled a slim, black tab—the thing that had caused all of tonight's trouble.

You shook out the orbs dancing in your vision. How hard had your head been struck? "It still feels too easy."

"Don't say that," he groaned. "I just wanna get out of this place."

You really shouldn't have spoken so soon.

You heard the shot before you felt it; then the next one, then the next.

Sunwoo twisted around to shoot three rounds himself, silencing one of the people who had gotten the strength to pull himself up for one last try.

All breath left your throat as your hand reached for your lower abdomen. One of the bullets had gone through, piercing the side of your stomach. It had gone all the way through, back to front, the bullet lodged in the metal of the car in front of you.

You couldn't even see which blood stain was yours.

"Nonononono," Sunwoo chanted as your knees buckled and you started slipping to the ground. "Yn—Yn, stay with me," he urged, laying you gently on the ground.

The pain twisted itself until your eyes watered. You thought you tasted blood in your mouth. "Should've shot them dead like you said," you managed to say.

Sunwoo leaned over you, panic wide in his dark eyes as he held your face between his palms. "Yn, honey, you need to stay with me." He pressed his hands over the wounds opening and you screamed, the sound grating against his ears. He knew it hurt—god, he knew, but he needed to stop the bleeding somehow. Oh fuck.

"I'm sorry I screwed up so many times," you grunted to him. You tasted the iron coating your throat and suppressed the urge to cough it all out. You could barely think with the fucking hole in your stomach, but all you knew was that if he wasn't quick, the shot could be fatal.

"I'm gonna get you out of here." You could hear the resolve in his voice, but the shaky undertone, too. You'd never heard his voice shake before. "Don't apologize." Not until I get you out alive.

He scooped you up and you screwed your face up in agony. Your chest rose and fell rapidly, your teeth clamping down on your tongue to muffle the screams. There was blood in your mouth.

It hurt. Fucking hell, it hurt.

He went through the motions of wrestling the car door open, laying you in the passenger seat, trying to find something to staunch the bleeding on both sides.

The whole time, you kept your eyes on his face, trying to ingrain his features in your memory. The blood from his nose had partly dried, but the cut on his lips made his bottom one even poutier.

You'd never seen him so worried, or scared, with the crease between his brows. You wanted to reach up and rub it away.

"Hey," you rasped, catching his wild eyes. "Stop fussing over me and drive."

He clicked his tongue, eyes darting between your face and the knot he was tying with the jacket he found in the backseat. "Yah," he said half-heartedly, "don't tell me what to do."

He passed you another glance before shutting your door and running for the driver's seat.

As soon as Sunwoo collapsed into his side of the car, the elevator, from which you'd come, slid open. A flood of guards in armor and equipped with automatic weapons flooded out in a tidal wave. You both swore a colorful line of words.

"Drive, drive, drive—!" You urged, breaking out into coughs, then doubling over when the motion only intensified the bullet wound.

"What do you think I'm doing, woman!" He yelled and the tires squealed as he pulled out of the parking spot to make a mad dash for the exit.

Bullets fired at the car, lodging themselves in the metal and cracking the back windshield. You heard the glass shatter, and you reached for your gun to try and knock some of them off.

Sunwoo shoved your hand down. "Oh, no you don't. Save your energy, hot stuff."

It wasn't until he had navigated you both away safely from harm's way that you really let everything soak into your head. Your blood marinated the car seat beneath you, and you could feel your energy being siphoned toward the gaping hole in your stomach. Reality dawned on you faster and faster.

Did you fear death?

The streets were empty; it was still raining. You were right about the hot rain—it made the blood scent bolder.

Sunwoo made a turn onto a street, and another, to take any lingering tails off.

"I killed someone tonight," you voiced out into the quiet car amongst the humdrum of rain. It drizzled in through the shattered back windshield and onto the backseat.

"It's okay, Yn," he said quietly. "You had to."

You paused, swallowing. You inhaled sharply and you swore you were starting to get used to the throbbing all over your body. "You… you were right."

"You don't have to do that. Save your en—"

"No," you said with more force. His mouth snapped shut. "I just—" your eyes drifted closed for a moment, "—I just wanted to get this off my chest."

When he remained quiet to give you the space to speak, you told him, "What you said in the elevator was right… I uhm, I feel like a coward when I can't stomach a headshot anymore. I just… Sunwoo, I hate who, or what, I become when I have a gun in my hands."

You felt him glance over at you. "You're not a monster, if you think that's what you are," he murmured. You felt his hand cover yours where you were holding your injury.

"I've hurt a lot of people," you admitted, eyes staring out the front windshield. "The organization told me to pull the trigger, and I did. Even in the academy, I never felt good enough unless I was hitting a target." It had become a momentary triumph only, until every hit made you sink deeper and deeper into guilt. You had been tearing yourself apart at the seams, and you could remember those moments, seeing the fallen with people who cared about them rushing to their side.

The twisting in your stomach suddenly didn't feel like it was from the gunshot.

"Your record—"

"My record is doctored," you said blankly. "They wiped it when I gave up being a sniper."

He meditated on that for a moment, his teeth biting down on his bottom lip. He winced when he was reminded of the injury there. "I know that I was and have been—not the greatest toward you—and... I'm sorry. I think some part of me just thought it would catch your attention—which is no excuse—but…" His finger tapped on the steering wheel in time with his blinker. "I always thought that you would go far regardless. I thought you'd be recruited as a sniper for the high profile shit."

A smile curled at the corner of your lips. "Yeah?"

He nodded, his own lips pressed together. "Yeah. The best, y'know? And I thought… at least as a sniper, you won't be in the line of fire."

Your chest throbbed. "I still got shot, too, though."

"Yeah, but…" He turned into a barren residential street, no doubt toward the safe house nearby. "They wouldn't be shooting at you, I guess. I dunno. That's what I was telling myself, anyway."

You shifted your head slightly to peer over at him. There was a sincerity to his words that you had almost never remembered hearing out of his mouth. You believed him—you believed that he cared. "Thinking about me in your free time, Kim?"

"You wish," he joked, but it was a weaker comeback.

The house he pulled up to was at the end of a cul-de-sac. It was the standard, cookie cutter suburban house, with its front lawn trimmed and windows dark and lifeless. Sunwoo carefully drove the car into the empty garage for privacy, then ran over to your side to help you out.

You could feel yourself falling out of consciousness with all the blood loss.

Your head was drooping as he picked you up in his arms again. The crease between his brows made a reappearance and with your last bit of strength, you reached up to gently rub it away with your thumb. "Hey… I'm gonna be okay," you whispered to him in the dark and quiet of the garage.

He swallowed, peering down at you. "You better be," he said. "Who's gonna have my back then?"

You smiled since you couldn't laugh. Maybe the blood loss was making you loopy (probably), but you swore he smiled just a teensy bit.

He managed to get you on the couch, and you whimpered at the surface beneath you. He disappeared for a moment, but when he returned, it was with a first aid kit and a phone. "I called headquarters; they'll be here in five," he murmured, kneeling next to you and beginning to peel off the blood coated fabrics.

You hissed, body squirming with whatever energy you had left. "I can't believe I'm still alive."

He huffed and gently applied pressure to the wound with gauze. "The only one who gets to kill you is me. Remember that."

"Yeah, yeah," you panted. "Sew me up or something."

"It's gonna hurt. Wanna hold my hand?"

Your eyes met his. "You're ridiculous." But somehow, he managed to make your heart lurch. Even bleeding out and halfway dead, he could make your heart rate spike.

He gave a shrug as he threaded the needle and you held onto the gauze for the moment. "You know what they say…" his voice softened when you both heard a familiar voice announcing his presence from the front door—Changmin. Backup was here. "Enemies make the best lovers, do they not?"

"Did it take me almost dying for you to think of that one?"

Changmin rushed in with a full kit in his hands and practically shoved Sunwoo out of the way. You bit on your tongue as the newcomer inspected your wound.

Sunwoo leaned over the edge of the couch and grappled at your hand, his other brushing the sweaty hair out of your face. "We're not done with this conversation, okay? You better not die on me."

You squeezed his hand when Changmin began stitching you up. "Wouldn't dream of it."

tbz m.list

permanent taglist: @flwoie @vatterie @seomisaho @hqrana @ja4hyvn @tinkerbell460 @kaaimins @hyunjaespresent-deobi @otterly-fey @zzoguri @floatingpluto @winterchimez @ethereal-engene @gyulfriend @polarisjisung @jaehunnyy @shakalakaboomboo @loveliestfelix @bless-311 @zhaixiaowen @leaz-kpop-life @amourdsr @pxppxrminty @kqyutie @sseastar-main @kxthleen14 @fluorescentloves @mosviqu @justalildumpling @jaerisdiction @super-btstrash-posts @jundundun @http-gyu @mvvnsseul @outrologist @vernonburger @maessseongs @kflixnet @ericlvr

[sanguineterrain]

get a little action in | miguel o'hara

Summary: Spider-Man doesn't like you. And for the record? You're not crazy about him either. But you kind of wish you could see his eyes when he swings you across the city. For curiosity's sake.

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x gn!reader (some Spanish language is female-gendered, but other than that, no gendered descriptions.)

Word count: 2.2k

Content desc: rivals, superhero!reader (kinda - they're trying their best). miguel's a bit of a jerk ngl but he's a SEXY jerk <3 very enemies to lovers coded. swapped insults, injuries, and a whole lot of charged flirting. (lyla thinks they're adorable.)

A/N: i actually think this fic is the closest i've gotten to miguel's canon personality compared to my previous (delusional) characterizations of him lol. hope you guys like this one! as always, i appreciate corrections to the Spanish if needed, but it's no one's responsibility to do so!

Translations: 

¡Chingada madre! - Motherfucker!

¡Pinche pendeja! - Fucking asshole!

¡No mames! Eres una idiota. - I don't believe this! You're an idiot.

¡Cállate, por Dios! - Shut up, oh my God!

¡Ay, coño! ¿Qué demonios haces? - Oh, fuck! What the hell are you doing?

¿Qué? ¿Qué quieres? - What? What do you want?

¿Estás loca? ¿De dónde sacas esas ideas? - Are you crazy? Where do you get these ideas?

No seas estúpida. - Don't be stupid.

Porque tu haces un desmadre. Eres un dolor en el culo. - Because you make a mess. You're a pain in the ass.

Ve. - Go.

follow @sanguine-marvel for all future miguel fic notifications!

“All units be advised: 10-33 on 10th and Palisade. Suspect is known as “Captain Darkness.” Approach with caution.”

You shove the police scanner into your bag and stash it in the alley by your apartment. You’re close to 10th and Palisade, and the cops have lost Nueva York’s newest supervillain, Captain Darkness, three times already. For all the mocking headlines the press write about him, he sure seems to be the one laughing every time.

You pull your mask over your face as you make your way to the abandoned factory on 10th and Palisade. It looks normal from the outside, but the code means there’s been an explosion. 

Probably best to enter through the back. 

It’s dark, because supervillains like to nail the atmosphere, and that means there’s no budget for lighting. The factory smells damp, moldy. You hope you don’t get sick. Vigilantism doesn’t come with health insurance.

You stay close to the wall, ears tuned for any sounds. Usually, a good villain would have clocked your entrance by now. The fact that Captain Darkness (a stupid-ass name for a stupid-ass villain) hasn’t—

BRIIIING! BRIIIING!

Alarms blare throughout the factory. Your ears ring from the volume. 

Okay. Maybe you’ve underestimated him.

You run; stealth doesn’t matter now, only speed. Captain Darkness is, predictably, at the center of the factory. He has all the typical workings of a mad scientist: electric ball thingy, giant lie detector-looking thingy, et cetera. You go up the stairs of his platform to get closer.

Except there’s something you’ve never seen before. It sort of resembles a portal. Fuck.

Captain Darkness spots you immediately. He has giant crab legs fused to the lower half of his body, which you’d think were sick if he wasn’t such a jagoff. 

“Well, hello,” he says, sneering down at you. “I don’t believe we’ve met. Are you one of the Spiderlings?”

“I’m offended by the suggestion,” you say, darting towards the electric ball first. 

It looks easy enough to shut off, except the Captain blocks your path immediately. He knocks you across the platform. You cough at the impact. The concrete bruises your right temple.

“Alright, that’s it.” You grunt, pushing yourself up. “Now I’m gonna kick your ass for real.”

The Captain laughs. “By all means, hit me with your best shot.”

So you do. You manage to knock him backwards, his clunky crab legs sliding on the platform. You take the opening and shut off one machine, which causes a crackle of electricity in the air. The hair on your arms rises.

But being a mad crab scientist apparently means you have a lot of time on your hands, and Captain Darkness whips out what looks like a ray gun. He blasts you and knocks you off the platform. You hit your ribs hard, and your vision blurs for a second.

The portal begins to whir, warming up. Captain Darkness towers over you, grinning maniacally.

“Your efforts are adorable, but I suggest you find another line of work. No one will stop me from opening a portal. Once I venture to other worlds, I’ll be unstoppable. This world will be mine! Finally, everyone who ever—”

“Oh my God,” you groan, clutching your ribs. “Please don’t start monologuing. Do you know how cliche you sound right now? Blah blah blah, your parents didn’t give you enough attention so you’re insecure and power-hungry. Do I look like Dr. Phil to you?”

His eyes flash and one crab leg grabs a nearby tool cart. 

“You’re no longer amusing me,” he says. "Goodbye." 

The tool cart is flung in your direction, and you roll, covering your head and bracing for the worst. But the crash never comes. You look to see several orange webs wrapped around the cart. The cart flies backwards and hits Captain Darkness right in his face.

Miguel O’Hara lands on the railing of the platform, perched gracefully. He doesn’t waste a second in going after the Captain.

“Oh, where did you even come from?” you shout, pushing yourself to stand. “I have it handled!”

“I’m not dignifying that with a response,” Miguel growls as he easily dodges the Captain’s grasp. 

He swings to the other side, aiming for the portal which has now fired up. 

Perfect. Damn it, it should be you that J. Jonah Jameson will scream about on the news tomorrow morning, not Spider-Dorito. 

You force yourself to get up so you can try to apprehend the Captain. But he has other plans; one of the machines sparks, and suddenly, hundreds of flying crab-shaped robots pour out of the mouth of the portal. Miguel shouts orders to Lyla. 

You’re only interested in one thing: taking down Captain frickin’ Darkness. So you go after him, leaving the factory. Unfortunately, the crab-bots take that as an invitation to leave too, zeroed in on your destruction. Your ribs are killing you, and whatever the Captain blasted you with left a nasty gash on your hip. 

Still, you limp and pant through the pain. You’re not letting this guy get away a fourth time. No way. Captain Darkness has been a thorn in Nueva York’s side for several weeks now and you’ve been tracking him for just as long. You need to get him.

“¡Chingada madre!”

You glance over your shoulder and see a flash of blue and red. Miguel is right behind you, fighting through the cluster of crab-bots. The sight makes your blood boil.

“Fuck off!” you wheeze out. “He’s mine, O’Hara!”

“If you hadn’t stumbled in and screwed everything up, we wouldn’t even be in this situation right now!” he snarls. “¡Pinche pendeja!”

Fucking Spider-Man. It’s because of him that Nueva York doesn’t even know who you are. Every time you get remotely close to taking down a criminal, Miguel swoops in and saves the day. Not without giving you grief, of course. You’re too weak, too disorganized, too slow—you’re too wrong, according to him. He’s told you multiple times to stay away, but hey, he should know by now you’re also too stubborn to listen.

You pull your hand away from your rib. It’s tacky with blood. You’re slowing down, too; you aren’t enhanced like a hero is supposed to be, and after going two rounds with Captain Crabcake, it seems you’re about to meet your untimely fate with killer crustacean robots. 

You really should’ve become a lawyer like your mother wanted.

“¡No mames! Eres una idiota.”

You feel Miguel’s breath on your neck before his arm curls around your waist. You cry indignantly but he doesn’t let go, heaving you into his grip and continuing to run.

“Let go of me!” you demand, wiggling in his grip.

“Shut up.”

“I don’t need you to save me,” you snap.

He looks down at you, red masked eyes burning into you.

“No? ‘Cause every time you screw up, I’m the one fixing your mess. How many times have I told you to go home?”

“I had it under control,” you say. 

Miguel doesn’t even look at you. Your injuries are jostled with every step and you have to fight to not whine in pain. But you don’t try to squirm away again. You’re no match for his strength, and, unfortunately, he’s a lot faster than you. If you want to live, Miguel’s your ride. 

“Lyla, find me a route.”

Lyla pops up on Miguel’s other shoulder. She leers at you, raising her eyebrows.

“Am I interrupting something?” she asks. 

“Lyla. Route, now.” 

“Alright, alright,” she says, sounding far too smug. “Might I suggest going airborne?”

Your fingers dig into Miguel’s giant shoulder as he flings a web string at a nearby fire escape. He shifts you to one arm. Your eyes pop out of your head.

“No, wait, I have a terrible fear of—”

He doesn’t wait, the asshole, and you scream as he pulls both of you up. Now you’re bleeding, clinging to the worst person in the world, and at least two hundred feet off the ground. Somehow, killer crab-bots would’ve been better. 

“¡Cállate, por Dios!” he shouts, jerking his head away from you. “Unless you want me to drop you.”

“I’m gonna kill you, O’Hara,” you say, closing your eyes. “I’m gonna—oh, God.” You swallow hard, feeling dizzy. “I think I’m gonna hurl.”

“Do not throw up on me.”

You peek over his shoulder, trying not to watch the buildings blur by. That’s when you spot the army of robots behind you. And they look mad.

“Shit, shit!” you hiss, jolted out of your nausea. 

You reach down Miguel’s broad back, feeling for the nifty little gadgets you know he keeps on him.

“¡Ay, coño! ¿Qué demonios haces?”

He swats at your wandering hands. You smack him back.

“I’m trying to save us, if you don’t mind!”

“Do not touch anything—” he starts.

A bot whizzes by, firing at you both. Miguel wobbles on the next swing, trying to fight off the bot. 

“Lyla, three o’clock!” you yell.

Tiny rockets fire from Miguel’s suit, taking out several bots. There’s too many, though; you need another plan.

“Lyla, run diagnostics on the bots,” you say, grunting as Miguel swings sharply around a corner.

“Lyla, don’t do anything I don’t tell you to,” Miguel says. “She’s not yours to—”

“Water,” Lyla interrupts, understanding where your brain is. “They malfunction in water.”

“Huh. That’s ironic.”

Ahead, the waterfront is quickly coming into view. You pinch Miguel’s shoulder. He hisses, his suit’s eyes narrowing at you. 

“¿Qué? ¿Qué quieres?”

“The Hudson,” you say. 

“I can’t just dive into the river, we’ll both—”

“Use me as bait,” you say. 

“¿Estás loca? ¿De dónde sacas esas ideas?”

“I pull them out of my butt,” you say, rolling your eyes.

“You couldn’t even destroy the portal,” he says scathingly. “I’m not throwing you into the river, tempting as that is.”

“You don’t have a better idea, smartass. And unless you want them tearing up Manhattan, you’ll do it.”

“No seas estúpida,” he says. 

“Can’t help it. It’s one of my superpowers.”

Miguel lands on a rooftop. He drops you none too carefully, and you land hard on your butt. You grunt, the movement squishing your injury. 

“Lyla,” Miguel says.

“Yup,” she says, popping up on your shoulder and scanning your body. “Bruised ribs, and a gash right on top. If you wrap it, they’ll be fine.”

Miguel takes out a bandage and tears the top off. You’ve seen them before; they’re of his own creation, and used widely by his Spider Society. Never on civilians, which is what you are, according to him.

He crouches and shoves your suit up, then wraps the bandage around your stomach. The wrapping begins to expand and you feel the sting of cold gel. He yanks your suit back down without a word.

“I’m sure my ribs are broken,” you say through a wheezy exhale.

“Nope! Just bruised. You really shouldn’t fall from those kinds of heights,” Lyla says cheerily.

“Yeah, you were definitely programmed by him,” you mutter.

You start to get up. 

“Don’t even think about it,” Miguel says. 

“Screw you.”

“You living here screws me enough.”

“I don’t need your help! Why can’t you stay in your own damn lane, O’Hara?”

“Porque tu haces un desmadre. Eres un dolor en el culo.”

“The feeling is mutual,” you say through gritted teeth. “And you can’t stop me from going after him.”

His suit’s eyes narrow. Quick as anything, he flings two webs over your wrists. You squawk, now glued to the pavement.

“This is illegal!” you screech, twisting your wrists. “Let me go!”

“Stay out of my way,” Miguel says. “I won’t save your ass next time.”

You glare up at him, still breathing hard. It only makes you angrier that Miguel hasn’t broken a sweat.

“I hope those bots tear up the Spider Society!” you say. “I hope—I hope your suit malfunctions and the whole city sees your ass.”

Miguel pauses, and turns around. 

“Uh, Miguel?” Lyla asks. “The murder robots? Kinda urgent.”

“Tell Jess to go downtown and cut them off there.”

“But—” 

“Ve.”

He stands over you. You fling your legs up, trying to get a kick in, but he quickly puts a stop to that, resting a heavy foot on both of your ankles. 

Miguel bends down. You burn with curiosity about how he looks under the mask. It’s twisted of you to wonder, considering what an arrogant jerk he is. You could fill several encyclopedias with Miguel O’Hara’s worst traits. 

Still, you wonder. You wonder what color his eyes are. If his hair is short or long. If he smiles at all. His expression when you get under his skin.

You’d learned his real name by accident. Whether he knows your identity or not, you don’t know. You wonder if he has to stop himself from saying your name.

“You’re lucky I don’t web that dirty mouth of yours,” Miguel says, his face inches from yours. “I’ve been considering it.”

You lift your chin.

“You think about my mouth a lot, O’Hara?”

He jerks back, like you’ve startled him. He stands, turning around.

“Don’t let me see you out here again,” he says.

“Wait!” you cry. “What about the webs?!”

Miguel shoots a web towards the street.

“What about them? You don’t need my help, remember?”

Then he’s gone. 

Fucking Spider-Man.

[hanahaki-disease]

Been Left No Choice

Hell or High Water - Percy Jackson/DC crossover

Summary:

“But he also didn’t want Batman to overtake the demigod world. Bruce was a paranoid person, he had plans and contingencies and contingencies for his contingencies. He liked control. Because if he had control, then things would stick to the plan and no one would get hurt, no one would die, and he wouldn’t have to lose the people he cares about. And while the contingencies were helpful, the plans make missions and patrols and cases run as smooth as they can be, Bruce’s orders felt suffocating at times. Like a leash tethering them to the concrete block of morals that stood Batman firm in place

“I-I can’t tell you,” Percy decides. It was better to suffer this life in silence than to drag them down with him”

********************************************

Bruce was going to be out of town for the next few days, a League mission he couldn’t be absent from. What it was about, Percy didn’t care. He was just glad the man was gone. He had been back for the past week and Bruce hasn’t even spoken to him much. Too wrapped up in Wayne Enterprises and Batman stuff to remember his missing adopted son had returned from a nationwide manhunt and disappearance. It made Percy wonder if he had even known about the manhunt for Percy and his friend. Did he follow the news reports on the computer downstairs? Was he listening to the various police scanners in the cities he had been sighted in, trying to figure out if he was okay?

Probably not. Bruce just picked up the next kid with dark hair and colored eyes and gave them all of his care and attention.

A loud thwack echoed in the empty cave, followed by the sound of bare feet shuffling on the practice mat and two more hits. If Percy hadn’t known any better, and if the date had rewound two years ago, Percy could believe it was Jason in the cave. His brother wasn’t allowed to go out as Robin when Bruce wasn’t in town, not wanting him to get into trouble when there was no back up. Though at the time, Barbara was Batgirl and prowling on her own and had earned her own uniform display when he upgraded to her new suit.

He’s seen pictures of it and clips in the news. A darker purple than the previous version with ticker shin guards and sharper forearm spikes, not to mention the reinforced padding on her knuckles and knees, or the tonfas attached to her belt. Growing up as the daughter of the Gotham PD Commissioner, Barbara had a preference to hand-to-hand combat, surely the influence of her father. Her fighting style closer to Jason’s brawler type, but preferring more of a jiu-jitsu and capoeira blend. Vastly different to the flippy and distracted style that Dick has, one where his excess body movements leave his opponents confused and keeps them right where he wants them, and Bruce’s close range league training.

Judging by the sound of the feet, the whooshing in the air and the deeper voice that distinctly did not belong to Barbara, Percy was not surprised to see Tim training away while Bruce was gone. He was concentrated on the punching bag in front of him, chest heaving as he caught his breath, wooden practice staff held tight in his hand, positioned for another round of attacks.

Of all the weapons, he didn’t expect for Tim to have chosen the bo-staff, but as he watched him train, it was hard to imagine him with another weapon. He didn’t seem like the type of person to have a bladed weapon besides the birdarangs or wing-dings supplied by Bruce and Dick. Nor was he made for melee like Jason or Barbra. The mid-range weapon built for mainly defense and quick-thinking just felt right in the hands of his best friends.

He twirled the staff in his hands, stepping in a careful circle around his target as the weapon seamlessly wove around his body. The center of the staff placed just below his sternum, wrists doing more of the work to spin the stick, keeping his biceps and arms tense and ready to quickly counter any attacks. Tim was light on his feet when he lunged, staying on the balls of his feet as he parried and avoided imaginary attacks from the punching bag. He even went so far as to back flip away, one hand touching the ground as he retreated Nightwing style.

It was pretty impressive, Percy had to admit. Reminded him of the more experienced campers, the older kids who have been staying year round. For the convenience that sword fighting was, Percy was surprised to see many of the campers preferring spears. The wooden shaft ending at their nose with the a foot long blade at the end. Clarisse was the first that came to mind when it came to skilled spear fighters. Her attacks were similar to Tim’s distracting twirls around her body and light footwork despite her muscled size. But where Tim’s attacks were quick hits with the long sides of the weapon, smacks and heavy hits, Clarisse and the rest of camp were more of a lunge and slash style. They handled the weapon one handed mostly, using the other to hold a shield.

Tim would have fun going against Clarisse, their opposing, but still similar styles would be an entertaining fight.

He still has yet to figure out how, when, and where Tim learned to fight with the staff. Obviously it’d have to be while he was gone, leaving the possible time frame just shy of three months. Not including the play-pretend ‘spars’ they would have before Jason’s death. When they would run around the back gardens of the Drake estate or Wayne manor, defeating imaginary foes as their own versions of Batman and Robin.

Percy swiveled the chair to the Batcomputer, the brightness of the computer blinding him for a quick second before he got used to it. He wonders if his login still worked. If the silly code name of “Scyphozoa” and simple password he created at the age of eight was still an active account in the most secure computer on earth. It did. His notes and files that past-Percy was using were still up, the rogue profiles and maps, clues and evidence reports. All of it, untouched and where he had left them last. Had Bruce never went through his account? Did he not monitor, or at least gloss over, whatever Percy had open?

He checked the audit trail for the reports and files. Bruce had this implemented when someone had accidentally written their school book report on a case file, deleting about seventy-five percent of the notes in the process. There were no logs or signs to point out who had done it (It had been Jason, who else used fancy thesaurus words in a report about Harry Potter?) and Bruce was tried of going around in circles trying to find the culprit.

Percy sucked in a sharp breath at the sight of the audit trail, the counter ticking up every second he lingered on the page. It hadn’t been closed since he left. None of the pages that he had opened had closed while he was gone. Bruce never once opened his login, and he doesn’t know if he done that out of respect for him or if he simple hadn’t cared. If he wanted to keep it the way it was, to preserve the last things Percy interacted with. It wasn’t too far of a stretch to think that, Jason’s room was the same way, but he never would think that Bruce would have done it with him as well.

He blinked away the rising tears in his eyes and closed the pages he had up, not even bothering to save the notes that he had been working on.

It wasn’t hard to find and pull up Tim’s file when the screen was clear. His name had been another subsection in the Robin tab and a whole sub-folder in the “known allies” folder. All the information about his debut as Robin was clinical. Succinct and methodical, the style much like the reports where the mission was difficult in some way, emotionally draining or an innocent life had been lost. The way Jason’s death had been reported.

“Percy?” He turned around. Tim held the wooden staff in one hand and a water bottle in the other, shock and disbelief clear on his sweaty, red face. “You—you’re back! You came back!”

Percy watched as he best friend dropped his things and ran towards him, a big smile on his face, and it hurt to step away from the hug Tim initiated. But Percy didn’t want to a) get Tim’s sweat and smell all over him, ew. And b) be near him for a while. There was too much to think about, to process when Percy let the fact that Tim was now Robin settle.

“When did you get back? How did you get back? What happened to you?!” Tim asked, brushing his sweaty hair out of his face.

“You’re Robin?” Percy countered and he watched as the excitement Tim had damped a little. The smile on his face disappeared and his shoulders dropped. “Why?”

Tim didn’t meet his as spoke at first, keeping his gaze focused on the cave around him his fist closed at his sides. “After…After you left, Bruce wasn’t the same. He hadn’t been the same since Jason’s death, either, but once you were gone and he found out you had disappeared…Batman didn’t seem like the good guy anymore.”

“What?”

“His attacks were unnecessarily stronger against the rogues, against regular muggers and thieves.” Tim typed at the computer, pulling up a spreadsheet. “I tracked all the times Bruce put someone in a full-body cast, or the ICU, or even left them paralyzed. He was angrier. Ruthless, he didn’t care if he was going too far.”

That…wasn’t the answer he had been expecting. After all, Bruce hadn’t acted like he cared when Percy left, so why was his disappearance a variable to the sudden change? It made no sense. “What about Dick? Did he not help?”

“He didn’t want to talk to Bruce once he found out happened with you and Jason,” he said. “He left the Titans and moved to Bludhäven at the end of June, joined the police force there too, but, he didn’t want anything to do with Bruce. The only reason they talked was to help train me or if he needed help with a case over there.” Tim stepped away from the computer and faced Percy this time. His own questions running through his head the same way all the possible shots for a photo filtered in his mind. “He was a part of the squad that investigated the bus explosion you were a part of.”

Percy held his breath at that. He doesn’t want to involve his Gotham life with the demigod side. And while he knows that all the people here can handle themselves, they’ll be at a disadvantage against monsters. They’d never see them coming—literally. His first week at camp had Percy thinking about life at the manor and if there had been any indication that any one them had been apart of the demigod life or descendants of it, no matter how small of a chance that had been. But there wasn’t any. No hint, no hushed whispers, no trace of ichor in any of their blood. Percy even checked when he came back. He took a small celestial bronze nail that the Hephaestus kids use when making shields and poked everyone he knew with it, watching as the metal simple phased through them as if they were nothing.

(He hadn’t had a chance to try it on Tim or Dick yet, but he wouldn’t be surprised if nothing happened.)

“What happened when you disappeared, Percy?” Tim asked. “Nothing the Justice League did were able to find you, Superman wasn’t able to find you.”

“I…I…” He began. Involving Batman into the demigod life could spill the secret that Bruce was Batman and the rest of the bat-clan was their respective heroes since everyone at camp knows everyone. He was relieved when Chiron used his mother’s maiden name of Jackson instead of Todd or Wayne to introduce him to the camp, one less connection between Percy, young prince of Gotham, and Perseus, son of the sea god.

But he also didn’t want Batman to overtake the demigod world. Bruce was a paranoid person, he had plans and contingencies and contingencies for his contingencies. He liked control. Because if he had control, then things would stick to the plan and no one would get hurt, no one would die, and he wouldn’t have to loose the people he cares about. And while the contingencies were helpful, the plans make missions and patrols and cases run as smooth as they can be, Bruce’s orders felt suffocating at times. Like a leash tethering them to the concrete block of morals that stood Batman firm in place

And maybe that’s why Jason had a hard time of following the older he got, the more experienced Robin had become. Maybe that was the Poseidon’s powers in him, the restless disobedience that wanted to do as he pleases because he doesn’t like getting told what to do.

“I-I can’t tell you,” Percy decides. It was better to suffer this life in silence than to drag them down with him.

“What? What do you mean ‘you can’t tell me’?” Tim said.

“It means that I can’t tell you,” Percy answered. “I don’t have to tell you anything about it if I don’t want to.”

“But I’m you best friend! Best friends’ tell each other everything!”

“Yeah? Well best friends don’t wear their dead brother’s uniform either!” Percy shut his eyes. He didn’t want to dig into this barrel of angst, but he need a way to get to leave him alone. A way to push him aside so he doesn’t get hurt by Percy’s monsters anymore than he does with the monsters roaming around Gotham. “They don’t go behind their best friends back and take what isn’t theirs!”

It was so easy to pull the guilt and anger from this well, too. Because it wasn’t like Percy was making any of this up. He didn’t like that Tim took the mantle of Robin from Jason. He didn’t like that he changed the uniform where it was totally different than Jason’s. He didn’t like that Tim saw an opportunity to join the capped crusaders and replace his brother, how he followed Batman through the streets of Gotham that same way Jason had. It was like he was pretending to be him.

“That suit doesn’t belong to you, it’s Jason’s suit, and you know it!” Percy yelled, and while it hurt to break Tim’s heart, to mess with his emotions like this, he was glad that he was getting the reactions he wanted.

“Someone had to stop Batman from himself!” Tim fought. “You were gone and Dick said no, there was no one else!”

“That doesn’t mean it had to be you!” Percy said. “You didn’t have to be Robin. You didn’t have to use Jason’s suit. It doesn’t belong to you!”

“You didn’t want it anyway!”

“Doesn’t matter!” Percy tightened his fists. “It belonged to my brothers, their legacy was never yours. You just wanted to play pretend and think you were one of them. But you’re not! You’ll never be!”

Oof. That one hurt. Percy knows it for sure. He can see it in the way Tim deflates in his spot, the tension in his stance, and expression on his face.

He couldn’t stay down there longer. He wouldn’t be able to handle seeing his best friend (if they still were best friends after this now) break down, to watch as his trust in Percy shatter before his eyes. It wasn’t fair that he had to do this. That this was what Percy had to do to keep him and the rest of the people he cares about safe. And Tim might hate him after that, he might not want to see or talk or even bee near Percy again. But if this was what it takes to keep them safe, he’ll do it a hundred times over.

********************************************

Scyphozoa: “true Jellyfish” it’s what we think of when we think of jellyfish

Also, I forgot to put this in the notes of the last installment—we have finished the first “arc” of the series. Fics #1-8 titles are all from the song “High Water” by Sleep Token, this one and the rest of this “arc” are all going to be from the song “Descending.”

And, trust me when I say that next week Dick and Percy are reuniting. I promise. They’ll be hugs and tears and all the good stuff.

Also, Percy and Tim not being besties is only for a little while, it makes sense in the end. Trust the process.

Thank you so much for reading!!!!❤️❤️❤️❤️

Previous | Masterlist | Next

[ceasarslegion]

I have a TSA question. I go on a flight in a few days and I was planning on wearing my packer. Yay or nay? Like will it cause anything to flag me like with sweatpants and stuff?

It depends on what line you go through. I personally wouldnt recommend wearing it in the security line just in case you end up at the body scanner (which is more likely if you dont have a reason to get into the priority disability line) but i recommend instead putting it in your bag and then putting it back on in the washroom after you get through.

The reason the body scanner doesnt like items like binders and packers is because of how the technology works. We arent trying to target trans people (like all those conspiracy theories claim), its just a case of technology being fussy in the way its designed.

The way it works is that it takes the radio waves that are already in the background radiation of the universe and points them all at you. They penetrate clothes but bounce off skin, and anything unusual that isnt usually on a human being of any gender/sex pops up on a generic stick figure as a yellow box that we have to pat down. It knows what all sets and combinations of genitals and breast tissue are, that is not an issue. It doesnt like packers because to tech like that it detects a big dense mass of matter it can pass through before it hits your skin with packers, and a big dense strapped on blob squished very tightly against your chest with binders. That doesnt make radio waves very happy. Thats why those two things alarm, we arent targeting trans passengers (not directed at you, just in general at the shit ive seen people say about my job). If youre still not convinced, well... we dont want to touch strangers' crotches all day either. We dont get paid enough for that straight up.

And if youre worried about the officer on x ray who sees whats in your bag, dont be. We see so many sex toys, dildos, penis molds, vibrators, butt plugs, everything under the sun related to genitals every single day. And if we're on x ray we have no idea what bag is which passenger's. I almost guarantee they will be totally unfazed by it and forget about it the moment they get the next bag. The only time id be worried about it getting pulled is if you got a new guy who hasnt seen enough yet. And even if your bag does get pulled, they will forget about it the moment you leave. We process thousands of people every single day, see thousands of images, search thousands of bags, we all have occupational face blindness unless you give us a reason to remember your face (which a packer in a bag is not going to be one. We have all had the rite of passage of either marking a dildo on our first week or searching a bag because a newbie marked a dildo and now we HAVE to look at it. Dude please look at the shape 😭)

Hopefully that answers your question and makes you feel a bit more reassured!

[justastraymoa]

ADVENTURES WITH CHEESE EXTENDED EDITION PT 9

As soon as I saw Cheese I ran to him and scooped him into my arms. Cheese made an annoyed noise and wiggled, but I held firm.

“You had me worried to death! How could you do that to me!” I chastised in a cutesy baby voice. Cheese looked away, uncaring about the agony he caused me and the years of my life he took from me.

Beside me Chan gave Felix a hug clapping his back loudly. “Thank you so much man! We have been looking everywhere!”

Felix laughed uncomfortably. “No problem. I didn’t even recognize him; it’s been so long.”

“And he doesn’t like you because you scared his mother.” Lino put in as he came over to scratch Cheese behind his ear.

“That too.”

“This more than makes up for that. Seriously, thank you, Felix.” I added giving the man a relieved smile.

“You are such a naughty, naughty boy! You had daddy and mommy scared.” Lino lectured Cheese, who again was uncaring and just wanted to be put down.

A new person walked into the room with a wide smile on his face. “Apparently, he likes scaring people. He nearly had me jumping out of my skin hiding on the black rug and blending in.”

“This is Jisung, one of my roommates.” Felix introduced the new man. I nodded and smiled at him.

Chan chuckled. “Yeah, I changed my blankets because he blended in to well with my old ones. I kept sitting on him on accident.”

I jumped slightly as there was frantic pounding on the door. Jisung opened it to let in Bin and Hyune who looked like they ran all the way here from my old apartment. They immediately zeroed in on the cat in my arms.

Later on, that night as we all ate dinner (I hadn’t eaten all day and when Chan found out he scolded me like a dad for ten minutes) Lino brought up putting a chip in Cheese.

I shrugged. “Honestly it never occurred to me to do that. But it’s a good idea since he has gotten out twice now. And with you guys taking him on trips and crap.”

Lino looked relieved. “Exactly. And if this should ever happen again, we can find him right away.”

“Plus, I am going to take him to the vet anyways to get him checked over for injuries. I can just have them put the chip in then.” It would be a weight off my chest knowing that we had a very good chance of getting Cheese back right away if he escaped again. And most places have chip scanners now so if some nice person took him to a vet or animal shelter, they would be able to contact me.

I smirked at Bin. He had spent almost every second doing little things for me and Cheese to ease his guilt. I kept telling him it wasn’t necessary, but hell if he would listen to me. Instead, he actually let Cheese on his bed and made me my favorite snack before bed.

Cheese scratched at the door again mewing pitifully before turning his big boba eyes on me. “Nuh uh, mister. You aren’t going to cute your way out of this one. We are almost done then we can go home.” I reached a handout to offer pets, but Cheese ignored it, meowing loudly at the door again.

Cheese was so mad at me he slept with Chan for 3 days. But at least I knew that I could find him now and that he was okay and healthy.

Now the Chan Clan was gone for 2 weeks on a business trip, and I had the apartment all to myself. It was too quiet. I was used to there being noise always coming from somewhere.

I was used to being able to talk to one of them or show them a stupid video or meme I found of them that would make them laugh or blush. It was one of my favorite past times now. But it was lonely in this apartment without them.

I had spent a whole day distracting myself by cleaning everything I could get my hands on. Right down to washing and sanitizing Cheeses toys and putting his cloth toys and blankets in the washer. I even went through my dresser and filled a garbage bag full of clothes to donate.

Now everything was spotless and the whole apartment smelled like cleaning supplies, but I had nothing to do. Anytime I started to watch tv I would get to a part that I wanted to show one of the boys and remember again that they weren’t there. And a lot of shows I was watching with them, and I couldn’t watch without them here. That ruins all the fun.

Even cat movie Friday was a bummer. I watched the first movie I found that mentioned a cat. Turns out it was about a cat who was abandoned and spent the rest of the movie searching for his loved ones. I was sobbing the entire time.

My phone rang early the next morning with a video call from Lino.

“Melluh.” I mumbled still half asleep.

“I told you she would still be in bed.” Bins tiny voice came over the line and I opened my eyes in confusion.

All 4 of my boys were on the tiny screen of my phone. Squished together so they could all fit into the frame but looking happy enough. I sat up and rubbed my eyes trying to wake up. “S’okay. How are you? I miss you.” I mumbled.

“We miss you too, y/nnie!” Bin said way too loudly making me flinch slightly.

Hyune squinted and leaned closer to the phone. “You look puffy.”

“Gee, thanks oh so much. You look great. Like usual.” I rolled my eyes.

Hyune ignored me. “Have you been crying?”

This got everyone’s attention and they all suddenly looked very concerned. I waved their concerns away shaking my head. “Yeah. I watched a sad movie last night. It got me right in the feels.”

“You watched a sad movie for cat movie Friday? Why?”

I swear. “I didn’t do it on purpose! I just chose one at random and it happened to be sad. And then I couldn’t just stop watching because then I wouldn’t know what happened and it would bother the hell out of me!”

“Whatever, who cares. Where’s Cheese?” Lino asked. I glared at him. I know he cared about me, but sometimes his words did hurt a little.

“I’m hanging up.” I announced.

“No, wait, I’m sorry! It is good to see you too, just I need my fix of Cheese too, you know.” Lino was quick to back step.

I sighed at moved so Cheese was in the frame too. He was sleeping peacefully on the empty side of my bed, one of his blankets curled around him like a nest and him nestled inside nice and toasty warm.

There were 3 collective ‘awwwws’ which made Cheese crack an eye open before stretching out his front paws and yawning.

I did have to admit I saved the video and all the photos I could of the kitten interview on my phone. They were truly adorable and the interactions with them were funny as hell. Chan was such a little baby when it came to their sharp claws. And Lino was just chilling there like an expert cat whisperer playing with them and keeping them calm in his arms.

You would think Chan would be in better practice in dealing with cats now that he has lived with Cheese for so long, but apparently not. And Hyune was really about to love all Cheese privileges if he says one more thing about dogs being better than cats. That’s a crime in this house. And I will not stand for it!

A/N: Cheese is back home from his wandering! Now we can get back into his more fun shenanigans!

I hope you enjoyed and as always thank you for any and all interactions

Skz + pets masterlist

Taglist: @whatdoyouwanttocallmefor

[letstrythisout4]

Mary and Harry

Part 1:

October 31, 1981

The sound of faint crying was the only thing that kept Mary from falling to her knees in the rubble beside James. James laid at the foot of the staircase, not a wand in sight, wearing those godforsaken snitch patterned pajamas Marlene had gifted him just two years ago. 

If it wasn’t for the way his chest was so still Mary would have assumed the fool had just fallen asleep standing, it wouldn’t have been the first time. 

The crying grew to wailing and Mary shook her head and raced up the stairs, tripping in her hast to not step on James. “Don’t think too hard about it.” Mary told herself, incredibly aware of the tears that streamed down her face. 

The second story of the house was practically not existent, the walls had been blown apart, leaving them in ruins. It was hard to believe that this was the same house Monty and Effie had gifted James just a couple years ago. The nursery was a shell of itself. Mary could remember spending hours painting the forest mural. Lily was insistent that Mary paint it rather than a professional. Lily said it would “provide a personal touch” and that “it’s rather rude to argue with me, I mean you wouldn’t want to stress the baby, would you?” , smiling impishly as she sat in the rocking chair, watching Mary slave away on the walls. 

Weeks were spent in that room, Mary painting, James, Marlene and Sirius cluelessly putting together pieces to make furniture, Remus laughing from where he sat on the floor beside Lily. Lily rocked back and forth watching as her family was all in one room working around the clock to make sure everything was perfect for their newest member. They had finally finished just a month before Harry arrived, the mural was a beautiful mix of greens, browns and blacks, with shadowy images of a deer and a doe hidden amongst the trees. The furniture was finished and strong, the room was filled with light from the bay windows and toys that Harry wouldn’t be able to truly use for years were waiting for him on the shelves. 

Now the nursery wasn't illuminated through the bay windows, there was no laughter, the toys were broken and Lily wasn’t in her rocking chair. No, now the windows were gone, replaced by a hole where the walls used to be, taking the mural with it. Remus had packed away his laughter when he began getting sent on missions with the wolves. And Mary couldn’t see Lily, only her shoes which peaked out from the rubble.

A sob tore its way through Mary’s throat as she took in the sight. A hot burn followed it and she nearly doubled over, sick with the realization that her life as she knew it was over. But a sob louder than her own took her focus. The crib was miraculously untouched, no rumble inside of it, the only thing to be found inside was a boy. Deep brown skin, jet back hair, and wet brilliant green eyes stared up at her. 

Mary picked up Harry as gently as possible, held his face to her shoulder and ran. Ran out the room, down the stairs, and out the back door. She didn’t stop until she was past the apparition wards, she took a breath and popped away.

—

“Name?” 

“Mary MacDonald.”

“Passport?”

Mary slid the booklet under the glass and to the woman. The woman had a rude voice but the darkness around her eyes spoke to more than just her being rude for the joy of it. The woman scanned the passport, checked her monitor and swiftly slid the passport back towards Mary.

“And you only have one carry-on, correct?”

“Yes, ma’am.” 

“Place your bag on the conveyor belt, walk through the metal detector. Your bag will be on the other side waiting for you, thank you for flying with us today.” the woman said, sounding robotic, and sloppily gestured to the scanner behind her.

“Thank you.” Mary walked towards the detector, attempting to appear more confident than she felt. Once given the green light, she snatched up her briefcase and hustled to her gate. She waited, impatiently looking between the tunnel entrance and her fellow passengers. A yawn escaped her before she could stop it, numbers began being called and she stood in line to board her plane. 

Seat 9A was an aisle seat as close to the front of the plane as could be without paying for first class. It gave her both enormous anxiety and comfort to be on a plane. On one hand there had been any attacks on muggle transportation yet but on the other she wouldn’t put it past the universe to decide her flight was going to be the first. Mary slipped her briefcase between her calves, holding the strap of the bag in her right hand, fist clenched tightly around it. 

She spent the next 8 hours like that, only allowing herself a few seconds to untense her legs or fist when they grew numb. They landed in Washington, D.C. around 2 A.M. Mary practically ran off the plane and out the airport. She managed to wave down a taxi and within thirty minutes, Mary was in her recently rented studio apartment. 

The apartment was completely empty, just a kitchen with basic appliances and a bathroom. Once Mary tripled checked the lock of the door, she got to work. She threw off her shoes -converse Lily had bought her ages ago- and walked towards the open windows. Floor to ceiling windows with a beautiful view that Mary immediately charmed to be practically indestructible and tinted. After pulling down the blinds purely for her own sanity, she charmed every inch of the apartment. No spell, no animal, nothing was to make it into the apartment without her explicit and willing permission. After setting up every protection and ward she could think of, Mary placed her suitcase in the middle of her living room floor, opened it and stepped right inside. 

Inside the suitcase was a ranch style house, unlike the apartment above, it was completely decorated and stocked with enough food to last her months. She walked through the main hallway to the bedroom beside the Master’s and found Harry sleeping away in his crib. The crib was a last minute purchase, it was good enough quality but didn’t hold the same memories as the one before it.

“I guess we’ll just have to make new ones, Harry.” Mary told the boy who was ignorant to her hovering. She ghosted her hand across his cheek, she had been lucky he had slept through the flight and airport wait. Mary knew she would have panicked if the charm to notify her when Harry awoke had gone off.

Mary felt her knees buckle and didn’t even try and stop herself from falling beside Harry’s crib. She laid there next to him, staring at the ceiling wondering how this could be. Sirius was the Secret-Keeper, he would never have allowed James and Lily to be compromised. 

…No. No, he wouldn’t. Sirius had too much love and respect for the entire Potter family to ever turn his back on them. He would never stand beside a cause that killed Fleamont and Euphemia, a cause that killed Marlene, a cause that killed James and Lily.

But if it wasn’t Sirius, who?

—

Author’s note: yes I am starting another series, but good news this one is actually entirely planned out (at least the first book/part of it is) so really this is fine.

[lonely-north-star]

jewelry maker mammon x retail worker mc pt 2

hi guys, two people asked for part two and now I'm here. Did not expect people to find enjoyment in this.

Part one above, not sure how to shorten it on mobile. Once again, this is me projecting onto my MC because I'm not suffering alone. Anyway, more craft store silliness !!

-Mammon attends the hiring event, dressed in a button down shirt and his hair combed. It's his Lucky Interview Outfit™

-He's kinda nervous because he really would like to work here and doesn't want to blow his chance

-The store manager recognizes him, and Mammon can't tell if this is good or bad

-Good because he's already got him laughing, and it helps brush over the fact that there's a few gaps in his resume

-The manager admits he had hoped to see Mammon there and it's good to put a name to a face

-Asks Mammon what he wants to work as, which Mammon kinda shrugs at, saying he's pretty flexible, but reminds him he's already good with the beads

-Says they'll label him as a floor person and put him anywhere as needed

-His first day is filled with training which he finds extremely boring until MC comes in to the break room

-She stops in her tracks and is stunned to see him there, before she recovers and smiles at him

"You're gonna work here now?"

"Nah, they just gave me a vest and name badge for nothing."

-She huffs and side eyes him as she grabs her equipment, rolling her eyes when she puts her bag away. Turns around, handing him a yellow star sticker

"For your badge."

-Suddenly he's even more eager to finish training and get to work

-His first days, he works short shifts during her hours and trains on the register (because everyone needs to know they claim)

-MC falls short of shaking him, sternly telling him to ask questions, no, she will not get mad. Yes, she may look irritated but she always looks like that. She'd rather you ask.

-They let him take over on his third day and he has great interactions with every customer

-He gets two credit card applications immediately. Had to walkie for help because he knew the script, but not the process (because no one ever gets them)

-The manager group chat receives a single photo of his tally sheet from the store manager because "Five sign ups! Three protection plans! Where has this cashier been my whole career? 🔥"

-He quickly becomes a favorite because of how good his numbers are

-No one knows how he does it but as long as higher ups aren't breathing down their neck everyone is happy

-It's because he's extremely motivated by the sticker rewards MC gives out. They're scented

-He might be good at the register but he hates staying up there when it's slow because he feels trapped. He can only recover the queue line so much guys

-Will beg to go on the floor if he's met the goal for the week and there's another person scheduled. Or will work to make the goal first and then beg to switch places

-On Fridays he works mornings in order to do jewelry repacks (Repacks are boxes of mixed products that get sent to us that we have to sort into other boxes by department. These things are like 12 x 10 x 20 inches maybe?)

-They are PACKED with products. The strung beads specifically come wrapped in bubble wrap or sealed bags by the SKU. Same goes for other products like findings, wire, and string. You spend a lot of time ripping open the package, pulling it out, scanning it, and then putting it on the shelf

-But see, Mammon knows these aisles better than the back of his hand. He doesn't need the scanner

-He'll unwrap handfuls at a time of strung beads and immediately start putting them out. Anything that goes in the next aisle he doesn't touch because he will not be walking back and forth, he's going to gather it all up and do it at once

-He spends barely an hour on each box, and once he's done, he admires any of the new items that came in. As a treat.

-Replen manager comes to check on him and she's stunned to find him done. She buys him a pastry from across the street as a reward

-He does help out with other repacks, but it takes him longer since he's not as familiar with the aisles

-Despises craft paint with a burning passion. Do NOT put him in that aisle or he will throw a fit. Threatens to quit (wouldn't actually)

-Gets frustrated easily with that aisle because the paint tubes fall over too often. And his hands are too big to reach for the one that fell over, and he'll end up knocking more over because the shelves are too close together

-Has trouble folding T-shirts. MC has shown him multiple times but he can't stay consistent with it

-One time she found him kneeling on the floor trying to fold a shirt. Has not let him fold since

-Now if they're working together, she folds them and he puts them away. It's efficient.

-After three weeks, he's gotten pretty good with memorizing the store and product locations. He has come to this conclusion.

Hell: Craft paint, T-Shirts, Open Stock Paintbrushes

Heaven: Jewelry <3, Kids Beads, Seasonal, Yarn

Neutral: Fine Arts, Ribbon (Thin Ice), Stickers, Fabric, Floral, Baking (Hates the baking pans specifically though), Wood, Frames, the rest of the store basically

-He likes making things look neat (actually likes the way MC looks pleased when he drags her over to show it off)

-If they're working together, he might get slightly distracted and trail after her to chat. She only allows it if it's slow.

-If someone needs help she'll shoo him away/send him off. He'll come right back after he's done though

-Otherwise she's walking through the aisles recovering with him and doing returns, handing him stuff and pointing to where it goes as he rambles about a new commission he made. Or the newest beads they got in stock.

"Says B 23."

"And they said they we're gettin' it for their partner-"

"There. Next to the red gift bags."

"-but how do ya not know their favorite color?! C'mon! That's like the first thing ya learn!"

"What's yours?"

"Blue. Or gold. And yellow, when gold ain't an option, because yellow is a lot more common. But none of that neon crap! Nah, like.. like.. I'll show ya when we reach the bead aisle! Anyway, they came back all-"

-'Yellow.' She thinks. Fitting, for someone who brightens her day so much. She shakes the thought away.

-She won't admit it but she does enjoy it. It makes the time pass faster.

"Did you know the beads go on sale Sunday? And we get paid this Friday. Are you gonna buy any?"

"...Are ya messin' with me?"

"Why would I be?"

"I'm going to buy so many things."

-MC starts to dread Sunday, and knows she's gonna have to reign him in. Oh boy.

-

hahaha pt 3 is in the works, i think. Because I had more ideas, but this got long again. Rest of this is me rambling.

Anyway, today I worked on repacks for Research™. And because I didn't wanna hear people asking if things are in the back. NO. I DID IT ALL TODAY !! EVERY LAST BIT !! (for t shirts and jewelry at least)

Took me four hours to do three jewelry boxes, though I did stop multiple times to help customers and go fulfill online orders. And unlike Mammon, I did need a scanner for some of it.

T shirts I did five boxes and took ten minutes a box since I didn't need the scanner except a handful of times. So it definitely varies on what department you're doing how long you'll take and how familiar you are with the aisle. For reference, it took my coworker 3.5 hours to do two boxes of jewelry.

Edit:

HERE'S PT 3 LOLOL