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greensagephase · 1 year ago

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Nonviolent Communication - Part Two

Pairing: Spider-Man!Miguel O'Hara x Spider-Woman!Reader Summary: You show up to HQ after a day off due to your period. You accidently intrude on your boss's personal moment. Word Count: 6,468 Warning: Sad Miguel Masterlist

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Part Two

The next day you wake up bright and early. You're definitely feeling a million times better. You sit up in bed and untuck your sweatshirt. Miguel's handmade rice socks slide out. You didn’t need them last night, but you still felt like using them to prevent or ease any cramps or pain during the night. You quickly get ready for the day, changing into clothes to go out and fixing your hair. You make breakfast and for some reason you check the cabinets and drawer from last night again. They're still fixed. The containers that Miguel left are in your fridge.

You feel silly as you check this. It really did feel like a dream having Miguel O'Hara, your boss, visit your apartment and then to find out he had lied about the reason for his visit.

You reheat the canelita from last night as you eat breakfast and think. The realization that he had lied kept you up for a little while last night. You don't understand why he would lie about it.

But then you also wonder what it meant. It wasn't like you thought he was heartless. Or some stone-cold man. He could act like he was sometimes, but you feel that he is not like that. You remember hearing the events that unfolded before your enrollment into the Spider Society. An altercation with Miles Morales, who is now one of your closest colleagues, trying to prevent his father from dying. Miguel launched a multiverse hunt for Miles, trying to prevent him from breaking the canon, which had resulted in several spider-members breaking off the Spider Society to side with Miles. In the end, Miguel had discovered that he was wrong. Miles’s father didn’t need to die to keep the multiverse balanced. After discovering he was wrong, he apologized and even helped Miles save his dad, according to Miles himself. So, Miguel O’Hara was not heartless, or completely uncaring.

He was, however, still filled with guilt and pain from losing his family. You couldn't help but wonder if he would ever be able to heal and move on.

He did care, you think. He was just too scared of showing it. Maybe he feared letting people know he cared or had the potential to still care. You sigh as you drink the warm canelita. Maybe that’s why he had lied. Perhaps he had been somewhat concerned for you and had decided to check your wellness. Then, seeing you in pain, he felt the responsibility to help. That was it. Whatever the reason, you know he didn’t want you to know. This was clear to you as he had made sure to tell you not to mention it to Jessica twice to prevent getting caught in a lie.

You finish breakfast and wash dishes before heading out. You stop as you're nearly out the door, turning to look at a picture of Peter. You bring your fingertips to your lips, planting a soft kiss before pressing them to Peter's lips on the picture.

You smile at the photo. "This city depends on me," you say, remembering this was one of the things he had last told you. You head out then, fulfilling your daily promise to Peter of ensuring the safety of this city. You swing through the city, easily, looking out for crime or anyone in need of help. You watch the sky, the sun climbing higher and higher. The city never rests but you see it's still calm and early before the sidewalks are overfilled with busy citizens living their lives. You end up sitting on a tall building, just watching and patrolling. Your senses are met as you sit there. You hear chatter already. There are some honks here and there from cars below on the streets. Music plays from somewhere nearby. You feel a light breeze in the air, messing with your hair. There’s a bakery down below, and despite the height, the scent of fresh baked bread fills the air.

Your eyes end up on a couple. You can't help but watch as they walk hand in hand. Not a care in the world. They both look like they're going to work as they talk and laugh to themselves. Your gaze follows them until they reach an intersection where they part ways but not before they kiss on the lips. It looks like a longing kiss, as if they're already missing each other despite their bodies being pressed against each other’s.

A soft sight escapes your lips. That used to be Peter and you, you realized. It was that kind of love. The kind in which you'd start missing your person even before you said goodbye. The kind that had you already longing to kiss their lips again while you were kissing them.

You longed to have that back. You missed having that. To still feel that. Even though it has been three years since Peter's death, you haven't thought about a new relationship. Sure, you have been asked out in the last year or so, but you didn't feel ready yet. You felt as though it was too soon. For some reason though, in this moment, watching the couple, you feel as though you are ready to be open to the possibility of a relationship again. You know it might never be the same as with Peter. Peter was the first everything. He's always going to be special and different to you no matter what but...

That doesn't mean love can't come again, right? And you had promised Peter, too. That you would be open to it. As you look at the city before you, you realize you're okay with at least being open to a relationship now. It's not going to be immediate of course, as it's going to take a while to find someone you can trust the same way you trusted Peter.

You sigh and get up, cleaning your pants. It seems that everything is good with your city. At least for now. You give one last glance at the lovers, now walking in different directions.

You walk away from the edge of the building and open a multidimensional portal, ready to report to HQ. Since you missed out on yesterday's meeting, you have no idea if you have special missions today or for the rest of the week. The sooner you show up to HQ, the sooner you'll know what you have been assigned and plus, you needed to go and organize the lab since you also skipped that. You enter through the portal, stepping out into the cafeteria which buzzes with energy of about seventy or so spider members. You nod to a few who you've worked with in the past as you walk by. The scent of coffee fills the air, making you crave it since you didn't have any earlier. You grab a cup then decide to grab another one for Miguel as you're heading there to collect the report from yesterday. You make your way to his lab, making it sooner than expected. You call for Lyla, who always appears. Except she doesn't appear right now. You frown.

"Lyla?" you say hoping she'll pop out of nowhere like she usually does. You always call her before you go into Miguel's lab. You always do this to avoid entering unannounced, but Lyla doesn't appear with her bubbly and sassy personality.

You debate going into the lab. On one hand, you need to figure out if you have a mission. What if there's something planned that you were assigned, and you miss it? You really don’t want to make any mission partners angry at you skipping accidentally. On the other hand, you don't want to just go into the lab unannounced even though you know other members do that sometimes.

You frown and debate internally, finally making up your mind. You push open one of the labs doors, careful not to spill any coffee on yourself, deciding that knowing if you have missions is more important. Once you enter, the door closes behind you softly. The lab is dark and quiet. You can spot the yellow lights from the monitors faintly. You begin to question if Miguel is even here. He might be out on a mission right now. You continue to walk further in just as you receive a message from Jessica through your gizmo. You put the cups of coffee down on a nearby surface, already too deep in the lab. You pull open the message, noticing that it was sent to all Spider Society members.

"Whatever you do, do NOT, and I mean do NOT, go into Miguel's lab today. Don't speak to him. Don't approach him. Avoid him at all costs. He's not to be approached today. Any questions you have, direct them to me."

You curse under your breath. Why didn't Jessica send this sooner, you ask yourself as you look up. At least it seems that he's not here, you think as you look around only to realize you're very wrong.

You feel shivers run down your body as you see him. He's hunched over his monitors on his platform. You hadn't seen him because the light was off. You stand still, heart racing suddenly.

Shit, you think to yourself. Why did Jessica send the message two minutes too late? You begin walking backwards quietly, forgetting the cups of coffee. You'll retrieve them tomorrow if all goes well. You watch Miguel carefully, making sure he stays the same, making sure he doesn’t detect you. You make it a good bit before he moves. His movement is so subtle you pause walking, making you freeze in place.

Shit, shit, shit, you think. He's looking over his shoulder now, probably scanning the area.

"Who's there?" Miguel asks, in a voice so much different from the one he used last night. This voice is raspy, laced with anger and something else. It's almost threatening. "Do not make me ask again," he says with a coldness that could put winter to shame when silence meets him.

You hear your heart race in your ears. It's beating and beating. This is the scary Miguel people talk about, you realize. You hear him breathing. He sounds irritated. You decide to speak at last to avoid angering him any further.

"It's me, Y/N. I'm sorry for coming in... I see you're busy, so I'll head out now," you say, before you begin speed walking towards the doors. Before you know it, however, you see Miguel's bright illuminating webs shoot past you and onto the doors, blocking them. You halt as you see this. You turn around slowly to face his direction, unknowing what’s going to happen next. Is he going to scream at you for interrupting him? Is he going to take out his emotions on you?

You watch carefully as he stands on the platform, facing you now. He looks menacing standing there on his platform with the lights off, the only visible lights being the yellow monitor lights which are faint to begin with. He stands still, watching in your direction, silent. You swallow hard before you take a step forward.

You can’t help but ask yourself what you’re doing. You should stay still; you should try and leave but no. Here you are, taking more steps towards him, approaching him as if he were a delicate glass figure who could break at any sudden and abrupt movement. All the while, Miguel stands there, like a statue. You can feel his gaze on you now. He has the kind of gaze that anyone could feel. Or maybe it was just you who felt his heavy gaze. You take step after step, until you are standing before him. He still stands there, towering over you, perfectly still. You release a slow breath as you meet his eyes. There’s anger, sadness, and grief in them. You tell yourself you should leave at that moment. Who are you anyway? You are just another member of the Spider Society. You are not one of his most trusted members. You are just you.

You are you, the one he checked on last night. You are the member he left his lab and million of duties he assigns himself for to travel to your universe to check on you. He helped you last night. He made you homemade rice socks to ease your pain. He made food for you, which happened to be one of your comfort foods. He made you canelita, to ease your cramps. He fixed your cabinets and took out the trash and dealt with the dishes. He watched you become overwhelmed with your emotions as you remembered Peter.

Even though Miguel O’Hara didn’t want you to know, he had shown up of his own accord and not because another member had asked him to. Jessica had not asked him to check on you.

He made the decision all on his own. You didn’t know why exactly but you were thankful, nonetheless. And that was all that mattered to you suddenly. You were grateful he had shown you kindness.

Still meeting his eyes as you think about this, you speak up again, knowing that the only thing you wish to do right now, is reciprocate that kindness. He can reject it. He can tell you to go away. He can laugh or mock you. You could care less right now. You just want to reciprocate the kind gesture from last night and that’s why you ask, looking into his maroon eyes, “Is there anything – anything I can do for you right now?”

Miguel’s eyes narrow down at you. There’s an emotion in them. Perhaps, surprise? Is he surprised by the question? Has anyone ever asked Miguel if they can do anything for him? Would he even let them if they asked?

Your arms hang at your sides as you continue to hold his gaze. “I could simply listen,” you say quietly, trying to tell him that he could just talk about whatever it is that’s bothering him. You’ll listen… If he lets you.

A few minutes go by – or maybe it just feels that long as the two of you stand in front of each other, holding each other’s gaze, in silence in his dark lab. You almost feel like he could do this all day. Just stand there, watching you with his maroon eyes narrowed at you. You wonder what he’s thinking. Or maybe he’s not even thinking. Maybe he’s so wrapped up in his emotions, he has forgotten you are there. Maybe you have become part of his lab, just another object laying around.

You begin to feel as though this will continue forever. You will be stuck in this moment with him until he snaps out of it. You find yourself thinking that you’d wait it out with him, to return the gesture of last night. You will stand here the rest of the day until he-

“Lyla,” Miguel says, finally breaking the silence. His voice is hoarse.

You feel stunned for a few seconds. You thought he’d only continue to stand there in silence for longer. You recover quickly though and nod slowly, hoping that this encourages him to talk more. You also wonder for a second if he’s requesting Lyla to show up, but she doesn’t appear. You find this strange. She’s not showing up even for him.

Miguel turns around, turning away from you to face the monitors. You stand still, in the same spot. You feel as though you should remain still, to avoid upsetting or alarming him. You notice that he begins to move his monitors around, though you cannot see what’s in them as his body covers your view. You wait for anything else. He sighs as he stops moving his monitors.

“Last night,” Miguel begins, “I returned from your apartment. I ran maintenance on Lyla before I left, and when I returned, I found a folder that she kept hidden from me.”

You listen intently, your brows furrowing as you hear the last bit. Lyla hid a folder from him? You can’t help but wonder what it contained but you know immediately whatever it was, is the root of his mood today. You watch Miguel’s head drop. The sight of this on a man like him, who always looks put together, stern, and unbreakable, is devastating. You feel the need to reach out to him. To lay your hand on his arm as a sign of support but you know very well that would be too much for the founder and leader of the Spider Society. You can’t help but think about something Jessica once said after you and other members had returned from a mission. The mission had been particularly hard, as you had all dealt with a vexing anomaly. However, it had been a success in the end, with the anomaly captured and returned to its original universe. One of the other members on the mission had joked about Miguel congratulating all of you with a hug, to which Jessica had responded in a very serious and somber manner that had snatched your teammate’s humor instantly after.

“Miguel cannot do physical touch in that way, right now. Perhaps he never will.”

You remember thinking how sad that sounded. That someone couldn’t do physical touch in that way. Of course, you understood why it would be hard for him. You had heard he had lost his daughter in his arms. Your fingers twitch, wishing you could comfort him but there’s a line. A line you’re unwilling to cross when you know Miguel has firmly drawn it. Your hands curl into fists, trying to end the need to comfort him. Listening will have to do, you think.

“The folder contains photos and videos of my… previous life. Of my daughter and wife,” Miguel says, sounding pained and heartbroken.

You share his sadness as you realize. Lyla had hidden it. Lyla, who is nowhere to be found… You piece the pieces together and conclude that the bubbly, cute, and sassy AI assistant has been deactivated or shut off for the time being as a result of Miguel’s emotions.

You don’t know what to say. What can you say? How do you respond to this unique scenario in which your AI assistant hides a folder containing contents from your previous life before disaster struck? As you stare into Miguel’s back, you think about Lyla.

Lyla, who is always sassy and bubbly. Lyla, who follows Miguel’s every command.

Lyla, who is the only one that accompanies the founder and leader of the Spider Society when he’s locked up in his lab. Lyla, who despite being AI, is the only one that knows in full disclosure about the life Miguel led.

The one who saw a happy Miguel. A Miguel with a wife and daughter. A Miguel that probably smiled and laughed often. A version of him that didn’t stare into monitors with a grief-stricken face. You cannot help but wonder in that moment, staring at his large back… What was it like to hear Miguel O’Hara’s laugh? You guessed it was deep and rich, the kind that probably made you want to make the man laugh more to keep hearing it. You wondered what his smile looked like, too.

You shake your head, trying to clear your thoughts. It was not the moment. You focus again. Lyla, the AI assistant that probably knew Miguel better than any other Spider Society member, had hidden a folder containing photos and videos of his previous life. Of his wife and daughter. And you know why. Or at least you are certain you know why. That little sassy and bubbly AI assistant cares for Miguel. You cannot help but pinpoint this as her reasoning for hiding it. She knows him and what he has been through. She knew it’d break him further to see more memories of his previous life.

Still standing behind him, unmoving, you gently respond, “I’m sorry…”

Miguel’s head is still hanging when he speaks again. “She hid it from me all these years. Do you know how many files I had before this?” he asks, his voice hoarse, still laced with anger and sadness. He responds before you can. “I had three!” he says, louder. “Two videos and one photograph! And she’s had this file containing over a dozen photos and videos of them. How dare she! How dare she hide this from me? How could she hide them from me… My family,” Miguel says with a much more desperate and mournful tone that almost makes you want to weep for him.

You notice his hand, laying against a monitor softly. He shifts his body some, allowing you, accidentally, to see the monitor. You feel overwhelmed with sadness as your eyes scan the photograph. There, in the monitor is Miguel standing in the back with his arms wrapped around a woman while the other one holds a girl. Your eyes move across the woman, Miguel’s wife. You had heard from other spider members that he had met her shortly after inserting himself into the child’s life. They had quickly fallen in love and had married in a short amount of time. She was beautiful with mid-length hair, bright eyes, and a warm smile. You move to the child. Her small face was precious with her toothy smile and scrunched nose as she looked at the camera. Her hair was in a ponytail, and she wore a soccer uniform. You cannot explain the feeling that overwhelms your heart as you see this beautiful girl. Finally, your eyes land on him.

Miguel O’Hara looks at the camera with happy eyes and a smile that leaves you a little breathless. The sight is strange and yet comforting in some way. His eyes are bright. He looks happy. More than happy, really. This was another Miguel. One that you had never met. One that you may never meet. You don’t fail to notice that he’s in casual clothes in the photograph, further indicating how different this version of him to the one in skin and bones before you are. Miguel never smiles or laughs. He is never seen in comforting and relaxing clothing. His eyes are never full and bright. There is no twinkle in his eyes like there is in the photograph. No, the eyes of the man in front of you are vacant of this twinkle. No sign of happiness.

An involuntary, deep sigh escapes from you. You freeze almost immediately. Miguel turns to you with an unreadable look on his face. You meet his eyes briefly before you return your attention to the monitor.

“She was beautiful… They both were,” you whisper as your eyes land on the little girl again.

You wonder what she was like. Her soccer uniform gives you a glimpse of her. You imagine she was dedicated to it. She probably was good at scoring goals. You imagine her scoring one and running to the sidelines, where Miguel probably stood, watching, and cheering with his wife. You imagine them, going out to get ice cream afterwards to celebrate. You imagine Miguel giving her a ride on his back as she squeals, his wife laughing and finding the scene wholesome.

You cannot explain it. You feel as though you are grieving for him, the life he used to have. You grieve his happiness.

He was so happy. He had everything. A wife and a daughter. A family. And they were gone. Just like that.

As you stare at the photograph, your emotions swirling, you fail to notice Miguel watching you. He notices the way your posture has changed. You usually walk around with a posture that many envy. Your head is always high. Your face is usually bright and warm. And yet, when he looks at you now, he sees the way your arms hang at your sides almost in a helpless way. He notices your hands, curled in fists and wonders the reason for it. He observes your slumped shoulders, as if you were sharing the burden of his emotions in that moment.

Despite his emotions being a wreck right now, he finds the moment to feel off by this sight. He is used to seeing you happy and with a warm smile. He wondered a few times how someone could always carry themselves this way despite losing someone. He knew of your loss, of course. He didn’t know the exact details, but he knew it had been painful and his suspicions had been further confirmed last night when he had asked why you stuck around to your shitty apartment. He had seen the way you had focused on the wall with photographs. He had guessed you were looking at a photo of you and your Peter. He was never going to admit it out loud, but he had explored your apartment while you slept, and that wall had caught his attention.

His eyes had observed your face. There was not one in which you weren’t smiling. It didn’t matter if you were looking at the camera or not, there was a smile on your face. He couldn’t help but notice the way you smiled at Peter, too, in the photos that you were not facing the camera. It seemed to Miguel that Peter was your everything and you had proven his thought right when he saw your eyes focus on a specific photo on this wall. When your eyes filled with tears that threatened to spill down your face. When he saw the familiar emotions he carried with him every day.

Grief. Sadness. Heartbreak. Longing.

Miguel swallows the lump in his throat as his eyes are still on you. He watches the way you scan the photo. There is no judgement from you. There is no question about how it happened. You just watch and you seem to feel his pain. He finally turns to the screen, shifting over, giving you a better view of the monitor displaying the photo. His movement is subtle, and it could easily be mistaken as an accident, but it was anything but that. Miguel O’Hara, for once, was okay with someone looking at a photo of his previous life. He felt that he could trust you, even though you were one of the newest members in his society. He felt something inside him when he heard you call his wife and daughter beautiful. His face had a longing look on it but a small, almost barely there, smile appeared on his face as his eyes scanned the photo again.

“They were…,” he said softly. “My daughter – her name was Gabriella.”

Your eyes shift to Miguel again. You can see a ghost of a smile on his face. It pains you to see this. He deserves to be happy, you think.

“That’s a beautiful name… Gabriella,” you say softly, and you don’t fail to see the way his eyes close when you say his child’s name. It’s almost as if it’s too much to hear it out loud but Miguel opens his eyes again.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve heard someone else say her name,” Miguel says quietly, barely audible but you hear it, and this breaks your heart. You watch him swallow. “She was bright, so bright. She did well in school. She loved science,” Miguel says before he brings his hand to his face. You watch as he wipes his eyes with the back of his hand. Tears, you realize. He’s wiping tears off his eyes as he talks about Gabriella. And – suddenly, Miguel is talking about his daughter. Spilling everything that comes to his mind about her.

He tells you about the science projects Gabriella did and how she earned A’s. He tells you about her in the soccer team, how she put so much determination into her practices. How she dedicated her goals to him. About the way she had nightmares sometimes and how she called for him, him being the only one that could truly comfort her and lure her back to sleep. He talks about making her breakfast and how much she loved Saturday breakfasts especially because he made pancakes with chocolate chip cookies on them.

Miguel goes on and on, giving you more glimpses into his life and hell – you grieve that life for him. You grieve the death of a child you never knew. Your urge to comfort him grows with each detail he gives you. Your curled fists unclench and clench over and over. It’s so hard to hold back, to not wrap your arms around this man who is stuck in the past, grieving a life he no longer has… but you know you shouldn’t. You know you can’t as you remember Jessica’s comment about Miguel being unable to do physical touch. Instead, you do what you can do.

“She sounds like a wonderful child, Miguel,” you whisper still looking at the image, and you mean it. Little Gabriella sounds like a beam of sunlight. She sounds like the kind of child that could turn your frown into a smile. You smile faintly at her toothy smile. You wonder what kind of life she would’ve led but you stop yourself, feeling like you have no right to wonder that. “I have never said it before because I know…” you trail off not wanting to say what you wanted to say, which was that you knew this was a topic that couldn’t be brought up. Other members had warned you about bringing it up, so you never did. “… but I’m so sorry for your loss,” you whisper and hope your tone expresses your condolences.

Miguel remains silent. He continues to look at the screen and it appears his tears have slowed down at least. “Thank you,” he says, his voice sounding less hoarse and calmer, but it’s still laced with sadness.

You remember Lyla then and you can’t help but feel bad for the little AI assistant. You wonder if you will push it too far by bringing her up.

“I know I’m no one,” you start, turning your face to him even though he cannot see it. “To say anything and I know it’s upsetting, rightfully so…” you say, understanding why Miguel was so angry.

Miguel turns slightly towards you, as if interested in what you have to say. You let out a soft sigh. “Lyla – you know she cares about you, right?” you ask, softly.

Miguel turns his head away again and doesn’t respond for a few seconds until finally he nods. He sighs and brings a hand to his left temple. He massages it for a few seconds, perhaps a sign of a headache, you wonder.

“I know,” he answers quietly. “I know she did it to avoid – “ he says but doesn’t finish. You nod understanding.

“She’s always around to help you,” you say, a little smile forming on your face as you think about her. “She’s always so sassy but she always does her job.”

Miguel scoffs, nodding. “Her sassiness wasn’t planned. She took that trait all on her own,” he says but you don’t believe it. Lyla had once told you how sassy Miguel himself was before the events that changed his life forever took place. You guess his own sassiness was inspiration for hers. You smile as you think of that side of him, probably buried deep in him. You don’t mention this though and just nod. Maybe one day, you can see that side of him. Maybe.

“I haven’t seen her in a few days since I was out, but I miss her questions,” you say, referring to how she showers you with questions every time you clean the lab.

Miguel stays still and replies a few seconds later. “I deactivated her after I found out what she did.”

Your suspicion is proved correct then. You don’t say anything else. It’s not like you can ask him to bring her back. At the end of the day, Lyla is his creation. The two of you remain silent for a few minutes in his dark lab. Miguel finally sighs and straightens up, his true height towering over you.

“I’ll activate her again,” Miguel says, and his voice is in its usual tone now. The same one from yesterday while he talked to you in the kitchen. You feel relief wash over you. If you felt so attached to her without being her creator, you wonder how attached Miguel might be to her. Miguel then turns around, fully facing you. You look up at him. He is a different man than the one you first encountered earlier. He lifts his wrist closer to his face and begins clicking his gizmo. Not even ten seconds later, Lyla appears again.

She floats next to his head and looks around, seemingly confused. Her eyes land on you before they turn to Miguel.

“Miguel – you know I didn’t mean to,” she says and for once, her tone is not sassy or bubbly. She sounds truly sorry. Miguel stares at her, with eyes that reveal his attachment to her.

“It’s alright, Lyla. I know,” Miguel mutters and Lyla floats over to hug his head, happy to be back and forgiven it seems.

You try hiding your chuckle but fail miserably, catching both of their attention. You straighten up, noticing their gaze on you now. Lyla disappears and appears just as quickly as she disappeared, suddenly in front of your face.

She makes it a point to look like she’s whispering to you. “I guess I have you to thank, right?” she asks, winking at you behind her heart-shaped glasses. You chuckle softly.

“It’s good to have you back, Lyla.”

Lyla grins and offers you a fist bump. “This is why you’re one of my favorite spider members,” she says, earning a scowl from Miguel.

“I thought you said you didn’t have favorites, Lyla.”

Lyla shrugs at Miguel once she faces him after you return the fist bump. “It would hurt your feelings if you knew you’re not in my top five. Sorry, Miguel,” she says, still hovering over you. This earns Lyla another scowl.

“And I created you,” Miguel says in disbelief, but you can tell there’s a little bit of a playfulness in his tone.

“Y/N is in my top five.”

You raise an eyebrow. “I am? I literally joined the society like – four months ago.”

Lyla shrugs, floating back to Miguel. “That doesn’t matter, Y/N. I will not elaborate why you’re one of my favorites,” she says with a little smirk before looking at Miguel and then back at you. You can’t help but feel like her look at Miguel was to make some point as to why you’re one of her favorites, but you chalk it up to overthinking.

“Well, consider me flattered,” you reply with a grin, which Lyla returns before she looks around.

“So – you guys have been hanging out in the dark like some weirdos? Let’s light up this place,” Lyla says, and the lab is suddenly lit up.

The sudden light makes Miguel and you close your eyes in discomfort. You blink a few times, trying to get used to the change.

“Lyla, did you really have to do it that suddenly? A warning would’ve been appreciated you know?” Miguel asks, giving Lyla an annoyed look.

“Sorry, I just couldn’t stand the darkness in here.”

You chuckle quietly, still trying to adjust to the sudden bright lights. With your eyes finally adjusted, you look up at Miguel and Lyla. Lyla is grinning as she sits in the air with one of her legs crossed over the other. Miguel scoffs at her before he turns his attention to you. His face is calm and relaxed.

“I’m – sorry for the way I snapped earlier when you arrived,” Miguel starts with sincerity. “Did you need something?”

“Please don’t apologize, there’s no need to,” you say with a small smile. The last thing you wanted was for him to apologize when you intruded. Yet, you feel something in your chest you cannot describe at the fact that he has apologized. “I came to collect the report from yesterday’s meeting. I just wanted to make sure I wasn’t skipping missions.”

Miguel nods and steps off his platform, brushing past you. He walks over to another surface and picks up what you assume is the report. He walks back to you and extends his arm, handing you the report. You take it and thank him. You quickly flip through it, your eyes scanning the pages to see if you have a mission today. You see you don’t have anything until tomorrow.

You look up at Miguel. He seems to be looking elsewhere though there’s an expression on his face you cannot decipher.

“Well, that was all. Thank you and – I’m sorry for intruding,” you add with embarrassment.

Miguel turns to you and shakes his head softly. “Don’t worry about it…”

You smile briefly before you begin taking steps back. “Okay, well. I should head out… I’ll see you around,” you say before you turn around and begin walking towards the door. You suddenly remember the organizing. You stop walking but don’t turn. “Oh, I’ll come tomorrow after my mission to organize the lab, if you don’t mind.”

“Alright. See you tomorrow.”

“Bye, Y/N!” Lyla calls out.

“Bye, Lyla!” you say before exiting the lab, report in hand.

The door closes after you, leaving Miguel and his sassy AI assistant alone in a well-lit lab now. Miguel turns to his monitors. He stares at the picture for a few seconds. There’s a faint smile on his face before he closes the tab and folder. Lyla remains silent as if sensing that Miguel needs this moment. Miguel sighs, looking around the lab. Sensing that she can talk now, Lyla breaks the silence, noticing something.

“Why do you have two random coffee cups abandoned over there? I swear some of the members are so unorganized and forgetful sometimes,” Lyla complains, floating away.

Miguel looks around, a slight frown on his face as he searches the lab with his eyes before he spots them. Two cups of coffee are placed on one of the many surfaces of the lab. He stares at them, knowing instantly who brought them. He walks over to the surface and grabs one, lifting it to his face. It’s still warm in his hand and the scent of coffee fills his nostrils. He takes a sip, deep in thought for a few seconds.

“So, care to elaborate why Y/N is one of your top five spider members?” Miguel asks Lyla, curiously.

“I don’t think I will.”

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

A/N: Thank you for the support so far, it's really appreciated 🥰! Part three will be up in a few days. I don't know how long this will be but I think there might be five in total? We'll see! Also, excuse any spelling or grammar errors. I edited it but I read it for so long my eyes probably still missed something.

I still love Miguel O'Hara. That's all.

Next Part

taglist:

@loverlorn @saturnknows @d1lf-loverrr @eddiestitmiguelsbigdick @freehentai @arithestrawberry @scaleniusrm @haradasaya @spidermanismyfav @bitchykittenconnoisseur @thecraziestcrayon @mandodinstuff

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spider-stark · 2 years ago

Text

Anti-Hero // Hero x Villain Trope // pt. 1 //

Next Part

Summary - Reader and Peter are both living double lives. Spider-Man is considered a national hero, while the reader is viewed as a criminal. In their personal lives, they're both head over heels for one another, their friendship finally blossoming into something more. But as vigilantes? It's complicated.

a/n - A very sweet anon requested a hero x villain trope with Peter or another Marvel character, and after being bored at work for several hours, I ended up playing around with the idea. I decided to split it into two parts because I'm still toying around with the next half, so let me know what you think. :) And thank you anon for the request!

If there was anything in this world that Jonah J. Jameson loved, it was finding new ways to prove to the public that Spider-Man was a menace to society. More than that, he loved having photographic evidence of Spider-Man’s failings, which is exactly what New York’s latest crime-doer had been giving him.

Some random New Yorker had started an Instagram live just a few days back right after spotting Spider-Man leap onto the rooftop of the citizens apartment complex, and right on his heels was the most recent villain—one who had become the suspect of countless armed robberies as of late.

This footage was the first live-action clear shot that anyone had managed to get of the mysterious individual that now plagued the streets of Queens, and everyone wanted their hands on an exclusive with the boy that saw them first-hand.

“Now, tell me, what did they look like up close?” Jameson questioned the boy, leaning so far forward on his chair that it looked like he could slip out and hit the floor at any second.

The boy was glancing around the studio in pure amazement, clearly relishing his time in the spotlight. “Uh, well, they were dressed in all black. Like, black shoes, blank pants, even this weird black mask that covered their entire head! Literally just like all the victims have described so far—they’re like a shadow!”

He was beyond excited, talking about the person that had thieved and pretty much brutalized over a dozen people in the last month. He spoke like he had just spotted a celebrity, rather than a criminal. The severity of the situation went right over his head, and Jameson gritted his teeth at the fanboy before pressing on.

“And what were they doing on the roof of your home?”

“Chasing each other!” He might as well have squealed from joy, his eyes looking directly into the camera as he spoke rather than Jameson.

Jameson edged closer, his ass just barely touching the seat at this point, “So Spider-Man was going after the assailant?”

“Oh, God no!” The boy laughed as he said it, leaning back in his own seat to try and create some distance from Jameson, who was violating his personal space more with each second. “They were chasing him! By the end of it, Spider-Man could barely catch his breath. I think that’s why they were able to escape!”

Jameson’s brows snapped together, processing the information and prepping his next question. “So they were able to outmaneuver him? Outpower him, even! Tell me, as someone who got to see this as it unfolded, do you think it’s possible that this new man also has powers?”

“I’m not sure.” The boy answered truthfully, seemingly thinking back on the occurrence. “They were definitely fast, and super strong, so maybe! And those knives—” The look on his face was practically orgasmic, as if the sheer thought of the villains power had him bursting at the seams. “They might as well be a part of her! She never missed—not once! Superpowers or not, she knows what she’s doing.”

Jameson’s jaw fell open, practically touching the dirty rug that laid across his studio floor. “I’m sorry, did you say she?”

The boy nodded rapidly. “Yeah! It’s kind of hard to see in the video, but I told the police in my report that it was definitely a girl! I was hoping it would show up better on camera, but you can tell by their build it’s a woman. And God, her ass–”

“You heard it here first, folks!” Jameson quickly cut the boy off, throwing a sharp glare in his direction that had him immediately shutting his mouth, cheeks turning red. “Spider-Man not only let the assailant involved in countless crimes get away, but he also lost to a girl that might not even have superpowers!”

Behind the scenes Jameson could see his publicist making an X motion with her hands, trying to get him to shut his mouth before he made any further sexist comments. He ignored them, mostly.

“In my opinion, Spider-Man is no better than the rest of those animals. New York has placed him on a pedestal, bestowed upon him the title of ‘hero’, and yet he can’t even catch a girl with a pocket knife?” Jameson scoffed at the camera, shaking his head. “He’s nothing more than a fraud, a feckless, treacherous, unhinged menace!”

After seeing the interview, Peter had wanted nothing more than to throw away his entire television set and never check news headlines ever again. He had been trying so hard—unnecessarily hard—to catch you, and yet despite his best efforts, you always slipped right out of his grasp.

“Seem a little off your game, Spidey!” Your chipper voice rang through the empty alleyway they had found themselves in. Your tone was so steady, so even, as if you hadn’t even broken a sweat during their fight. Peter, on the other hand, was practically gasping at this point. “Still upset cause that idiot from the Bugle called you out on being weaker than a girl.”

He could practically feel you roll your eyes at the word, letting the taunt roll off your tongue despite being just as annoyed by Jameson��s comment. It felt like a cheap stab at both of you, and it annoyed you just as much as it did him.

“I’m getting really tired of you.” Peter huffed, desperately trying to make himself sound as composed as you did, trying not to show his exhaustion. How were you so damn fast? “Not only are you destroying the city, but now you’re dragging my name through the mud too?”

You shrugged your shoulders before slipping another knife out of the holster on your upper thigh, “Well, if you’re so tired of me, then why don’t you try to catch me for once?”

He narrowed his eyes, the white of his Stark Tech suit mimicking the expression. You were just a few feet away from him, and you had practically backed yourself into a corner by darting into this alley, nothing but a brick wall behind your back.

“That’s the plan.” He snidely remarked, taking a sharp inhale of breath before darting straight towards you, webs shooting from his wrists as he tried to pin you in place.

Miss, miss, miss.

The words chanted in his head, playing on a loop as you repeatedly dogged the webbing he shot at you, as if you always knew exactly where they were gonna land. This is impossible, he thought to himself, his irritation growing more and more.

Once he was close enough he took a swing at you, his webs rendered practically useless due to your keen senses helping you dodge them each and every time. With just centimeters between your face and his fist, you ducked, giggling to yourself as you heard his knuckles collide with the brick wall.

A series of obscenities fell from him lips, and you took this small window of opportunity to slip past his leg and get behind him, swiftly using one hand—the one that wasn’t holding a knife—to grab his arms and bring them behind his back.

“That looked like it hurt.” You came in close, so close that Peter could feel your breath brushing against his covered ear. He didn’t like the sensation, the way his body betrayed him by his knees going weak at the sound of your voice purring in his ear. “Did it?”

Peter didn’t respond, afraid that words would fail him if he tried, and instead just grunted as he went to rip his arms from your grasp to spin himself around so he was facing you.

Despite your quickness and impressive strength, he was still stronger than you. But as his left arm slipped from your grasp, you swiftly brought your other hand up and let the thick metal of the knife slice across his suit, tearing the fabric and digging into his flesh.

Peter hissed at the sensation, his hand immediately flying up to apply pressure to the wound. It was a deep cut, one that could potentially cause fatal blood loss in the average person, but Peter was not the average person, and you knew that much. He would heal, quicker than you wanted him to.

“Too slow.” You grinned at him beneath your mask, he could hear it in your tone. “Sorry to break it to you, but our fun is gonna have to end here for now, mkay? I’ve got big plans later, don’t wanna be late!”

“You’re not going anywhere.” Peter growled, his rage towards you finally building to a lethal point. He never lost control, not with any villain, but you always made it so hard to keep composed.

He took a step forward, but staggered a bit. It felt like his legs weighed thousands of pounds, like he was carrying a load of bricks. His gaze shifted back to you, squinting as his vision began going blurry. “What did you do?”

You lifted your shoulder in a half shrug, watching as he stumbled against the wall, using it to hold up his weight. “You know what botulinum is, right?” You paused, pointing your knife in his direction, waiting for an answer he couldn’t get out of his mouth as he fell towards the ground. “Guess not. Well, it’s essentially just botox. The lethal dose is around 2.1kg for the normal human, and you’re obviously not normal. So I decided to triple it!”

Peter’s eyes widened as the words rang through his ears, his muscles suddenly feeling stiffer, more difficult to move. His arms were locking up, unable to move from where they laid at his sides.

“Oh don’t give me that look.” You frowned at him, holstering the knife you had used on him now that he was struggling to move. “I haven’t killed anyone before, have I? Injured, maybe, but I’ve never killed. I’m certainly not gonna change that by killing New York’s savior, alright? It’s just gonna paralyze you for a bit, maybe knock you out for a while. That’s why I led you here!”You motioned to the dank alleyway.

“No one comes down here, so you should be safe until you recover. You’ll be back on your feet in like an hour—two, at most!” There was a pause as you scrunch your nose up a bit, a gesture just barely evident through your mask. “That is if I estimated the dosage right. Kind of hard to tell when I’m not sure what all that radioactive spider did to your body, ya know?”

You took a few steps back, beginning to move yourself back towards the street. Once you turned your back on him, you shot him one last smile over your shoulder. “Anyways, I’ve gotta hit the road. See ya next time, Spider-Boy.”

Peter tried to scream, tried to move, tried to do anything—but his body failed him entirely, forcing him to do nothing but lay against the cold, damp brick pressing into his back and watch you leave.

He was definitely gonna be late for his date with Y/N.

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catscidr · 7 months ago

Note

Could we get some Dottore x escaped experiment reader? Gn if possible, doesn't even have to be smut. I just can't find anything along those lines and I like your writing style :)

i. note — hehehoho i might have uuuhhh used this ask as an excuse to go off a lil and try something new teehee °ᗜ°) but this was really fun to write!! thank you nonnie for the suggestion, and thank you very much for liking my stuff enough to req something!!! i hope u all enjoy ii. includes — dottore, gn!reader iii. cw — unhealthy and toxic dynamics, no dialogue, mentions of cannibalism, mild body horror, one (1) dead body, not quite stockholm syndrome but maybe kinda, reader is a mess and dottore is not a good person (shocker). minors do not interact, age in bio or block. iv. wc — 2k -> posted on ao3 too!

To humans, running is what they do when they’re late to work, when they’re working out, or even when they’re playing games at recess as children. To predators, running is what they do in order to secure their next meal. To prey, running is what they must do so they can escape from the predator’s clutch in one piece, to not end up as a mangled corpse serving as someone or something’s food.

You have more in common with prey than you have with humans, despite being one yourself.

It hasn’t always been that way. One moment you were enjoying the warm afternoon sun of your home region out on a walk, and the other you found yourself thrown over someone’s shoulder with a bag over your head.

You always find yourself reminiscing, yearning to feel the warmth you felt that day— minus the incident. You used to be a model citizen; someone people would rely on.

A shame no one helped you when you desperately needed it.

Your own mind is all you’re left with, as you’re clumsily tripping over your feet, rocks scraping your skin and blood trickling down your legs. The feeling is almost peaceful; but after running for so long, and with how often you’ve gotten yourself in this exact situation, you’re starting to second guess your motive for running in the first place.

Is it a form of entertainment, are you growing bored of the four padded walls engulfing your five senses at all hours of the day that you feel the need to get the energy out of your body like a hamster does by using the wheel in its cage? Is it to leave the predicament you found yourself in after trusting someone you, under no circumstances, should have trusted?

Or is it because you gradually have come to find yourself sharing more similarities to a dog, begging its owner to even unenthusiastically throw a plastic frisbee for a smidge of attention to fulfill your need to be seen, to be heard, and now you feel the responsibility to own up to that label you inflicted upon yourself?

The lines between reality and your thoughts have blurred so much it frightens you.

...Or, rather, it should scare you. After spending so much time in your own head, one would find that it’s surprisingly easy to come to distrust your own mind. You’re not sure if you should believe what goes through your head, even less believe what you feel. But at the same time, you’re all you have. You have no choice but to trust yourself, even when you shouldn’t.

Only a select few are aware of how dreadfully strong and outright stubborn the human mind can be, whether it be from their own personal experience or from seeing others slip into a state like yours.

Unfortunately for you, He’s familiar with your situation. Painfully familiar.

…

Sometimes you wish you were a luna moth. Delicate and radiant, people would be torn between praising you for your beauty and shunning you away for the crime of looking different than what they’re used to. You wouldn’t be a butterfly, would not conform to what society wants you to be. You would be able to be who you want, look however you want to without worrying over other’s opinions.

The people that did like you, though, would treat you with care and would do everything in their power to make your stay in this world a pleasant one. A stay that would only last a week.

Not long enough for you to become familiar with the horrors that await humanity. Seven days filled with nothing but genuine smiles, void of empty promises.

You’d crawl out of your cocoon, eat good food, find someone to help continue your bloodline, then die somewhere peaceful and hope that your crumbling, decomposing body will bring relief to someone desperately needing something to eat.

But you’re not a moth.

…

It’s unbearably cold when you come to your senses. Peeling your eyes open, you glance around to find yourself surrounded by cold limestone, barely illuminated by the cave’s entrance just a few feet away. The hairs on your skin rise from the wind guiding snow through the passageway, making you curl into yourself in a pathetic attempt to keep your body’s temperature from dropping too low.

You look down at yourself; your pants are ripped at the hem, and you see messy splotches of brownish red staining the fabric and your skin, going all the way down to your calloused feet. You’re not sure how long you’ve been out for, but it must have been at least an hour given how the bleeding from the numerous scratches and gashes on your legs stopped without any assistance.

The cave felt completely foreign to you, but even then, it brought you more comfort than He had. Or at least you think it does.

You feel free. Despite the way your body shivered endlessly from the wind howling into the cavern, despite the dull but searing pain that made it feel like your feet were scorching that traveled up your legs, despite the way you couldn’t move your lips from how dry and cracked they were, split from sheer cold.

You think this is the most freedom you’ve felt since you’ve gotten yourself stuck in His maw.

...

The wind is reduced to a soft, soothing melody when you wake up again. Almost calming enough for you to drift off to sleep a second time, but a nagging feeling in the depths of your gut told you that it was a bad idea to fall unconscious this time around, so you try to shake off the numbness in your limbs instead of succumbing to the call of the void.

Standing up proves to be a challenge as your legs buckle under your weight. You catch yourself before you fall, holding onto the rough formation of a rogue stalagmite; it’s a struggle to hold yourself up, but at the very least you didn’t give yourself a concussion.

The pain isn’t completely unwelcome, though. Your feet are throbbing, and the palm of your hand holding yourself up with the help of the stalagmite stings. As you blink the drowsiness away and the blood begins to flow through your limbs correctly again, you straighten your back to take in your surroundings properly.

The cave’s entrance was filled with thick snow. There was enough that it would reach your stomach should you walk up to it, ignoring the snow that fell into the grotto, and not the snow that partly obscured your way to the outside world. You can’t see much outside, only the faint outline of pine trees wavering in the distance, far enough that you can only barely make out their form.

Looking away from the blinding whites outside, you notice how utterly desolate the cavern is. Not even a single trace of a life was left behind in this cold, worn hollow. Maybe it’s better this way. You’re not sure you would have appreciated seeing even a wild hare or a fox in here, much less a bear.

Sitting down on the rocky ground again to give your legs a break, you take a moment to think back to what got you here in the first place.

You faintly recall rusty medical equipment, convulsing organs, and seeing Him jot down notes. You remember a plate being handed to you, the vague image of a man covered by a stained sheet of what used to be white, and the bile that rose to your throat when your gaze focused on what was on the plate itself.

Everyone knew the Doctor was a twisted man, but you doubted He was twisted enough to force someone to cannibalize one of their peers.

Clearly, you were wrong.

Then, you remember making a mad dash for the thick iron doors of his laboratory. By the grace of god, you were able to leave; and you now found yourself in this desolate cavern, tucked away from civilization.

As far as you were aware of.

But you shouldn’t trust your mind. You knew this, yet you also knew not to trust yourself when you told yourself you couldn’t trust yourself. Simultaneously believing in logic and being a mess of paradoxical jargon— it exhausted you to think about. So you try not to.

Whether by a stroke of bad luck or because of something else entirely, your dull sense of hearing picks up the faint sound of snow crunching beneath boots. Your hands and legs scramble to take you where you can hide as much of yourself as you can behind a rock formation, and you stare out of the cave’s entrance, holding your breath.

The sound becomes louder. An almost gentle woosh noise accompanies the scrunch of snow, and soon after it stops, you’re able to make out a blurry figure approaching the cave’s entrance. The icy flakes make way for Him at His command, hand waving to get rid of what was keeping you physically separated from Him.

The pure white snow behind His body glinted off his intricate accessories, the light forming a halo so otherworldly that it left you utterly breathless.

His boots make a soft clicking noise against the limestone as He steps into the grotto, your safe haven for however long you had been here— now not. Not a single word left His lips as he assessed your rugged appearance.

You wish He would smite you right then and there. He was most likely able to, and with ease, but you doubt He would willingly discard one of his longest-running experiments for disobeying a rule that you had broken many times before anyways.

Your jittery gaze follows His movements as He outstretches His arm, offering you a gloved hand, silent.

Did he know how much you simultaneously trusted and distrusted your own judgement? You stare at His hand, unmoving, heart racing against your ribcage— torn between bolting away, into the darkness of the cave, or intertwining your fingers with His, allowing Him to take you away voluntarily.

This was mercy either way. You could either die at the hands of whatever lurked in the shadows of the grotto, or you could die at the hands of the man that brought you so much pain it morphed into comfort, solace. He stood, unmoving. Observing you.

You knew Him well enough to know that He was taking mental notes on your behavior even now, outside of the familiar comfort of his lab in Haeresys.

Both options were foolish, but you weren’t exactly known to be in the sanest state of mind.

Pulling your arms away from your body, you bring a shaky hand up to take ahold of His, allowing Him to pull you up to your feet. You almost fall as a result of your nerves, but thanks to His quick reflexes you find yourself tucked in his arms, cheek pressed up against His navy cravat. The hand that wasn’t holding yours comes up to pat your head, gently untangling the knots that had formed in your hair. You melt into His touch, eyes fluttering shut to bask in the warmth He provided.

As you stand there with Him, knees weak, body upheld by His will alone, you shove down the thoughts that brew in the forefront of your mind. Usually you would welcome the noise, even be grateful that you, at the very least, had yourself to lean on. But you find yourself wishing to lean on Him more than yourself, both literally and metaphorically, keening at the comfort He brought you.

You knew you couldn’t trust your mind, so why not trust His instead? If you couldn’t rely on your own instincts, judgement or thoughts, then how bad would it truly be to let someone other than you become fully responsible for your wellbeing?

...

You were neither a moth nor human.

You were a dog.

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utilitycaster · 1 month ago

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Hey all! I've done variants of this in the past, so it's time for encouraging voting and other active participation in living in a society with the greatest gift I can provide online, as a non-artist and a slow and mediocre fic-writer: not being a hater.

If you provide a (non-identifying) picture of your voting sticker or similar indication you voted, you may gush about your D&D/TTRPG/original character to me in a single part ask preferably in the vicinity of 500 words or less* and I will say a thing I really like about them (and no criticism unless you are like, horrifically bigoted in my inbox, which I suspect is unlikely to happen). If you do not play a TTRPG you can also just send me a character from Critical Role, or another thing I have said I've seen/listened to/read and demand I respond with only positivity about them.

If you are not a US Citizen, good news! feel free to also send a screenshot of a receipt redacted of any personal information that shows a donation to Anera (providing aid in Palestine and Lebanon), or to Second Harvest Food Bank NW North Carolina (currently dealing with the aftermath of Hurricane Helene).

Please do this off anon; if you send this on anon I will not answer it. You get up to two chances - if you are an eligible voter and you vote and donate, or if you aren't able to vote but donate to both organizations, feel free to send two characters! I'll be doing this for anyone who sends something in by 11:59 PM Eastern Time on November 5th, though with any luck I'll be asleep before then.

*I'm not going to nickel and dime you if you're at like 510 words or something but don't press your luck

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sliceofcake-cupoftea · 2 years ago

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Batter... Batter... Swing!

Character(s): Murayama Yoshiki (x reader)

Plot Line: Soulmates; A troubling concept. Especially when you are meant to be the perfect boring golden child to your parents but yours is a high school deliquent that can't seem to stay out of trouble. Seems like a perfect match in your opinion.

Warnings: High and Low (Violence, mature content, etc.)

Life was fucked.

Though, you guessed you couldn’t really complain.

It wasn’t as if you were poor. Your parents weren’t abusive (technically; maybe leaning a bit towards emotionally in certain situations). Everyday, you were welcomed home to a nice house and a warm meal. Hell, you had the necessities every teenager craved (and a bit more if you were honest).

But, you loved to complain.

To be fair, teenagers liked to complain. A lot.

If you had to pick where your problems began, it would be your parents. It started with encouragement in getting good grades. Then it turned into praise for perfect grades. Next came a suggestion to learn an instrument. Which eventually spiraled into multiple. However, it didn’t stop there. Like as if shoved down a set of concrete stairs, you were slammed into sports, tutoring, after school clubs, community service, multiple language classes. The list just seemed to go on and on.

Though, you weren’t all that different from many of your classmates. All of them were breaking their backs in order to appeal to their parents and society's standards. Hell… and people wondered why Japan had one of the highest suicide rates in the world.

To be fair, the only thing that kept you from going insane and losing your mind were three things in life.

The first was pretty simple. You were a third-year in high school, technically an adult in age as of two months ago, and almost done with the shithole town you called home. Though, the pressure of going to University was a fast approaching issue especially concerning your parents; hiding your numerous acceptance letters that came in the mail kept that topic away from view and mind. At least for now.

The second thing was the thing most people your age held onto during dark times. Your soulmate. While you weren’t wishy-washy with the topic like some of your peers that spent hours daydreaming about there's, you also weren’t horrified and against the idea like the others. You were in the middle, neutral in opinion, maybe drifting a bit towards wishy-washy at times.

It was likely the reassurance and the type of mark you had. There were many types ranging from average ones like tattoos and timers to more complicated ones like how you couldn’t speak if your soulmate was talking. Thankfully, you were given one of the simpler ones. When you closed your eyes, you were able to see things your soulmate experienced during the day.

You liked it.

Though that was likely because your soulmate was one crazy motherfucker. He definitely wasn’t the average law abiding citizen nor the rich successful man your parents dreamed of. But, he had… this spark. Even if your parents would never truly grow to like a man that was a delinquent part-timer in high school that got into too many fights, you would always appreciate him. It was never boring closing your eyes to tune into what was going on in his life.

It was something you craved. Like a child walking by a candy shop as it was eating a gross vegetable, it appealed to you.

However, you couldn’t help but feel your gut wrench whenever you tuned out of your soulmate's world. Compared to his, yours was so… boring. And if there was one thing you knew about your soulmate, he hated being bored.

…

…Fuck.

…

Finally, the third thing you clung to… was rather odd.

Baseball.

Not Softball–though you did start off there and it was pretty good as well–you loved baseball. Only baseball.

It reminded you of peaceful times. When you visited the countryside to see your grandparents, your grandfather used to play catch in the backyard with you. He loved baseball just like you. Playing in a club team in town far into his late-adulthood until his joints couldn’t take it anymore. Something your father hated, how his father could have been much more successful if he hadn’t taken to the peaceful and calming life. A money-hungry pig, that's what your father was. Your mother close behind him in the trait as well.

That was likely what got you in arguments with your father so much later on in life. Especially when you joined the Boys Baseball team in High School. You would have been more than fine joining a softball team or girl’s baseball team but they had neither at the school you went to (likely a thing your parents planned for when they transferred you there now that you thought about it two years later) so you went with the only option.

You were the first girl in the history of your academy to join the school’s baseball team. It wasn’t against the rules in the High school league to have a female player and you had one hell of a swing so your coaches begrudgingly couldn’t give up the opportunity to not let you on.

You were pretty popular as well in the league. Earning yourself quite the fan base as High School baseball is quite popular in Japan. Even hearing some rumors that you might be picked up by—

All of a sudden the feeling of a warm breath blowing against the shell of your ear causes you to flinch. Opening your eyes and taking out one of your earbuds, you turn to look at the two smirking first-years next to you. While annoying, Kenji and Sota were two boys on the team you could call friends. Even though they got into trouble more often than not.

“Stalking your soulmate again?” Kenji teases, making you roll your eyes. Though this only makes his smirk wider, “Anything interesting? Like…”

Upon seeing his wiggling eyebrows and the inappropriate hand gesture he makes, you don’t hesitate in punching his shoulder. Hard.

Though that only causes him to bump into Sota, making the blonde-haired boy fall off his bus seat at the end and into the aisle, and for Kenji to let out a loud cackle of a laugh as he lays across both seats. Very loud. Catching the attention of two second years sitting in front of you; Ren and Keita.

While Ren looks amused at the scene behind him as he watches from the crack in between the seats, Keita is rather not. Being the serious and intense pitcher he was, he grumbles about you guys distracting him from his pregame meditation and turns back around.

If you haven’t given enough of them today already, you roll your eyes once more at the chaos and stupidity surrounding you. Especially as Sota kicks Kenji in the stomach, making the boys begin to wrestle in the aisle of the bus as it continues driving down the highway. All the while you overhear your Coaches begin to yell at them and the rest of the student body begin to make group bets of who will win.

Suddenly the call of your name snaps you away from your first year friends brawling in the aisle, “You aren’t getting nervous on us, are you?”

You scoff as you look behind you at your fellow third year–Ryo–one of your captains and one of the few in your year that respected you on the team.

“Never.” You answer simply, using the available seats to put your legs up and lean against the glass window of the bus.

“Even though you are facing Oya High School for the first time?” Ryo says, raising an eyebrow in amusement. To be fair, your team traveled a long way to face Oya once every season for three games; an 4 day grueling excursion that allowed you to be excused from classes. Though while it was fun to skip classes, the game itself wasn’t. It was well known in every school, no matter the prefecture, for it to be brutal to face Oya in any sport as they never played fair; more interested in fights breaking out on the field than the actual game at play. You missed it your first year as you got a bad cold when it was time to travel for the game and there weren’t any games facing them in your second year due to the fact your pitcher was sent to the hospital the previous year. So, as a third-year, this would be your first time facing them.

You couldn’t help but wonder how that would go. A girl on a boys baseball team facing off against the brutal Oya High.

“Holy shit look at this place!”

All of your peers who were previously chattering excitedly amongst each other had suddenly grown eerily silent. As you turn around to face the window behind you, you suddenly understand why. You had entered into S.W.O.R.D territory and it was… well it was something. You would like to say it was something you had never seen before but…well, that would be a big fat lie. It was all too familiar to you and you knew exactly as to why.

Shit.

You feel an anxious lump settle in your stomach as your bus comes to a screeching stop in front of the infamous Oya High School.

Holy fucking shit.

It was an odd feeling looking at this school as you knew its layout like the back of your hand even though this was your first time physically being here.

“Oh my god.” You overhear one of the first years mutter nervously as the school in front of you–which looked deserted before–practically erupts. What looks like students begin to come from out of the concrete graffiti building. All yelling and screaming at you guys. Some students start throwing items at your bus from above while other, more adventurous ones, begin to come up to your bus. Banging on the windows or shaking the large metal vehicle.

It was freaking terrifying. Though fascinating. Especially as you actually recognize a part-timer banging and pointing at a terrified second-year. Someone who you know from looking in your soulmate's eyes enjoyed cooking for his friends at the local Ramen shop his grandmother owned. Making him seem all bark, no bite to you now.

“Senpai,” Sota squeaks out as he watches as you get up from your seat from his spot on the aisle floor, beginning to take down your sports bag from the overhead storage as if unaware of the chaos breaking out outside, “What… What are you doing?”

Unable to stop yourself, you let a small smug grin spread to your face as you look down at him as you shrug on your bag, “I’m getting off, it's been a long bus ride and my legs kill.”

As the first-year sputters, you make your way past him and to the front. The terrified bus driver looks at you confused before you gesture to the doors, signaling him to open them. He chokes on his words in pure shock and you can’t but shake your head and sigh as he continues to sputter inconherently. Reaching over you press the button to release the pressure off the bus doors and watch as they swing open.

Like wolves to a bleeding lamb, two large full-timers appear in front of the waiting doors. Seeming to want to climb in to cause some chaos but stop short once they see who was in front of them. A girl in the opposing team's boy’s baseball uniform.

“Hello,” you greet the two, not quite recognizing them from the link, as you proceed to get off the bus. Once you take the last step off and your feet touch the concrete ground, the doors behind you very quickly slam close.

Slowly, you look behind you to the terrified and horrified filled looks of your team inside. Most thinking you had likely gone insane.

“Hey.”

Suddenly, your shirt is grabbed and you feel yourself lifted off the ground until your toes are just skimming the surface of the concrete.

“Is this some sort of joke?”

Now, you would be lying if you weren’t just a bit terrified. Especially as more full- and part-timers begin to come up to you. All seeming to be interested to see what was your deal.

Though, you knew what to do. After all, your soulmate dealt with these assholes every day. You knew some of them like the back of your hand and the others you could assume probably had short fuses.

“Nope.” You say out, looking around at the other guys around you, “Just curious as to where the field is.”

“Huh?” One of them starts, though he is quickly stopped by another student from approaching you closer.

“The direction of the baseball field? Is it out back?” You mumble some more, using the guy's fist that was holding you up as leverage as you attempt to look as if you were peeking behind him, “I should probably get started warming up if we want a good game.”

As you stop speaking, it’s suddenly silent from the group around you before all of a sudden a part-timer next to you breaks out laughing. He slaps his knee once, then a second time, and finally wipes his eye as if a tear slipped out. The action causing some of the others to be rather amused.

“All right that's enough, Kou.” The part-timer says, shoving the guy holding you in the chest, making you fall from his grasps. Thankfully landing right on your feet safely.

“But–” The student goes to rebut but all it takes is a glare from some of his seniors and he falls quiet.

The heavy weight of the part-timer’s arm falls across your shoulder and he begins to lead you away from the group. Some grumble in annoyance for a moment until they hear the sound of an alarm breaking out. From the upcoming sounds of girlish sounding screams, you guessed one of the Oya students was able to get an emergency window to open from the outside.

“Hey, Kid.” A second part-timer calls out from your other side. One you recognized very much as you turned to look at him. Furuya; A close friend of your soulmate. “You got a good swing?”

He grabs one of your bats from the side of your bag, examining it. Seemingly interested in the overly expensive bats your parents (for while they hate the sport) forcibly had given you so you don’t appear poor or lesser than the other students on your team.

“You bet,” You say with a grin, turning to look in front of you as students continue to scream at you. Calling you all sorts of names and making gestures as if they want you to fight them, “It’s why I made the team.”

“Really?” He says, unimpressed and bored as he lifts an eyebrow at you.

Though that doesn’t faze you in the slightest as your smile only gets bigger at the challenge in front of you. Adrenaline practically pumping through your veins at your next words.

“Let's make a bet then,” You start, gaining the attention from not only him and the one around your shoulder but the other part-timers that followed close behind. Quickly catching up in interest, “If I get a strike out at any time during this first game, you can have my bats.”

“Both of them?” Furuya asks, twirling the first in his hand before grabbing the second on your other side to see. A different model but just as expensive. An entertained and amused grin on his lips as he seems excited at the prospect.

“Sure, I’m willing to risk it.”

“Hey, Hey.” The part-timer around your shoulder chimes in, seeming not to want to be left out, “What about me?”

“Well, what do you want?” You start, seeming nonchalant as the male looks you up and down quickly. Upon the second take, something catches his eye.

“That watch. That's the upcoming model right?” He says, taking his free hand to touch your smart watch. A model that wasn’t even on the market yet, but your father had somehow gotten ahold of and had given to you due to your grades this past semester.

“Yes,” You answer, bringing your wrist up higher so as to allow the male to look.

“I want that.” He says, the after smell of smoke from his breath wafting on your face as he grinned excitedly down at the object.

“Same bet?”

He nods excitedly in response and you bring your hand out, shaking it with his to signal the bet was confirmed.

Soon more part-timers begin to chime in, all interested in the chance of possibly owning one of the items you had on your appearance. One even pressing up close behind you suddenly, causing you to come to a screeching halt, to see if you two had the same shoe size.

“You a 26?” He asks as he squints down at the slightly beat up pair of blue shoes you were wearing.

“25.5”

“Shit.”

“But, I think the pair I have in my bag are 26. They were a little big–”

Without another word, you hear the sound of your bag opening up. Okay, maybe you bit off more than you could chew. Especially as suddenly more part-timers and even some full-timers approach, the others telling them about the betting situation that was currently happening.

“Hey. Hey! Hey!”

Everyone came to a screeching halt as someone’s angry voice echoed across the crowd. The crowd of students seemed to break apart like the sea as this boy came through.

Shaggy black hair with a blue bandana; a black tight tank covered by a blue checkered flannel and an intricate blue and white baseball jacket; and a pair of ripped blue jeans. This boy…

“What did I tell you guys?” He asks, a blank expression on his face as he looks amongst the crowd of his peers. However as everyone stays silent, he repeats again this time slightly more aggressively, “What did I fucking say?”

He picks up a can and throws it across the yard in frustration as he looks around. Very much annoyed with his classmates.

This boy…

“We agreed I would go out to greet the team! Go…” He crouches down and then jumps up with a big leap with his arms up, “Ja Jang! And then everyone would come out and do their thing! I told you guys this!”

This boy…

…you have absolutely no damn clue who he is.

It might have been a good time to realize that one of the major flaws of your soulmate mark is you can’t see the face of your soulmate, hear their voice nor get any indication of their name while gazing through their view.

So, while to you, there are plenty of boys here who could be your soulmate but, to him, there was only one girl on the entirety of the incoming baseball team that could be his.

“Hey. Hey.” The boy barks out once more, seeming to finally notice your group. As he makes his way over he shoos the boys away as if they were flies. The more tougher ones that wouldn’t easily let go and part from your stuff, he kicked them in the side or kneecap. Forcibly making them scatter in fear. All the while cursing them out under his breath, “Fucking Assholes.”

“Ah—“ You are caught off guard as the boy, now likely older than you now that you see him up close, suddenly puts all your stuff back in its places in your bag, zips it up and finally grabs your shoulders from behind. Beginning to steer you away from the crowd around.

“Okay, resume.” is all he says as he continues to wobble his way through the crowd with you as if he didn’t completely disrupt everything.

Though that wouldn’t settle for one person.

“Murayama!”

“Not now Todoroki-Chan,” The male yells back nonchalantly as a man with glasses, one you recognize quite well, begins to follow after you two. However, before Todoroki can say something once more, Murayama brings you inside the building and shuts the door in the other’s face. Locking the door before sticking his tongue out and continuing his way as the full-timer begins to pound on the door. This time taking you by the hand instead of your shoulders now that you two were alone in the hallways.

“Wha—“

As if nothing had happened, the loud yelling and chaos resumes from outside. Echoing throughout the halls of the concrete building, making you wince at the volume. Though you quickly unfocus from the noise as you notice your surroundings. Eerily knowing exactly where you were going in these chaotic halls of Oya.

“The gym?” You can’t help but mumble, “You’re taking me to the gym?”

Was that where your soulmate was? He did seem to hang out there a lot from what you saw in his view. Was this guy one of his friends? Or maybe a rival?

You quickly cross that thought out from your mind as quickly as it came. You would have seen the male in front of you known as Murayama before. So, he was of no acquaintance with your soulmate.

“Oh? You know this place pretty well.” Murayama says as he leans down to look you in the eyes as he begins to walk backwards into the gym. Seeming smug about what he was saying as he tucks his hands in his jacket pockets.

“Ah…” Your voice trails off as you notice no one else was in the gym right now except the two of you, “Just a lucky guess.”

“Really?”

You nod your head stiffly as the man stares at you in disbelief and maybe a bit of annoyance before suddenly approaching you once more.

“Hey!”

You grit your teeth as you are once again grabbed by the wrist and led forward. Now this guy was beginning to piss you off. You weren’t some sort of dog on a leash that he can drag around as he pleased.

“If I bring you up here—“

Perhaps your next choice wasn’t the best one. Quickly pulling your wrist out of his grip, you watch as the Marayama turns his head around to look back at you in confusion. However, as he does so, not even allowing him to say anything or even turn his body around fully, you sock him right in the cheek.

Now you weren’t by any means a fighter. Not at all. That was likely your first ever punch outside of play fighting with the annoying underclassmen on the team when they got on your nerves.

So, maybe punching a guy from Oya High wasn’t the best choice.

But… you couldn’t help yourself. You blame your soulmate for your decision on this.

“Whoa…” The boy lets out a low whistle as he begins to stand back up to his full height. Rubbing the skin of his cheek, you could already see a bruise begin to form. Likely the only reason your swing was so hard was because of your experience as a batter. “That was one hell of a hit.”

As he playful and lazily starts hitting his cheek on the other side, you feel the urge to hit him once more.

So you do.

“Mmm…” As he stumbles back for a moment, he appears to think, “your left needs a little work.”

“Oh shut—“ As you go to punch him again, the man easily grabs your wrist, pushing it away and while grabbing you by the shoulders, knees you in the stomach. Though, it hardly hurts you at all and doesn’t even make you fully wince. The action nothing more than a playful act kids would do while rough housing.

“Come on. Come on.” The boy playfully calls out as he laughs and bounces between each of his feet, his hands gesturing for you to come at him.

This mother—

Not even hesitating, you shrug off your backpack, allowing it to fall to the ground in a loud thud and quickly coming at him.

Though as you swing and even attempt to kick the guy, your hits landing only a couple of times as you weren’t that accurate, Murayama at most shoves or playfully attempts to punch you. Stopping his fist short of even coming in contact with you.

“Stop fucking with me!” You finally snap out, suddenly grabbing the boy by the collar and tackling him to the ground.

As your fighting transpires to only wrestling and rolling on the ground, you begin to grow tired. Your body, not used to the excursion of fighting, already begins to feel sore as muscles you had never known about are being used for this fight.

Your fight finally comes to an anti-climatic end as you no longer have the strength to kick nor shove the male off of you. You yell out in annoyance as he cheers. Playfully celebrating as he sits on top of you, trapping you underneath him.

“Fuck…” You murmur, briefly closing your eyes in frustration. However as you do so, you flinch as you see yourself punch yourself across the cheek.

Wait, yourself?

You snap your eyes open as it suddenly hits you. That wasn’t yourself, that was you hitting your soulmate.

“You— You—“ You begin to sputter as you lean up onto your elbows to gaze at the man on top of you, “You're my soulmate?”

“Huh?” He says, caught off guard by your question, “I’m hurt. You don’t recognize this face?”

As he gestures in what you guess was supposed to be a “kawaii" way to his bruised and busted face, you can’t help but reach up and pull at his nose in annoyance.

“Ow, Ow.” He curses as he tries to escape your grasps.

“You know very well that's not how our bond works, idiot.”

As Murayama finally escapes, he rubs the edge of his nose, “Yeah but–”

He gestures to the rest of him, “You must recognize all of this.”

Sadly, the gesture wasn’t all that innocent as you see the slight wiggle of his eyebrows as he gestures to the lower part of him. You really wanted to punch him again if it weren’t for the fact your knuckles hurt so badly, “freaking pervert.”

“We all have needs– Ah.” Murayama suddenly stops short once he realizes something, “I don’t even know your name.”

“Yeah you don’t, Mur.a.ya.ma.” You say, purposely pronouncing each character of his name.

“Well,” Murayama grins as he finally gets off of you and sits crossed legged in front of you patiently as you fully sit up as well. He reaches out his hands and takes one of yours, shaking it, “Murayama Yoshiki. I’m 22 so I’m probably your senior, right?”

“Yeah, you are… Senpai. I’m 18 right now,” You let out, a little awkwardly as the man bows slightly to you and you return it back. Telling him your name as well.

“Oh, drop the horrifics, it’s a pain in the ass. You are counted as an adult now anyways,” You nod your head, understanding he was talking about the legal adult age in Japan being changed from 20 to 18 this past April, “Lucky! I had to wait two more years than you before I could be considered one.”

You nod your head once more. Allowing silence to overtake you two. You didn’t expect your first meeting with your soulmate to go like this. It was pretty awkward. Though, you weren’t quite sure what to say. You two didn’t really have much in common. He was an adventurous, rebellious guy and you were a boring student. Hell, you weren’t even sure if he liked baseball.

“Ah– Sorry.” You finally speak up, a bit shy as you slip your hand out from his grasps, bowing slightly, “It must have been a bit boring watching me at times.”

“Huh? Wha—“ You are caught off guard as he cranes his neck to look at your face while you are bowing. Instantly making you sit back up as he got too close for your liking, “Boring? Boring?”

“Ah. Yes.” You hummed, caught off guard by his loud question and bewildered expression.

“Hey.” Murayama says. Suddenly serious as he slaps your shoulder, “You aren’t boring.”

“I’m… not?”

“No. No. No way.” He says, a blank look on his face, “you are always doing something. Hmmm, A bit too much at times actually.”

“But…” You are a bit taken aback by his statement, “It’s nothing really exciting.”

“No. No.” Murayama denies, seeming to think for a moment, “hmm… ah! Your English classes! You do a lot of those. I would have failed and retaken a class if it weren’t for you.”

“Yeah, but that’s not fun,” You rebut instantly, huffing in annoyance as he tries to make you feel better about your boring life.

“Well,” He gets on his feet and crouches down in front of you, “what do you consider fun?”

“Ah—“ You pause for a brief moment before answering, “Baseball.”

“Ah… Hmm.” You watch with amusement as suddenly Murayama gets up and walks away. In a couple of minutes, he places four traffic cones around the area to what you believe are meant to represent bases and a pile of rags in the middle to be the pitchers mound. He gets on the mound and points at you with a baseball in hand.

“Visualize it.” He says blankly before suddenly getting loud, almost like an announcer, with his next words, “Bottom of the 12th and the lovely, most tremendous, earth shatteringly gorgeous–”

“Okay, just get to it, lover boy.” You scoff, grabbing your bat from your bag and rolling your eyes at Murayama. Deciding to play along with his antics. Though he only blows you a kiss in response.

“--is up to bat. With her team one point behind and two outs, will. She. Do. This?”

You roll your eyes but follow along by standing on home plate and get ready to be up to bat. All the while Murayama pretends to be the fans in the crowd by screaming your name.

As you lift an eyebrow at him and get ready, Murayama responds by sending you a wink and pitching. Technically, you could have easily hit a homerun with Murayama’s pitch. He was a good pitcher but not as fast as the guys you practiced with everyday.

But, that wouldn’t have been as fun.

“Ah and she bunts it!” Murayama screams as he sees you tap it with your bat and run. Quickly scrambling off the mound to grab it. As you whisk by first base, you hear his hammering footsteps behind you.

“First! Second! Third! Can she make it home?” You hear him yell behind you as you see homebase just in sight. Almost tasting victory.

However, just as you take a step to go skid into the cone, you feel two arms slink over your waist. Making you squeal as you are picked up and Murayama crashes you two in a pile of soda and beer cans nearby. Him on the bottom to make sure you don’t land on the ground with a thud.

As you laugh out loud, he continues his commentary, “Oh my god! A major upset has taken place! The best batter on the team is stop by–”

He stands up and screams to the sky, “Murayama Yoshiki from Oya High! The best fighter and pitcher to ever exist!”

Your stomach begins to hurt from laughter as you watch in bewilderment at the man in front of you who begins to pose and wave as if a crowd was there.

“And what does the loser have to say about this?” He asks, sticking out his hand as if he was holding the microphone.

“Hmmm…” You pause and think for a moment. That is until an idea suddenly pops into mind, “I would agree. He’s pretty great.”

“Oh? Complimenting the enemy now are we?”

“Yeah, I mean he is a good fighter, the best at Oya High.”

Murayama takes a seat in front of you with a grin, your knees slightly touching, “yeah?”

“And, he has a good pitch. A bit of a handsome fella as well”

“Hah? A bit?” He exaggerates, acting hurt. Popping up onto his toes as he comes closer to stare at you. A bit of a pout forming on his blank face.

“Okay, okay.” You give a playful shove to his chest, almost making Murayama fall over backwards though he catches himself as he swings his arms to stay balanced, “Maybe more than a bit.”

As Murayama gives up on catching himself and falls onto his behind, sending you a glare.

“Okay. He’s very handsome.” You finally admit with a laugh as you slightly slide forward so your legs are on either side of his bent knees. Allowing you to wrap your arms around his legs and rest chin on his knees as you look at him, “I’m very lucky to have Murayama Yoshiki, Part-timer and an amazing fighter, from Oya High as my soulmate.”

“Ah. You sap.” He says as he sits up, bringing up a hand to lightly mess with your hair. As you slap it away with a small giggle, the male extends his legs, sliding them under yours so your thighs are practically resting on top of his. You let out a relaxing sigh as Murayama wraps his arms around your shoulders and rests his chin on top of your head, “I guess I am pretty amazing–”

“Murayama!”

The blank expression on Murayama’s face returns as the part-timers begin to slowly flood the gym. Some taking seats by areas in the rumble, not sparing you a glance, while others stare at you while they pass. To which Murayama quickly unwraps from you to throw a can in their direction to get them to knock it off with the stares.

“You guys couldn’t have taken longer?” Murayama says with a sigh. Falling backward so he was laying down as Furuya and Seki approached him.

“The cowards drove off the first chance they got,” Furuya responds, taking a seat on a broken chair nearby. Though as soon as he notices you, he turns his attention away from Murayama, “So, about those bats…”

“Hey.” Before you can even respond, Murayama is quickly on his case. Actually he was on the whole rooms’ case. “Announcement! Hey! Everyone listen up.”

As he stands up and claps his hand to grab everyone’s attention, he makes his way to the top of the pile of rumble nearby. Getting the high ground so everyone was watching him.

“See this.” You can’t help but scoff as he points at you, “This is mine. You touch it,”

He sticks a finger out and drags it across everyone in the room while staring them in the eyes, “I’ll break your fucking face in.”

Silence falls upon the room at Murayama’s words. However, it doesn’t last very long before Seki says something.

“Ah, Murayama-Sama found his before me! Now I'm all alone.” Seki yells, falling to his knees in what looked like despair.

“Hey, Hey, what in the world are you going on about,” Furuya starts, hitting the male in the back of the head, “Murayama is the only one to find his soulmate out of this bunch. You’re acting like you’ll be forced to be the third wheel.”

“Yeah but hanging out with you guys…”

“Hey. Hey. What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

As Furuya and a couple of other part-timers begin to shove Seki, you watch as Murayama gets down from the rubble. Nearly tripping along the way before stopping in front of you.

With a slight smirk on his face, Murayama sticks out his hand to you and, as soon as you hear the first slap of a punch go off in the background when you interlocked your hand in his…

…you knew your life would never be boring again. Ever.

Especially if Murayama had any say in it.

#high and low #high & low #high&low #high&low the story of sword #high and low fic #murayama yoshiki #murayama x reader #high and low murayama #high and low x reader #soulmate au #h&l

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harpieisthecarpie · 1 year ago

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What's pathologic about? It sounds cool and I might want to get into it

okay hell yeah now is my time to shine! thank you for the ask you're giving me the excuse to ramble about my new hyperfixation to not-just-a-brick-wall (tho sorry to all my orv followers and friends for having to deal with my patho bs).

(IF YOU ARE A PATHOLOGIC GUY READING THIS: BE MY FRIEND, DM ME, I NEED PATHO FRIENDS)

Take my words with a grain of salt because I'm playing through Pathologic 2 and reading Pathologic Classic HD's transcripts right now, so I don't have the full perspective, but I should be able to explain the essentials in a way that will (hopefully) intrigue you.

Essentially, at the very bare bones, Pathologic is a psychological survival horror game where you play as one of three healers stuck in an isolated town in the Russian Steppe (in the early 1900's iirc), struggling to keep its citizens alive even as your own fragile life is in the balance. Of course, there is a LOT more, but that is the most basic of the basics.

Each of the healers has a vastly different experience with the town and relationship with its inhabitants that colors their perspective and solution to the plague, though I will try to avoid going into spoilers here. The various factions in the Town-On-Gorkhon will treat each healer differently, actively hostile to one while being pleasantly manipulative to another.

The Bachelor, also known as Daniil Dankovsky, is a pathologist and bachelor of medicine who is part of Thanatica, an institution in the City determined to defeat Death itself. He comes to the town at the behest of Isidor Burakh in order to learn from him and Simon Kain, a man the locals claim to be immortal. Daniil's precious Thanatica is under threat of being destroyed unless he can provide substantial results. Rather unfortunate that the two men were both found to be brutally murdered right before he arrives...

Daniil is an outsider to the Town and is treated as such, often being manipulated by the most powerful and belittled by the rest because of his lack of knowledge about the Town and its traditions. This leads him to becoming alienated from many of them and their culture. He can also be a massive asshole depending on how you want to play him (though each healer can) and my favorite characteristic is his habit of sprinkling Latin phrases into his speech without translating them.

The Haruspex, Artemy Burakh, is a local of the Town who was sent away by his father, Isidor Burakh, to become a surgeon. He never completed his degree, entering into the front lines instead, but he still knows how to cut people open (and fix them up). He returns to the Town after receiving a mysterious letter from his father beckoning him home. When he arrives, he is immediately jumped by three men.

Why? They were hunting down Isidor Burakh's murderer, whom people believe is Artemy himself. Patricide is a harsh charge, and Artemy soon finds himself known as the Butcher. This sends his reputation plummeting and makes his life just that much harder. Guy has shit luck, what can I say.

A fascinating element of this route is Artemy's relationship with the Kin, the native people of the Steppe, whom he is related to on his father's side. Isidor was a menkhu, a spiritual leader and healer in Kin society who is the only one allowed to cut into human flesh. Menkhu are the ones that "know the lines", essentially meaning that they see the connections between all things.Now that Isidor is dead, that honor and duty fall upon Artemy.

There's a lot of lore surrounding the Kin but I'll stop here because I will go forever if I don't.

Clara is the Changeling. At the beginning of the game, she wakes up in a grave. She can heal the dangerously ill with her hands, but if they're not on the edge of death it just kills them instead. She also has an evil twin who she has to chase after and keep from committing atrocities every day. Clara is going through some shit, okay?

I love her but I don't know nearly as much about her as I do the other two. She's an elusive little gal who speaks like she knows more than you because she does.

There is also the whole meta framing of the game as a play. Before you pick a character in Pathologic Classic, there's a whole scene on a stage where they argue about who has a better solution to the plague. Every night during the game there is a performance about the coming day's strife. There are characters called Executors, bird masks, and Tragedians, blank masks, that often speak to the player rather than the player character. Artemy "knows the lines" (THE LINES OF THE PLAY THE LINES OF THE PL-).

It gets more meta as the game goes on but that's spoilers.

I'm not going over the basic mechanics right now because I am TIRED but I'll get to them in the morning so stay tuned for that.

Pathologic Classic HD is the original with all three routes. Pathologic 2 is a sequel/remaster/reexamination of the first game that goes over the same twelve days but with a few changes. I've heard it's a bit more accessible than Classic HD, but so far only the Haruspex route is out. You do not need to play Classic before you play Patho 2. They are both usually discounted very cheap on Steam!

PLEASE, PLAY THE GAME IF THIS HAS INTERESTED YOU AT ALL.

PATHOLOGIC CLASSIC HD

PATHOLOGIC 2

(If you want to get into the game but don't want to play, there are lots of analyses and a few playthroughs on Youtube. I'll link some in a reblog of this!)

#pathologic #pathologic 2 #daniil dankovsky #artemy burakh #clara the changeling #im so normal im sooooo normal about this game #also i cant decide whether daniil or artemy is more Blorbo to me #i love them in different ways they cannot be compared #but i want clara to beat them both up

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tmwcs · 5 months ago

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Oh! You were in fact right about a couple of them😇 lemme list

-You’re selfish.

-You seek attention

-You’re probably lazy.

The rest? Well… Rude of you to assume all that.

„I type in different languages and I fail to see your logic behind typing on a phone versus on paper. There’s literally no difference. Work on your thesis and get back to me.”

A phone is an electronic device, that is, well, not used often as a tool to communicate with officials/important people. of course if i was talking to my prof. i would pay attention to my grammar and spelling as i see it as something important. typing fast on a phone, not giving enough fucks to correct the things i write since “tumblr” is not as important. neither are instagram, tiktok, linkedin or facebook. i dont know?? is it that hard to accept that people dont give any shits about their grammar and spelling if kts not going to be official/..? We live in times where everyone has new, unique ways to express themselfs (yes😯 the way they type can also be a signifixant factor to their character!) (shocking right??) literally the grammar and spelling shit u pulled is annoying me so much. how can someone be as thick not to understand the easiest thing. now dont pull the uno reverse on me. i know what i did was stupid but im not going to stop it until u get the grammar and spelling point into your head.

„You play the victim card.”

Well, I’m sorry? You literally do the same.. It’s the way your brain tries to defend yourself! (just a fun fact)

„You (and I mean solely you based off our interaction) use emojis as a method of expression because you’re too emotionally imbalanced. You’re also conscientious because you’re not taken very seriously (as much as I would like to pity you, if you’re anything irl like the way you are on tumblr, it’s kind of self inflicted at this point.)”

I use emojis as a filler, as they end the sentence perfectly, not boring. Also called sense of creativity and ability to understand and recognise as u try to match some pictured expressions to the sentence. thats why i love the ability to wrjte on a phone. some people arent able to do so (ex.: people diagnosed with autism spectrum). I’m way different in real life, except it’s the anonymous rounds in the clinics i have to do internships at. everyone should be honest there and say what they think, no matter how bad or ridiculous it sounds. we seek for solutions everyone can agree with. both sides work on it, not only one.

tried to pay attention to the way i type just a little bit. everything for you to feel better my love😯🫶

Rude of me to assume? Just like it was rude of you to assume when throwing all of your childish insults, right?

I know I’m right about everything. I trust my instincts on this. But I’m glad that you’re taking my words to heart. I still didn’t read this novel you sent me. I just don’t have time to read all the drawn out antics about whatever it is that’s in that little brain of yours (but I’m glad to see you read all of mine 😉)

It is also good to see that you made some improvement. It is a start. Keep working on the rest. Little by little we can take care of your bad traits and maybe mold you into a decent citizen of society. 😙

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littleladymab · 9 months ago

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OC in 15

HELLO NEW TAG GAME tagged by @wintherlywords thank you!

Rules: Share 15 lines of dialogue from an OC that capture their character, personality, or vibe. Bonus points for using dialogue without other scene details, but you’re free to include those as well!

Sorry for any of the formatting looking funky I gotta run but wanted to get this up before heading off to gaming!

I'm doing this for Best Girl Ayn Starling -- it's a combination of stuff from her POV, her texts, the blog she writes, and from other character's POV

Please consider this an open tag!

“What makes you think I know?” Both Ming and Carmel give me A Look, and I release a sigh and an overly dramatic shrug. “Okay, so, I do, but I don’t like that you automatically assume that I do.”

If it’s a come-on, he’s getting docked for such an obvious line. He is handsome though, in a sort of I played Hamlet in a college production sort of way, with dark, artfully styled hair, amber eyes that look like they could use another dose of caffeine, and tinted glasses perched on a broad, flat nose. Not to mention, he’s somehow managing to pull off all black without making it look weird, even though his natural tan speaks of an indoor pallor. Oh, yeah, he’s definitely the type to hold a skull and Alas, poor Yorick me. It’s fine, I could be into it.

I would be that person in the library until they have to drag me out kicking and screaming. Silently, of course, because it’s still a library.

From: Ayn Starling I understand that, but I’m also going to ask that you respect me as a person and consider, maybe, answering me properly. From: Ayn Starling Maybe not now, and not about this, but at one point. From: Ayn Starling I’ll let you decide what to do about Zone because you’re right, he isn’t my concern. From: Ayn Starling Everything else is up to you.

“Christ, I hope that there’s not more than one Jonas Quinn.”

“I turned thirteen and you gave me some of your whiskey. You told her that you thought it would be funny.”

And, with equal angelic poise, Ayn answers, “Of course not. I don’t think you peg many women.”

“Holy shit, Lysander, she made me do them until I left the house. I know she had her own plans for you when you lived with us, trying to clean you up and turn you into a functioning member of society and all that, but I was being groomed to be a miniature version of her. She was probably secretly arranging a marriage between one of my father’s coworker’s sons or something.”

My fellow citizens: We speak for those who cannot. The voice of the hallows and haunts. The voice of the abandoned, the lost, the forgotten — all hope abandon ye who enter here. We will not be silenced. We will not be cowed, corralled, cornered.

“Someone is calling out ALICE — specifically, the Program Manager — on their approach to the game,” Ayn adds. She turns to Fletcher, eager, since he understood her reference. “We were promised a way out of this city, right? Then why play a game when they should be that benevolent being and let us go without having to participate in their missions?”

“I thought...” The fingers of her free hand drum over the ceramic surface of the mug, revealing the logo in flashes. “I thought that I could be good enough for you this time.”

“Do you think what we’re doing is even worth it?” Her hand lifts and gestures to the shop around us — to the rest of Eminence. “Meliora. This is beyond you and me, I think. We never... We are two different shapes that tried to fit together.”

“I thought it was obvious, Darling,” she says with a pretty smile that is altogether very sweet and dangerous. “I want the people of Eminence to start fighting back.”

“I’m mad because we’re still fighting. Are you angry because I’m not wearing any pants?”

Having chosen to participate in Meliora has proven to ALICE, to Patrick Mercer, to everyone reading this blog, that you were worthy. Not only of the truth or a way out, but worthy of being able to make your own choices. You made the right decision, whatever it was. No matter what has happened over these past few months, never, ever, regret that.

#sine die #a lil miss original #lil miss writings #tag game #writeblr

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weirdestbooks · 4 months ago

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The Shot Heard Around the World Chapter 8

First Violence (Wattpad | Ao3)

Table of Contents | Prev | Next

January 19, 1770

Thirteen had been traveling back and forth between his father’s house and the colonies, playing some strange game of diplomacy but sending his wishes to his father through Scotland, who always looked overly concerned when he saw Thirteen. Thirteen was still upset at his father, and his father was upset at him, so Thirteen hoped that by staying away, he could grant himself some peace.

It was much nicer to be with his people. They understood Thirteen better than his father did, and while some advised fixing my relationship with Father, they always understood why Thirteen wanted space. Well, most of them, that is.

It was also nice for Thirteen to be able to eat when he wanted to and get into debates without being beaten and locked away because he had a different option.

Unfortunately, that privacy and peace ended when his uncle arrived. England had been staying in Thirteen’s land, having arrived after a year of Thirteen traveling back and forth. His father had sent him to ensure Thirteen didn’t cause too much trouble. His uncle England stayed in Boston, mainly because Thirteen kept sneaking away from him with help from the Sons of Liberty.

Of course, Thirteen always ended up back in Boston.

Any British soldier or Tory that found him made sure Thirteen went back. It was annoying. The soldiers said that Thirteen had been assisting in causing chaos in the colonies and that he had to be supervised until he stopped. Every time that report came back from the soldiers, England would beat him until it was hard for him to move. England even threatened to break his leg to keep him from running off.

Thirteen hadn’t even been doing anything that bad!

All he had been doing in New York was putting up liberty poles, as royal authorities kept destroying them. And now they had begun posting handbills that calling the Sons of Liberty “the enemies of society” like the stupid taxes they tried to enforce weren't already damaging the way society worked in Thirteen’s land.

Thirteen, thankfully, was not currently stuck in Boston but was with Issac Sears, a leader of the Sons of Liberty. Issac, Thirteen, and some other men were trying to stop the soldiers from posting their handbills.

'Don't these guys have something better to do?'

"What business do you have putting Libels against the people here?" Issac said as he grabbed a soldier by the collar, forcing him to face the group.

"You Sons of Liberty are a bunch of criminals, set on tearing the colonies apart with your refusal to obey the law as any good British citizen should do." The soldier said. Thirteen scowled.

'Our people can't pay those taxes!'

'How the fuck are we supposed to pay for things if we don't have the money too.'

'Why the hell don't these soldiers try to know anything about our people?'

"Well, some people can't afford those taxes. A lot of my people are immigrants who need every pound they can get," Thirteen told the soldier, trying to keep himself from losing his temper. The soldier looked at the colony, and his eyes widened.

"Thirteen Colonies? Why are you siding with a bunch of criminals? And aren't you supposed to be in Boston?" The soldier asked.

'Bunch of criminals?'

'Oh please, the Sons of Liberty have done more for us than these soldiers had.'

'Of course we're going to side with the people helping us.'

"These people are my friends, and I'd appreciate it if you didn't call them criminals," Thirteen responded.

Issac scowled, obviously unhappy with being called a criminal, although the soldiers' broadsides made it clear they didn't like him. The soldier scoffed.

"Alright, I've had enough of you." Issac said, "Let's take these men to the mayor."

'Are we sure we can capture soldiers?'

'Who the fuck cares? We're already doing it?'

Thirteen nodded, and the soldier Issac had a grip on became furious.

"How dare you side with criminals!" he spat out, along with several insults to Issac and the other Sons of Liberty.

"I'm siding with my friends and people who actually know something about what's going on and not going to help my people. You're in enough trouble with the people here. Don't make it any worse." Thirteen snapped back at him. The soldier glared at him but became quiet.

'Glad he's silent now.'

Thirteen looked up to see that Issac and the others had also captured some soldiers, although some had fled.

‘They're probably going to get more men to help them, so we should wrap this up as quickly as possible.’

"Let's go," Issac said as the group marched the soldier toward the mayor's office.

'Why are we doing this again?'

'To stop the soldiers from posting lies and being able to get paid for blowing the liberty poles.'

As they forced the soldiers towards the mayor's office, more New Yorkers joined the crowd that had surrounded them. Thirteen saw more British soldiers arrive, and he narrowed his eyes, looking at their guns and bayonets. If they tried to use them, things would go badly, and his people would never forgive his father, especially if a death occurred.

'If those soldiers attack us, all hell is going to break loose.'

Thirteen heard an officer yelling at the soldiers to go back to the barracks and let out a sigh of relief. With fewer soldiers around the crowd, things shouldn’t get violent. The soldiers were being escorted to their barracks before Thirteen heard something that made him freeze.

"Soldiers, draw your bayonets and cut your way through them."

'Oh no…oh hell!'

'Oh my god.....'

'They're going to attack us?'

'My people! They could die!'

'Who in their right mind thinks this is an acceptable way to calm a crowd?'

'They aren't trying to calm down a crowd.'

Thirteen heard the screams of his people as the soldiers made their way to the crowd, and the screams turned louder as the bayonets slammed into his people, cries of pain and anger swirling in the air.

'What in god’s name?!’

‘We can’t let him get away with this!’

Thirteen held his head as the headache that came with his anger grew, furious at what had happened. His father's troops have just hurt Thirteen’s people. Despite the tensions between them and Thirteen’s people, his soldiers were always something he had associated with safety.

But they had hurt Thirteen’s people, and the redcoats looked so much like blood, and his head was hurting, and his thoughts were screaming, and the presence in his mind was back, and all he wanted to scream and cry and yell at his father, and...and...and....why did this have to happen?

'Because life never works out well for colonies.'

'BECAUSE OF BRITAIN! HE'S THE REASON FOR THIS!'

Thirteen felt tears begin to stream down his face. His people were hurt. His people could be dying. All because his gran–his father didn't want to remove his troops after the wars ended.

'Show Britain how angry you are. This is proof that he must remove his troops before more blood is shed. If that bastard wants to fix the damage to his relationship, he will have to work much harder.'

"Thirteen?" Issac asked, his voice shaky, showing he was just as shocked as New Y–Thirte–New York was. None of the colonies, his father, or his people had seen this coming.

"I...I have to go." New York said before returning to his grandfather’s house, knowing that he had to let his grandfather know, and hoped this event made his grandfather see sense.

‘York, let Father handle this.’ Virginia pleaded, ‘You got us in enough trouble last time.’

“Those are my people, Virginia. I have to do this.” New York whispered, careful to keep his voice down so the countryhumans in the room didn’t hear him talking to the others

"Thirteen! Why are you crying? Are you alright?" The Isle of Man asked. Isle of Man, St. John's Island, Nova Scotia, and Scotland were all in the room that New York had appeared in. New York ignored them and marched past them to his grandfather’s office.

'Just don’t do anything too stupid.' Georgia asked, and New York knew she was crossing her arms.

"Thirteen, what's wrong?" Scotland asked, walking up to New York, who shoved Scotland to the ground.

‘Province of New York! That’s completely unnecessary! Scotland’s a good one, he tries to help!’ New Hampshire scolded. New York ignored his sister.

"Fuck off. I have something I need to do!" He snapped, ignoring the shocked looks and leaving the room. When he reached his grandfather’s office, he threw the door open. His grandfather wasn't there.

‘Oh hell.' Connecticut muttered.

'Where the hell is that bastard?' Massachusetts said, his resentment towards their grandfather clear.

'You two need to be calmer. You're too angry right now.' Virginia lectured.

“I’m fine, Ginny.” New York snapped before sighing just as his grandfather walked into the room.

"Thirteen. What happened? Scotland told me you arrived, and you looked upset." His grandfather began.

"Of course I'm upset." New York hissed out through gritted teeth, turning around to face Britain, "Your soldiers just attacked my people."

His grandfather’s eyes widened, and he looked shocked, but there was something else in his face, some strange emotion New York couldn’t figure out.

"What? What do you mean?" His grandfather asked. New York’s anger grew at that.

'I think saying your soldiers attacked someone is pretty clear.' South Carolina snapped, really proving how upset everyone was. Usually, South Carolina was willing to let their grandfather get away with things.

"I mean that your soldiers attacked and injured-maybe even killed-my people. How could that be more clear?" New York hissed back. His grandfather sighed.

"I'm sorry, but I can’t imagine my soldiers being at fault. Why did my soldiers do that? They wouldn't attack without a reason." His grandfather said.

'Of course he would insist that his soldiers did nothing wrong.' Massachusetts grumbled.

'But we did provoke them.' North Carolina pointed out.

'No, we were trying to stop them from spreading lies. They chose to attack us.' Rhode Island insisted, causing New York to begin getting a headache. God, is this what they were like for Father?

"All my people did was stop them from trying to turn my people against each other by calling people criminals. We were talking them to the mayor's office before your soldiers decided to attack the crowd with bayonets." New York explained. His grandfather sighed.

"What happened to the colonists is horrible, but you have no authority to be capturing soldiers Thirteen," his grandfather said.

'A lecture? Seriously?' New Jersey asked, incredulous.

'New York, save your breath. Just go home.' Pennsylvania said, her tone resigned.

"You're just going to lecture me, of course. I don't know why I expected anything different," I said. The anger in New York’s borrowed voice was replaced with resignation. He didn't know why he expected anything different. His grandfather had already proven that he didn't listen.

"Thirteen, you have to understand-" His grandfather began, but New York didn't stay to listen, bringing himself back to his land. New York wasn't going to listen to his grandfather’s excuses.

———————————————————————

March 5, 1770

Thirteen was living with his uncle again in Boston, although he refused to talk to him. England kept defending the soldiers in New York City, saying that they only did it because the New Yorkers provoked them. But his uncle hadn't even been there. Thirteen had. Thirteen was there and saw what happened (even if he didn’t remember much afterward).

There were other ways for the soldiers to diffuse the situation instead of charging at a crowd with bayonets. Thankfully, no one had died, although there were severe injuries on both sides.

‘No one from New York will take an attack lying down. We defend ourselves.’

Thirteen had taken to walking around Boston to clear his head, although his uncle had insisted on accompanying him, leaving Thirteen unable to debate things with himself in peace.

His uncle refused to shut up, always making side comments about Thirteen and his people and always finding something to criticize. Clearly, England didn’t want to be here, and he seemed determined to make everyone else miserable because of it.

"You need to pay a bill to my master!" Thirteen heard a child yell at a British soldier by the Boston Customs House. The colony smiled at his taunt while his uncle’s hand gripped his shoulder, claws digging into the fabric.

"Why do they always insist on picking fights with the soldiers? And with Captain-Lieutenant Goldfinch? It would be better if they picked fights with privates." He sighed out. Thirteen rolled his eyes. The soldiers were unnecessary and would only upset his people the longer they stayed.

"Be more respectful to officers, boy." The soldier standing guard at the customs house said. The boy refused, and an argument quickly broke out between them. Thirteen watched as the soldier standing guard outside the customs house left his post and walked over to the boy, hitting him on the side of the head with the musket and causing him to cry out in pain.

'Hitting a child?'

'Can't they be civil for once?'

‘That’s just another abuse of power.’

Thirteen began to move forward to check on the boy before his uncle tightened his grip on Thirteen’s shoulder.

"Don't get involved," England said. Thirteen scowled, furious at that, but stayed silent.

'Don't get involved?'

'We should get involved. Someone has to tell those soldiers how hurting civilians is wrong.'

'Especially children.'

Thirteen watched as another boy began arguing with the guard who hit the first one. The crowd around the scene grew larger as his uncle began to look more nervous. Thirteen watched as another boy called out to the soldier, saying that if he fired his gun, he would die for it.

'Good to see someone has their priorities straight.'

Then, his uncle began pushing them away from the crowd.

"What are you doing?" Thirteen asked, trying to turn around to see what was happening.

"I'm not going to let you get caught up in that mess," England said, his voice a low growl, as the church bells began ringing, bringing more people out of their homes and into the growing crowd around the soldier. Thirteen tried to keep a look at what was going on, but the customs house vanished from his view as his uncle moved them to a new street.

'Really?'

Thirteen could still hear the crowd challenging the soldiers to fire their weapons as a runner ran by us, whom England stopped.

"What are you doing?" England asked.

"Message for Captain Preston. They want a backup for Private White, the man being harassed by the mob." The runner said. His uncle nodded.

"I'll go with you," his uncle said, turning to Thirteen. “Head back to the house. If you get involved with the mob, I promise you I’ll make good on my word."

'Oh, please. We're going right back to that crowd, aren't we?'

Thirteen nodded and watched England run off with the runner before he turned around and headed back to the crowd, ensuring my flag was showing.

The crowd was throwing snowballs and objects at the soldiers, and Thirteen heard several cries of 'fire!' as he made his way to the front of the crowd, pushing through hundreds of people. Thirteen was helped by the fact that most people moved out of the way when they saw his flag.

Thirteen watched as more soldiers and his uncle made their way to the steps of the customs house as the captain shouted for the crowd to leave. A sudden headache stopped Thirteen as his hand flew to his head.

‘Don’t worry.’ Thirteen heard before–

Massachusetts stretched his arms and fingers, getting used to the new feeling in his limbs.

‘Mass, I expected better from you!’ Virginia chided, ‘We can’t keep doing this to Father.’

“This is my land. I just want to send a quick message, and then I’ll give the reins back to Father,” Massachusetts mumbled before quickly grabbing a chunk of ice off the street and continuing his way through the crowd.

‘Massachusetts Bay!’ Georgia exclaimed.

‘Go, Massy!’ New York cheered.

Massachusetts made his way to the front and looked England in the eyes. England was now holding a musket, and his eyes widened in shock upon seeing Massachusetts.

'Are we sure throwing that is a good idea?' North Carolina asked.

’Yes.' New Jersey exclaimed, excitement in his voice.

Massachusetts raised his arm and threw the chunk of ice at England, watching as it hit his head, causing a stream of blood to start flowing out of the cut it created.

"Thirteen..." Massachusetts heard him mutter, but England’s voice was drowned out by his siblings' reactions.

‘Good! Show him that we are not afraid of his soldiers!’

‘You moron.’

‘Oh my god, we’re dead.’

‘He’ll break Father’s leg!’

‘Do you have a death wish?’

‘Mass get out of the body now.’

Massachusetts stared down England, keeping his gaze even as he heard three words that made his stomach drop.

"Damn you, fire!"

The soldiers fired their weapons into the crowd, and England, who had been holding his, fired as well.

Pain flared up in his arm as Massachusetts reached over to grab it, blood flowing out of the bullet wound. England's eyes were wide with horror.

And slowly, Massachusetts smiled.

#countryhumans #historical countryhumans #the shot heard around the world by weird #countryhumans america #countryhumans england #countryhumans 13 colonies #statehumans massachusetts

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lunaflyer · 1 year ago

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-My Thoughts on Yandere ATSV-

_________________________________________

-Miles Morales-

=My initial thought of him as a yandere is, that he would be a ‘mild’ or ‘easier’ case. He would never hurt you, never kidnap you, nor do I think he’d intentionally try to manipulate you.=

=The best way I can explain what he would be like is clingy and a little stalker-ish.=

=He probably not even notice his behavior. He would reason his stalking as ‘checking in’ or ‘protecting you.’=

=What he’ll do is go out as spider-man and do patrols, however he will oddly pass by your place about 3 times or more during one patrol.=

=His clingy behavior is similar to a bestie friends that attached to the hip. You like having them around but everyone need a break, and that’s a struggle for him.=

=He will listen to you on if he is being too clingy to some extent. He’ll back off a little in his ‘normal life’, however this result in more ‘Spidey Check-In’s’=

=If you tend to forget things or leave stuff behind at him place. They are no longer yours, they’ll be apart of his collection of ‘Random Things You Forgot’. If you do ever come back to get it, he will try to gain ignorance.=

=Imagine with me now, that scene back in SITSV He had a scene with a security guard where he tried to play dumb… “Who’s Morales?” -Quoted by, Morales. Just imagine that, but for trying to retrieve your missing stuff.=

-Pavitr Prabhakar-

=I believe who would be an amazing yandere, in the idea that NO ONE would suspect him. He is the model citizen when he’s Pat and literal Spider-man, what could he do? A lot.=

=While I don’t believe he would hurt you. I would not say that kidnapping is off the table, however only for extreme cases. Like you trying to leave or he believes a villain would be after you.=

=He would 100% be manipulative, he knows that people view him as innocent and weaponizes that.=

=The first go-to tactics is Guilt tripping. Say you want some alone time, he will absolutely pull out the, “Oh, ok.. I understand, you’re probably too busy for me.” With the most sweetest tone and paired with puppy-dog eyes.=

=He’d only try to get close with your family, getting them to like him so he could get easy access to you.=

=Like Miles, he is clingy. Kinda like a dog who gets hyper attached to their human to the point them get really anxious when alone.=

=One funny thing though, is that if you ever make the ‘Chai Tea’ mistake, you are doomed! Just because your his soulmate, does not except you from such a cardinal sin. Actually because you’re his soulmate he expects you to know these things and will act as if you’ve danced on his parents’ grave.=

=Due to his connections and being such a social and like-able person. He can easily get people to help ‘rein you in’. So if you ever have doubts about the relationship, you’ll be talked out of it by your shared friends.=

-Hobie Brown-

=I have a very conflicting feeling about him as a yandere. Cause he is a very free person. He does not like labels, he does not want to follow society, and he certainly doesn’t want to be like others who suppress people.=

=So I would characterize him as a very conflicted yandere. He knows these thought aren’t normal, but at the same time he doesn’t completely hate them.=

=He would never try to kidnap you nor be manipulative. Out of the group I think him and Miles would be the easiest to put up with because they do have some form of restrain.=

=Originally he was probably freaked out by his thoughts. Causing him to an uncharacteristically awkward with you. However as he gets to know you, the thoughts simply continue and he becomes okay with them.=

=Normally he doesn’t get jealous, but that’s normal Hobie. We are talking about a yandere, so~ He probably act really relaxed, swing his arm on your shoulder and practically hang off you.=

=Since he doesn’t do labels, he isn’t possessive. What the two of you will do is probably have nicknames and be genially close without having and clear indication of what your relationship is.=

=He’ll try to trust that you can take care of yourself. After all you will in a world where law enforcement is corrupt so fights are pretty common. However he will always keep an eye on you.=

=In order to get more yandere out of the guy, something major would have to happen. Like you almost dying in a protest. That when he gets fully onboard with his dark thoughts.=

-Gwen Stacy-

=In the movie its shown she struggles with connecting with others. After such a massive loss it makes things pretty hard to reconnect. But when she connects with you, oh boy.=

=I feel she will progressively become a yandere overtime. As she probably doesn’t realize her feeling, or understand them. So you got a bit of buffer time to escape.=

=Once she figures it out though, you ain’t leaving.=

=I do not think she’s above kidnapping and will stalk you. She’ll reason it’s for your safety.=

=She also a collector, she’ll collect anything you leave behind and keep it in her drums with some of her important items.=

-Spot-

=Oh boy, so if you ask him how he would be as a yandere. I’d tell ya that it depends on when you meet him. Either way though, you’re not escaping.=

=While I doubt he’ll harm you physically, he ain’t doing good stuff to you mentally. He’ll probably send to random universe just to see you struggle.=

=I feel he is sadistic in a mental way, he likes to see you suffer but not harmed physically.=

=He probably got attached to you as either you were a co-worker from when he worked at Alchemix or were just nice to him after he became spot.=

=You’d probably think he was funny of cute in an awkward way when you first met. That quickly fades as you get closer and his power get stronger.=

=100% uses his powers to get touches when he’s having a rough day. So it doesn’t matter if your 10 universes away, you��re always a portal away for him.=

=I think he enjoys the hunt, like he’ll send to a new universe and lets you fend for yourself for a bit before trying hunt you down. It’s almost like a fun ‘couple’ game to him, while it’s life or death for you.=

=Ever since the accident, I feel he has become a bit touched starved. So any display of affection or tiny touch’s are treasured by him. Even if they are you trying to hit him.=

#atsv headcanons #yandere #astv #yandere male #across the spiderverse

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art-of-manliness · 8 months ago

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Towards a Philosophy of Household Management

“Household management” has become something of an interest and a watchword for me this year, due to the coincidental confluence of two books coming into my life at the same time. The first is Home Comforts: The Art and Science of Keeping House by Cheryl Mendelson. Several months ago, two friends, one male and one female, independently recommended this book to me. I hadn’t heard of it previously, but Home Comforts has been a bestseller since it was published in 1999 and was ranked by Slate as one of the 50 best nonfiction books of the past 25 years. Mendelson has an unexpected background for an author of a book about housekeeping — she’s a Harvard law grad and a professor of philosophy — and she brings a scholarly seriousness to a giant tome that’s aimed at men and women alike and unpacks the details of everything from stocking a pantry to laundering clothes to protecting a home from burglary. While I was browsing through Home Comforts, I also came across a book called Oikonomikos or Economics by the ancient Greek philosopher Aristotle. From the title, I thought it would be about trade, monetary policy, and the like. But what I discovered was that for the ancient Greeks, economics wasn’t about those things. The Greek word oikonomikos is better translated as household management. Aristotle’s Economics is about the role husbands and wives play in effectively organizing and marshaling the resources of a household. What both Home Comforts and Economics got me thinking about is the bigger purpose behind home management. Something we reflect on a great deal is that one of the biggest things lacking in the present age is context. Modern citizens go about their lives with very little context as to why they’re doing the things they do. Why get married? Why have kids? What’s the point of work? If we operate with little context as to the why behind questions concerning life’s big pursuits, we certainly do likewise with day-to-day household tasks as well. There’s no want of content out there about how to budget or clean your bathroom, but there is almost nothing about the greater purpose behind such chores. A clean and organized household is more pleasant, surely, but is there more to why you’d want to run a home smoothly? While Home Comforts largely covers the practicalities of keeping house, in the intro for the book, Mendelson makes the case for why such tasks are not superficial but have a significant impact on the quality of one’s life. Aristotle argues in Economics that household management is part and parcel of achieving true happiness. Together, they can get us to a philosophy of household management — one that can be embraced whether you live alone in a small apartment or with a big brood of kids in a sprawling home. The Telos of Household Management Aristotle believed that every object and person had a telos — an ultimate aim or purpose. The telos of human beings was eudaimonia, which is happiness or flourishing — a life lived to its utmost potential. Achieving eudaimonia required the pursuit of arete — excellence or virtue. We tend to think of “virtue” in an exclusively moral sense, as having to do with qualities like courage and compassion. But for the Greeks, virtue meant doing anything well. Courage was a virtue, but so was being intelligent. Being strong was a virtue. Being a good friend was a virtue. Being able to cultivate beauty was a virtue. For Aristotle, the telos of a home was to help the individuals living within it each achieve their personal telos. Household management — which includes cleaning, organizing, maintenance, and budgeting, as well as safety and home defense — does this in two ways: it develops virtues in and of itself, and it creates an environment conducive to the development of further excellences. The Virtues Developed by Household Management It is household management, Mendelson writes, that “makes your home alive, that turns it into a small society in its own right, a vital place with its own ways and rhythms.” Aristotle argued… http://dlvr.it/T4fbD7

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artificialcaracal · 2 years ago

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In light of the new Tennesee anti-drag bill being passed, it’s important to note in the midst of all the (rightful) clowning on it to remember that laws like this are never enforced equally. It is highly unlikely that someone’s gonna have the clown hired to perform at a child’s birthday party arrested for being in front of kids.

This law is about punishing people for appearing gender non-conforming in public, plain and simple. This is about driving diverse expressions of gender out of the public eye and demonizing LGBTQ+ people as being law breaking deviants. This bill is meant to make it essentially illegal to exist as a trans, gnc, or nonbinary person. That might not be how it’s specifically worded but that is how it will be enforced.

How do I know this? Because this strategy has been done before. It’s incredibly old. It’s older than Nixon. It’s older than Jim Crow. It’s even older than anti-crossdressing laws. As long as there have been racial and social underclasses in the United States there have been laws like this meant to keep them in place. Prior to Reconstruction there were slave codes that stated that African slaves were considered neither human, nor citizens. After Reconstruction many southern states would enact Black Codes that were explicitly made for the purposes of punishing African Americans and forcing them into slave-like labor contracts to work of debt from fines. These “crimes” included and were not the least bit limited to breaking a labor contract (quitting your job), vagrancy (being unemployed), holding an assembly with other black people without police permission, serving in office, carrying a weapon (which could range from anything considered ammunition to a knife) without license from a (invariably white) judge, and miscegenation (having sexual relations with a white person).

These laws were passed not just to squeeze more free labor out of free black people, but to drive them out of public spaces (where white people wanted to be without having to deal with all those pesky minorities spending their free time not existing in perpetual servitude) and reinforce the belief that blacks were more inclined to criminal behavior and needed to be kept in line via hard labor and corporal punishment. They aren’t human beings being “sold into slavery” they’re “criminal vagrants” being “leased out” to companies to “work off their debt”.

And this anti-drag law is the same deal. It’s a legal foundation being set to brutalize LGBT+ and GNC people. The people passing this bill do not care about the specific legal wording. They want it to be broad and vague so that just about anyone can fall under it, so that just about anyone they don’t like can be labeled a criminal, so that just about anyone they want to hurt can suddenly be stripped of their humanity and their rights. If you don’t want to capitulate to rigid, regressive conservative ideas about gender and present in the ways they say is okay for you to present, this is their grounds for driving you to the margins of society.

You don’t wanna dress in the ways a bunch of cis white dudes say you should? Fine, but you can’t exist in public then, and you can’t be around minors lest they get it in their heads that it’s okay to play with gender norms and expectations. you can’t express yourself at a pride march without the risk of getting arrested and being being brutalized by police. You can’t so much as dress up however you want to go to a gay bar because in order to travel there you’d have to go out in public first. Wanna go to the park? Fuck you. Wanna pick up your kid from school? Fuck you. Do you want to be a teacher? Do you want to be able to work at all? Fuck you. Do you want to express yourself and participate in any community event with minors? Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you because you’re not a person anymore. You’re a “gender criminal” and a "danger to children” now, and that means you’re no longer entitled to your constitutional right to exist.

This bill is stupid. Everyone is right to call it stupid, but don’t think for a second that it isn’t dangerous. That it isn’t going to be the basis for further institutional violence. That it can’t and won’t be used to put a stranglehold queer expression. That it doesn’t set a dangerous precedent for further anti-LGBT+ legislation. Conservatives and their bigoted bedfellows did not push this bill out of incompetence and they will not stop here.

I don’t mean to be all doom and gloom here, I’m just straight up incredibly pissed y’know, because this shit sucks. BUT It’s not the end of the world. There are still reasons to keep going and keep fighting for our right to exist, and that��s because bigots don’t want us to. All of this trying to legislate people out of existence is because we simply don’t fit into their worldview. It’s why there’s no reason to debate fascists, or homophobes, or transphobes, or racists, or any other bigots of any kind. Whatever ideology they’re subscribed to simply doesn’t have have room for us. We can’t exist in it, but we do exist don’t we? You exist. I exist. That’s an undeniable fact. You can’t be proven to not exist, and you have all the proof to say that you do, just by continuing to be. All you have to do is keep going, to keep on living. There’s no argument. There’s no refutation. There’s no debate. To even engage with their ideas requires you to accept the premise that you don’t exist, and that just isn’t reality. You’ve got no reason to bother with their flirtations with violence disguised as intellectual play. Keep yourself safe, help your friends stay safe, and most importantly remember that you’re real, and that nobody can take that from you.

#lgbt #lgbt issues #anti drag bill #anti lgbt legislation #looks like conservatives are once again seething over the fact that minorities exist. SAD!#anyways #back to my life of crime ig

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julieloveshermusic · 2 years ago

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My Sunday Manifesto

“Politics is the art of the possible, the attainable…the art of the next best” – Otto von Bismark

Compromise. There. I said it. The filthiest word to a politician. How did we get here? It wasn’t easy.

There have been occasions where both major parties in American politics have compromised. But it wasn’t for the good of the people, regardless what you’ve heard, read, or have been told. It was to help the politicians in power to stay there as long as possible. Even scoundrels recognize their own kind, and are willing to lend a hand now and then.

I don’t ask that you blindly believe me, as our politicians would. All I ask is for you to suspend your disbelief long enough to at least consider what I have to say. You may decide I’m full of crap, and good on you if you do. But you won’t know if you don’t look.

Let’s take a look back at history.

“…we have the wolf by the ear, and we can neither hold him, nor safely let him go.” – Thomas Jefferson to John Holmes, 22 April 1820

Slavery is an ugly chapter in American history. It divided the country more thoroughly during its course than anything else before or since. In the time between the ratification of the U.S. Constitution and the start of the American Civil War, many attempts were made to compromise away a problem so corrosive as to eventually cause the deaths of around 620,000 American men, women and children during the war, and uncounted numbers afterwards. Ultimately, compromise failed. It didn’t have to fail, though. It failed because those that should have been wise enough to see what a lack of compromise would bring, didn’t. So, not less compromise, but more was the answer.

We can look back at the Missouri Compromise of 1819-21 (over the import of slaves into the territory), the Compromise of 1850 (over the free/slave status of territories acquired thru the Mexican-American War) and The Kansas-Nebraska Act of 1854 (where the idea of “popular sovereignty” of the people would allow the settlers in a territory to decide if they would be a free or a slave state) as examples of half-hearted attempts to provide a solution without directly addressing the problem. It was said at the time that both sides entered into these compromises “in good faith”, but that was more politicians talking to hear themselves talk.

When you don’t face the problem directly; when you attempt to bandage over the wound instead of fixing it, it won’t go away. It may manifest itself differently, as in the cases cited above. But it will surely manifest itself.

Reconstruction was the period after the American Civil War when the country attempted to recover from the war years by allowing the 11 states that had “seceded”, or left the Union (in their opinion, not the Union’s) to be reconstituted and readmitted as full members again.

It didn’t work out as well as many had hoped. Former slaves during this time, backed by the United States Army, found themselves able to run for public office, and did so, becoming functioning citizens in their new societies. However, as soon as the promises were made to play nice and the troops were withdrawn, these former slaves were rapidly put in their “place”, and the South returned to its former ways. Of course, the North was appalled, but were unwilling to restart hostilities over a people that nobody wanted and could figure out what to do with anyway. And so, until the Civil Rights Act of 1964 and the Voting Rights Act of 1965, slaves and children of slaves were deprived of their basic rights and sometimes their lives.

It should be noted that this is being written in 2023, after the 2013 Supreme Court case Shelby County v. Holder effectively neutered the Voting Rights Act. Republican majorities in many states, but mostly in the South, almost overnight enacted new laws, ostensibly to address the non-existent problem of voter fraud, but in truth were designed to restrict the ability of non-white voters to exercise the franchise. This was understood to be a political move to keep the Democratic Party from making any gains at the expense of the Republican Party. Along with “gerrymandering”, the drawing of districts to favor a party in power, many states, and indeed the United States as a whole, find themselves in the position where they can be, and often are, governed by a party that can have many millions of popular votes less than the other party. Only by massive “grass roots” efforts can this ever be changed. It can be changed, just not easily or often.

And this leads me to the profound statement that…

Democrats are stupid.

Personally, I favor many of the policies of the Democratic Party. I believe that the Democrats are, currently, the single force in this country that is keeping us from swirling down the drain of oblivion. And doing it rather badly, if I may say so.

I had an epiphany the other day. I was watching the silliest thing on YouTube, a video about Bad Star Wars Lip Reading. The video itself was humorous, but as oftentimes happens, it caused a chain of thoughts to occur.

Darth Vader, the quintessential devil of the movie series. I thought back to the prequils and the growth of the person that would become this villain. I don’t know if it was in George Lucas’s mind at the time, but I suddenly realized that Darth Vader must be a Republican.

Why would I say that? Because his entire life is guided by fear. He is taken under the wing of a powerful politician and taught to use that fear to control others, which he does with zeal. Until one day, his son is in danger. Only then does he act as his conscience allows. When it involved his own self-interest.

I thought about current politicians. One is Rob Portman from Ohio. Mr. Portman was very anti-gay marriage, until his son came out as gay. While I applaud his open mindedness, I would like to note that it didn’t happen until his own self-interest was involved.

Congressman Larry Craig in the Minneapolis-St Paul Airport bathroom comes to mind. Virulently anti-gay, as it turns out, from self-loathing. Even after his conviction for disorderly conduct, in which he plead guilty, he adamantly denied being gay. Even though it appears that this man acted against his own self interest, he did not, if you consider that being a politician meant more to him than his sexuality.

We see a party that on the one hand claims the high ground in “morals”, while being led by a man so amoral that, during his Presidency, the obscenities he perpetrated were so frequent that people became numb to it. I find it utterly fascinating that the “Religious Right” can ignore its own principles, to elect people that actively stroke them while removing the people’s safety nets. Apparently, as long as they say the right things, what they do doesn’t matter.

And this brings us to the one thing I dislike more than politics.

Religion.

I am 100% for the free practice of religion. It’s ok with me if my neighbor wants to sacrifice a goat in his back yard, as long as I don’t have to deal with it. And that’s as it should be, I think.

Politics and religion have no place together. Freedom of religion should rightly be understood as “Freedom FROM religion” as well. Any priest, minister or other official of any religion that makes political statements should immediately be deprived of their tax-free status. That includes in sermons, where they hope to sway the faithful.

How did we get here? Was religion always involved in politics? Yes, there were religious figures that had political stances, but it was generally understood that political parties did not use religion in politics.

Al Smith, the governor of New York, and a Catholic, was nominated by the Democrats in 1928. Protestants were up in arms over this, claiming that he would be unduly influenced by the Pope. They would trot this trope out again in 1960 with John Kennedy, but Kennedy was able to overcome it through his will, his personality, and his political machine.

Alabama governor George Wallace heavily used the phrase “Law and Order” as a political “dog whistle” to gain support while not provoking the people he was planning to disenfranchise. His success in Alabama did not go unnoticed by two prominent politicians, Richard Nixon and Ronald Reagan. Nixon would use it to good effect in his presidential bids. Reagan used it as well, and upped the ante by vigorously defending conservative religious values against no one. He so stridently championed religious conservatives that they were swayed to vote Republican against their own interests, and have done so to this day. As H.L. Menckin once said, “Nobody ever went broke underestimating the intelligence of the American public”.

In my mind, the question remains. Why do people vote contrary to their own self-interest? It makes no sense until you understand the motivation. Fear. The job of the politician in America is to make his or her constituency so afraid that they’ll lose some essential right (their guns, their religion, their way of life) that they are willing to vote for him or her, without understanding or caring that this individual is not working for them, but for their overseers, the corporations that control every aspect of their lives.

So, yes. The American people are, by and large, stupid. You only have to look at the 2016 Presidential election to see that. The single most unqualified and dangerous person in modern history to lead the United States was elected over a well-qualified, stable but boring woman. They wanted excitement, well, they sure got it. That we managed to live through it was a miracle, if such things exist.

America is not young and vibrant and full of promise. Not anymore. It’s government finds itself fighting itself and becoming blocked from any significant progress. Many of its leaders actively despise the press, and deny losing any election, no matter how badly beaten.

There will come a point in the not too distant future, where someone will be elected who all too clearly understands what can happen when all the little political tricks are brought into play, and is willing to use them. They will frighten us about “them”, and tell us “they” will take from you what ought to be yours, be it jobs, homes, or money. They will find a way to subvert the Constitution by claiming emergency powers, which of course they won’t have to give back because there was no emergency in the first place. And then, boys and girls, you better strap in, because the ride gets faster as we swirl down the toilet bowl.

I hopefully won’t be around to see it, so I have no dog in this fight. This is only what I believe, and as I said earlier, I may be wrong. I hope I am. I love my country, and I’ve sacrificed for it. It used to stand for something. Other countries used to see us as well meaning, if sometimes naïve. Now they just laugh at us, and we’ve become so narcissistic that we don’t care.

I have no reason to believe that I will influence a single person with this writing. As this country has become so divided, I do not believe it will last much longer. What comes after won’t be pleasant. I wish you well.

#politics

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floorsauce · 1 year ago

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(WARNING: LONG POST)

I'm currently on a Fnaf brain rot (Markiplier playing the ruin dlc and seeing Fronnie fanart clicked something in my head and now I can't get enough of it. I already watched most of Markiplier's Fnaf compilation.)

I would like to try to make my contributions to the fnaf Fandom, but before I do, this whole thing reminded me of something in Cars that has bugged me since I first saw it.

So, cars fans, you guys know that one deleted intro scene to Cars 2 where Mater is telling a tall tale about one of McQueen's races? You notice how Mater tries to pass off McQueen as an animatronic?

I don't care if it's not canon, I need to let this out....

There's animatronics in the Cars world? What's stopping an animatronic from being a sentient vehicle? If you were to take an animatronic to the "Manufacturer" to give it life, does it now count as a sentient vehicle or is it just a "living animatronic?" Could a dead car's parts be reused into an animatronic? Would you be able to bring back the dead by merging their parts with an animatronic and giving them life? Would they even be the same, or would something else make them unique and alive? What if there's a car culture in which a newborn car gets a piece of a dead relative so that the relative can be "reincarnated" or have something worth sharing to the baby car?

What if there's the possibility of events similar to fnaf becoming true in the cars world? Is there a bite of 83 and 87 that happened? Who would be stuffing kid cars into animatronic cars? What would a Springtrap incident be like in the world of Cars? What about Michael and his case with Enard? And again, what's stopping the animatronics from being living vehicles? Even if they didn't come alive from troubling situations, how would living animatronics be treated in society? Would cars be concerned, or would they be like "oh cool you're alive now :D "

Finally, what would "animal" animatronics look like in the Cars world? We know that tractors roughly resemble cows, but what about any other animal? Would there even be any vehicle body types that make people think "oh that looks like something worth making into a bear/bunny/chicken/fox/wolf/gator and not a citizen." Are tractors the only animals worth having in this world? Are Freddy and his gang just slightly different types of Tractors?

.........this has been your cursed thoughts for today......

.........Please excuse me while I go crazy with Fnaf and Fronnie thoughts..........

#cars #cars fandom #pixar cars #cars 2006 #cars 2 (2011)#cars 2 #ramblings #animatronic #theory #stupid thoughts #speculation #dont even get me started how i think the cars of cars world come to life #i have my own theory but that will have to wait another day #floorsauce #fnafsauce #carsauce #talksauce

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vspk123 · 5 months ago

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An International School - A Comprehensive Guide

Choosing the right international school for your child is a very important decision. This decision can affect their education and their entire life. More and more parents now want to educate their children in a school that gives them an international level education and perspective. VSPK International School is one such school that has earned a name for itself in providing good education. This article will tell you what to keep in mind when choosing an international school for your child and why VSPK School can be a perfect fit for your child.

Understanding International Schools

Children from many countries study in international schools. The education there is not based on any one country but is done keeping the whole world in mind. For example, there is education like IB (International Baccalaureate), CIE (Cambridge International Examinations) or American curriculum. In these schools, children are taught to become citizens of the world, to think seriously about everything and to progress in every way. So that in the future, children can go to any corner of the world and be successful.

Key Factors to Consider When selecting an International School

Curriculum and Academic Excellence

Every school has a different way of teaching children. When choosing an international school, it is important to understand the method of teaching there and whether this method is right for your child's learning style and future goals. VSPK International School adopts a holistic approach to prepare children, which includes the teaching methods used in schools around the world as well as Indian culture. Complete focus is given to studies in this school. Children are made good in core subjects and are also given the opportunity to learn other things according to their interest.

Qualified and Experienced Faculty

Providing a good education to children is in the hands of the school teachers. The teachers who teach at VSPK School are not only fully qualified to teach but they really enjoy teaching. They keep learning continuously so that they know how to teach children today and how education can be made better by using new technology. There are not too many children per teacher, so the teacher is able to pay attention to each child and understand their needs. This makes it easier for children to study and they feel comfortable in the class.

School Environment and Building

A good environment is very important for the development of children. VSPK International School has modern classrooms, a good science lab and computer lab. There is also a lot of space to play. The school also has a large library and rooms for learning arts and music. This gives children a chance to learn things of their choice and learn new skills.

Holistic Development

Study should not be limited to books only. It is important for children to develop in all aspects. VSPK School pays full attention to this. There children are given the opportunity to learn things like sports, art, music and drama. Learning these things helps children develop important qualities like teamwork, leadership and time management. The school also organizes social service programs and programs to meet children from other countries. This instills in children a sense of responsibility towards society and a thinking to understand the world.

Student Support Services

It is most important for children to be healthy and happy. VSPK International School helps children in every way. There is counseling, doctors and teachers to help in studies. The counseling teachers help children solve any problem related to studies and their life so that they can achieve their full goals. The school also takes full care that the children remain safe and their health remains good.

Global Perspective

The most special thing about international schools is that children are told about the whole world there. Children from many countries study in VSPK School, there are programs to adopt different cultures and work is also done in collaboration with other schools. During studies in school, children are told about the world so that children can grow up to become good citizens of the world. The school also gives children an opportunity to meet children from other countries and learn about them. This helps children to know about different cultures and ideas.

Parental Involvement

Parental support is very important in the education of children. VSPK International School encourages parents to get involved in school activities. The school also ensures that there is a good conversation between parents and teachers. The school holds regular parent-teacher meetings, workshops and other events to let parents know how their child is doing and developing.

Why Choose VSPK International School as the best International School ?

Innovative Curriculum

In VSPK school, children are not only taught to memorize things but they are also taught to think and understand on their own, imagine making new things and solve problems. Both new and old methods of teaching are used there. Along with this, technology is also used to teach children so that their studies can be better. Things like learning by making projects, teaching by combining different subjects and learning by doing themselves make studies fun for children and motivate them to learn.

Experienced and Caring Faculty

The teachers of VSPK school are not only experts in their subject but they also guide the children and help them in every difficulty. The school runs special programs for teachers so that they can teach even better and learn to teach children in a new way.

Outstanding Building

The school building and the things there are the best. The children are provided with the best environment to study there. There are science and computer labs with the latest technology, huge play areas and rooms for learning art and music. VSPK School has everything that helps children learn what they love.

Holistic Approach

VSPK School focuses on the holistic development of children. The school ensures that children become good in studies as well as successful in life. The school has programs to learn things like sports, art, music. This gives children a chance to learn things of their choice and they can progress in them.

Supportive Community

One of the best things about VSPK School is its environment. All children are welcomed there and everyone supports each other. All religions and cultures are respected in the school. Children, parents and teachers together create an environment where everyone feels good and everyone is helped.

Global Exposure

VSPK School prepares children for the future. The school's international programs and programs organized in collaboration with other schools give children a chance to learn new things. This opens up children's minds and they understand more about the world.

Choosing the right international school for your child is a very important decision. There are many things to consider before making this decision.

In Summary, International School is one such school that is known for providing good education to children. Along with studies, children are also developed in every way. New methods of teaching, experienced teachers, wonderful building and supportive environment make VSPK international School special. This school prepares children to succeed around the world.

If you are looking for an international school that will enhance your child's talent and prepare them to face the world, then VSPK international School is the best option for you. Visit the school, meet the teachers there and see for yourself how VSPK School can change your child's life.

#international school #international school in delhi #international school n rohini

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