“There isn’t a way things should be. There’s just what happens, and what we do. ” @ aaron
There's a wisdom to the words that Aaron isn't particularly fond of but finds he can't deny. "Then we oughta do our best. This," He gestures out at the vast wasteland that stretches on around them, "-ain't our best."
It's easy to steel himself and keep a straight face as she does her delicate work; even without the numbing agent doing its work, pain is an old friend he's all too familiar with. What really melts his resolve is how she seems to wear his suffering across her features. A hundred bullets or blades are nothing compared to the way Gloria's face falls as she tends to him with a tenderness she oft forgets herself capable of.
When she's done and looking back at his face, his grin is firmly in place without missing a beat. His voice flows smooth as silk as he takes her hands in his, wanting to at least for a moment pull her mind and body away from his injury. The back of each hand receives a quick kiss as she makes mention of poetry. "Awww, but you know I love it when you get all poetic and cheesy. Makes me feel all special."
he's offered a clipped hum between the focus of attentive fingers swiping away the trickle of blood. another gentle prod of a numbing agent around the spot to spare him any further discomfort, whether he argues it or not. ❝ that doesn't mean i enjoy seeing you take the hits, mi viejo.❞ she chides softly, her expression hiding nothing.
she can hear that grin work through his tone, endearment always softening her resolve and tempering the storm. gloria pulled the thread through his skin, teeth grazing over her bottom lip as if causing him pain made her feel it by proxy ( at least in this context of it all ). she's practived this art, and could stitch a straight line in her sleep but extra care is taken with fabián as she pulls and fastens the last suture. ❝ of course, i worry. ❞ gloria lifts her gaze; concern outlined by relief and so much more. ❝ don't make me get all poetic and cheesy on you. ❞
He stops to consider the question and grows silent for a beat or two while contemplating the answer. When he finds his voice, there's a weariness in it.
"All the bouncing around universes and timelines and all that makes it pretty hard to keep track, but... let's just say it's been a good long while and leave it at that."
He tries to shake off the melancholy as he looks back up at the hero, shaking his head at the little gloom cloud hanging over the other man at his self-proclaimed lack of help. "Anybody ever tell you you're a little too good sometimes? These super smart friends of your aside, you're already makin' sure I'm not just left totally on my ass around here. I promise you, you're helping plenty."
"I'm just sorry I can't be more help." Clark knows what it's like to feel out of place. He's adopted this planet as his home due to some fortunate and not so fortunate circumstances, but somewhere out there in the vastness of the universe, home is waiting for Aaron, and Superman will make sure he gets there safely. "When was the last time you made it back?"
It's still a struggle to wrap his head around someone so sincerely, uncomplicatedly kind as Superman -a man choosing to be called that on the regular is an oddity unto itself-, but it proves to be an infectious wholesomeness "If we're bein' candid, big guy; I barely even understand it all myself, really. I just sorta ride it out and hope I end up somewhere halfway decent. If these friends of yours can really help, that'll be more accommodating' than I could ever repay you for."
"Time travel and reality jumping aren't exactly my expertise." A small wave of guilt seems to flick across Superman's face. He doesn't like the feeling of not being able to help, of having so much power, yet being powerless. "But I do know some people that may be able to get you back home, and if there's anything I can do to make your stay here in Metropolis more accommodating in the meantime, please let me know." / @kojiscorner (aaron ) / sc.
"President? Does that make you in charge of like all magic? That's so fuckin' cool, my dude!"
"Yeah, you're lookin' at the President of the Magic Order. Not something most people would announce so confidently, but you seem like a nice enough dude."
He winces as much from her chiding tone as the freshly reopened wound. "I know, I know , but still gotta get out there and stretch my legs from time to time; otherwise I'll get rusty and those fresh bloods'll think I've gone soft. Only you can get away with all that 'old' stuff. Besides; this is nothin'! You've seen me take way worse hits and bounce back."
As she starts to fuss over him, his lips curve into a trademark grin. There's a warmth in his gaze that's reserved only for when his eyes fall on her as he watches her move to fix his folly with a practiced hand. Her brows furrow in focus, and he can't help the way his grin softens into something less smug. "Still; it's sweet that you still worry, mi luz. You know I'll always make it back home so you can patch me up. Wouldn't ever dare miss that."
“ shit, i think i pulled my stitches. ” (from Fabián)//@kojiscorner
blood prompts
a curse passes under her breath. that fine line worked over between the mechanized instincts of a combat medic and a woman unspokenly attached. .❝ you're not helping your case, viejo. ❞ her tone is clipped and soft all at once, a playful endearment spoken without thought. it wasn't the first time she'd harped on him and it certainly wouldn't be the last. in mere seconds, gloria has lifted the hem of his shirt and pressed a thick, saline-soaked cloth against a line of popped stitches. ❝ either you didn't hear me when i said to take it easy or your age is really, really catching up with you and you're losing your hearing already. ❞ she peers up through a veil of exhaustion. honey eyes reflect with concern, cheek, mild scorn and a hue of tenderness she couldn't hide back up her sleeve.
gloria huffs out, her gaze drifting back to the split flesh and assessing the damage. two sutures opened, the drip of blood following the rigid line of his left flank. her fingertips gently press around the perimeter, checking for a source of heat. her next inhale is sharp but the exhale allows the line of her jaw to relax and her nerves to loosen. ❝ or should i rip off ares' head instead? you're supposed to be delegating to fresh blood right now, remember?❞
#SVPE ▬ indie CLARK KENT from DC COMICS. primary inspiration from superman: secret origin. largely comic based with alternative verses available. crossover and oc friendly. reported by molly
I'm not even kidding I think food service jobs are the hardest customer service jobs that exist and if you have them on your resume long enough that it's clear you could maintain them people should be begging on their hands and fucking knees for you to work for them.
Send “✆” for a MORNING text.
Send “✉” for a text that WASN’T SENT.
Send “☎” for a RUSHED text.
Send “⁇” for a DRUNK text.
Send “✿” for a SUGGESTIVE text.
Send “ø” for a LATE NIGHT text.
Send “✘” for a HATEFUL text.
Send “#” for a RANDOM text.
Send “@” for a SCARED text.
Send “&” for a LOVING text.
Send “%” for a CURIOUS text.
Send “ツ” for an EXCITED text.
Send “$” for an ACCIDENTAL text.
Send “♀” for a HEARTBREAKING text.
I might write anything from a paragraph to a whopping essay, but send me something you’ve noticed about my characterisation or just something you want to know about my muse and I will write what I can!
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