the jungle is the only way out

it wasn’t unexpected that he would have avoided that, but she was hoping that it would have at least caused a little damage. she shakes the slight disappointment off — that would have been too easy. besides, this just gave her an even greater chance to put her quirk on display. yet, when she hears his admission, her heart swelled with pride. there’s a small grin on her face before she hides it, formulating another plan in her head. “i’ll get you on the next attack,” she assures, after settling her emotions and reminding herself to be level-headed.

the final poison dart she had left would have to be her finishing blow, leaving him paralysed for just enough time for her to handcuff him and win. but she was still uncertain about what steps she needed to take to force him into that vulnerable position.

inwardly grimacing, she looks at him standing on the roof. she wasn’t suitable for fighting in the air, so she would have to find some way to get him to come down. at the same time, the clock was counting down — with only seventeen minutes left she would have to act fast. 

with a small movement of her hands, she creates a poisonous forcefield that encapsulates the two of them. the poison barrier was slowly closing in and will eventually force him to join her on the ground, but she wasn’t sure how long she could keep it up. steadying her breathing, she focuses on maintaining the forcefield while throwing a few poison balls at him. “i’d rather fight you on the ground.” she was determined to use everything she could to her advantage.

when he looks at her face and realizes that she’s not all that perturbed, a little shiver runs down his spine. eek. it’s nice to know that u.y students are as terrifying as ever.

not a second later, when he glances up, woohyun sees that a new, large, and sphere-like set of bounds are closing in on the two of them. the urge to crack a smile that says you’re clever is almost too intense, but he gets away with just the slight of a smirk. still, there’s definitely a good amount of unmitigated awe that he feels (though, he makes a mental note to save showing it for after their little scuffle).

normally, woohyun isn’t this talkative when he’s in combat, but he's currently on a sort of ‘didactic’ high in which words tumble out of his mouth seemingly not out of his own volition — as far as he’s willing to admit. “hm. if you wanted me to come closer, you could’ve just said so,” he taunts. with precision, a couple of feathers are ejected, sacrificed to catch all of her poison balls before crumbling from the poison in midair.

it’s all about control. precision. ultimately it is the prerequisite for a quirk like hers. and soon after, the way of living. control. breathe. in and out. count to three. precision. carefully. bit by bit. inch by inch. picture a dam leaking water. enough to water crops. not too much to drown a village. this much, horang had learned throughout the years of u.y. and years following, naturally applied it to her day to day.

control. back faced to the two of them, her nails digs into the soft flesh of her palm, jaw clenched. breathe. wrap your fingers tight around the beating thing in your chest and crush it in your palms. smother it. do it. precision. meticulously. bite back the rush of emotions. swallow it. bury it. show nothing. 

it doesn’t matter that it’s woohyun. he hadn’t mattered enough to keep him inn your life before—so, why now? alas, if only the heart was as crudely wired as the mind. “alright,” horang stops in front of an empty exam room to pull the door open for the two, eyes flicking over the open wound on the boy. “just a laceration huh.” she mumbles, teeth raking over her lower lip in thought. could’ve flown him to any other clinic for a laceration. and yet.

“let’s clean up that head first, then i’ll take some xrays and have the doctor come and see if he can do anything about that leg.” she gestures idly for them to sit, eyes stubbornly fixated on hyunwoo before moving to put together a tray. in and out. horang maneuvers a stool over to sit in front of the two, tray placed in her lap. control. she picks at the instruments, eyes roving over to the pair once more; zeroing on the teary eyed boy.

precision. the corner of her lips twitch, though otherwise no other attempt of being amiable is shown. show nothing. let nothing out. you can’t risk it. “hyunwoo, right? i’m horang.” she moves slow enough, careful not to startle him as she leans in further to assess the wound. “looks like the bleeding’s stopped, so all we need to do is clean and dress it—okay?” the kid nods, biting down on his lower lip. horang vaguely wonders if it’s a promise even worth believing in. 

not that it matters—it’s a task that needs to be done. and it’s the hero’s job to placate a child, not her. with that in mind, she picks up a soaked cotton ball with her forceps and dabs at the edges of the laceration—just barely holding back the flinch from the wail that just as quickly follows.

of fucking course.

at the sound of the kid’s crying — at the recognition of irritation stamped onto horang’s face — woohyun can’t help but be amused (even if it’s just a little bit). an almost soundless chuckle escapes his lips, sounding more like a brief exhale than anything else. yeah, go figure. to him, horang never seemed like the type to do especially well with kids, let alone difficult, volatile, and wearisome children like this one.

despite his tendency to withdraw, woohyun’s typical evenness even in demanding situations had a calming effect on the people who saved, especially if they were devilish young children. he gently runs his palm along the back side of hyunwoo’s head, moves to stand behind him, and leans the kid against his abdomen. “it’ll be okay,” woohyun’s repeated this refrain so many times over the past couple of years that the words spill out like clockwork. “but it hurts, doesn’t it? did you know even heroes hurt when they hit their head like that too? but we have to try to be strong, even though it hurts. can you try to be strong too?”

his voice is intentionally silky. he gives a look to horang, raises his brow. she looks especially pretty even under fluorescent lighting.

there’s a quiet pause before the kid nods into the fabric covering woohyun’s gut. “you can probably continue now.” he sighs, resting his palm gently on the kid’s shoulder.

woohyun always stuck out like a sore thumb. it felt strange, to say the least, to call himself an underground hero when his quirk often made it feel impossible to be anything other than conspicuous. even so, he made an effort to carry on nighthawk’s legacy, and that meant pursuing large, overarching, covert assignments often in spite of the large pair of wings on his back.

a tip from a fellow hero tells him that a certain someone from back his u.y days may or may not be involved with a certain organization. the prospect of u.y students turning towards villainy no longer felt odd to him given modern circumstances.

so, he squints at the scribbled writing on a ripped piece of paper in his palm. the dancing skeleton. woohyun wonders how he’ll get through this one, given the whole secret villain hot spot reputation and all. he enters the bar with an air of confidence; even if he is a hero, and even if someone does recognize him, he’s not here to catch anyone. he’s here just to talk.

she’s all blood and bone. occupational hazard. these things tend to happen when you work with unstable quirks. much less one of splintering bone. but still, to be dirtying her second pair of scrubs of the day—the first? courtesy of a premature ejaculating slime quirk—puts her in a particularly sour mood. not that she doesn’t usually stalk the halls with that cross look on her face though.

but, such is the fate of someone in this career path. and though it wasn’t horang’s first or main choice, she can’t deny the perks: information on various heroes and all the special fortified tape she can use for the temperamental hole in her abdomen. small perks. most days, it’s painless enough of a job for her to swallow.

today, it proves to be more and more of a pain.

today, the door flings open. a familiar gust of wind sends her hurling back to ten years prior. and horang is left staring, scrubs stained in blood and bone, for the briefest moment—face bare of any guards for him to read.

say something. her lips part a millimeter. slow and controlled is the gradual hardening of her face; galant effort made to save face (even if it was a second too late). saysomethingsaysomethingsaysomethingsaysomethingsaysomething. “he’s bleeding?” coward. “and? what else.” tone clipped, she doesn’t wait a second longer for further detail, pivoting on her foot to head down the hall. “let’s treat the bleeding first, then—please follow me.”

when in doubt—stick with what you know. though, horang knows she’d rather be anywhere than here right now.

ah. when the clouds in his head clear and his thoughts finally feel like his own, woohyun fights the urge to drop this kid and ditch this clinic. jeez, horang didn’t even flinch. he retroactively wishes he didn’t flinch either. he should’ve known better, with all the practice he’s gotten; their last interactions had added up to a series of push-and-pull contests to prove which one of them could care less than the other. (horang always won.)

he trails behind her with his eyes glazed over and his arms still wrapped tightly around the child. but woohyun can’t even muster the effort to tell this kid that it’s all going to be okay or that we’re getting you help now like he learned during rescue simulations at u.y. the fluorescence of the halls and the sterile odor of each passing room probably doesn’t help the kid any more than it helps him chill the fuck out.

a lump blocks off his throat, but he fights past it. “his name is hyunwoo.” when he says it aloud, woohyun suddenly realizes the comedic value in their names, but he holds back the slight of a smile. “he’s bleeding from a head injury, but i don’t think he has a concussion.” his shoulder collides with another moving in the opposite direction, and his voice struggles to maintain its usual evenness with how fast everyone around him seems to be moving. woohyun doesn’t feel himself.

@mhnoface​

he’s all blood and sweat and tears — but this time, not his own. not that he really minds. after almost seven years as a hero, woohyun is used to getting all up in other people’s bodily fluids. that includes the snot dripping down this eight-year-old’s face and onto his shoulder.

“it’s extremely inappropriate and inefficient for me to personally take you to the hospital, you know.” at the crime scene, woohyun gently prodded the child with his arm. blue police lights and deafening ambulance sirens surrounded them. to woohyun’s reproach, the kid wailed even louder, clung to the fabric of woohyun’s costume, and buried his face into woohyun’s chest. when woohyun glanced up, the paramedics just gave him a defeated shrug. jesus.

“okay, but you have to be really strong for me. i can’t fly if you’re not holding me really tight,” woohyun sighed through his nose. “and you can’t cry.” he paused. the last part was more for his sanity than anything else. with a sniffle, the wailing stopped.

woohyun is at the nearest clinic in just a few minutes, cradling the kid in his arms as he rushes in towards the first person he sees. “hey, i’ve got a kid here with a broken leg. hostage situation. he’s also bleeding and—”

26 years old, he/him/his

pro hero at the nighthawk agency

wing manifestation basically gives him giant wings he can use to fly or fight with. the actual physical wings are pretty small, but the attached feathers that he can control make them giant and floofy

serious/blunt/lightweight intimidating, which comes from a p harsh upbringing, but has a vulgar sense of humor and likes to make fun of his sidekicks and interns/lowkey haze them lmao

tl;dr under the cut. profile, bio, plots, all linked here. please like this post if i can slide into your DMs for plotting! super hyped to be here i fucking love my hero with my entire soul and i love all of your characters so much!!