#as usual i need to inflict this upon as many people as possible

[spottedgardeneelstan]

grow your own husband!

…

look, i really don’t know. it came down to me like a prophecy, as usual, and i had to purge it from my system. you know the deal by now.

[writingdevil]

Just read your opportunist x cold fanfic and woah… the angst potential. My eyes have been opened. Would you mind writing more of them pretty pleaseeee ❤️

(I'd love to! I wanted to add some more angst and hurt to my fics and I figured they'd be perfect for it, so enjoy!)

Cold wasn't the most attentive bird around, not unless something had truly caught his attention. He won't notice if one of the others are going through something, not unless he was already studying them to begin with.

He doesn't particularly care what way he comes off as. Cold knew he was who he was, and that was never going to change.

He was aware though, of someone who changed almost constantly-Opportunist.

Opportunist's personality seemed to be entirely different each day, depending on who he spoke to and what he wanted. Cold usually never entertained him much. It seemed like far too much effort to try and dig through all his masks to unveil the true Opportunist, so Cold never played along in his silly games.

But that was, until Cold realised how much he affected Opportunist.

Cold didn't realise it at first, but slowly and surely, during group conversations, Cold became acutely aware of how many times Opportunist sided with him.

He would roll up to him, swing an arm around Cold's shoulders, and would agree with whatever Cold brought to the discussion. Cold never cared to ask why, until he began to sense something.

The conversations were never anything serious-petty and ridiculous at best, but Cold would sometimes feel this sensation grazing against his skin, lingering right up until Cold lifted his head to try and figure out what it was. Then he found out that the culprit was Opportunist.

It was by pure luck that Cold managed to catch him, but during one of these conversations, Cold started to feel that sensation again, and he slowly lifted his gaze around the room, to find Opportunist staring at him.

Once he was caught though, the other swiftly twisted away and pushed himself back into the conversation, but there was no hiding from Cold anymore. He saw that look.

It was a look of pure desperation, of begging for something special, and that was when Cold realised that he felt Opportunist looking at him like that after Cold had spoken.

Was Opportunist looking for approval? Was he expecting Cold to be grateful that Opportunist sided with him?

It was so bizarre that Cold couldn't help but push it further.

One day, he was talking to Contrarian and trying to convince him to prank Stubborn for the fifth time this week. Stubborn was already waiting to snap-and if Contrarian knew that, then it must be bad.

At that moment, Opportunist chose to walk down that hallway, and now that Cold was paying attention, he could plainly see how Opportunist's dark gaze drastically brightened as he took in Cold.

"Ah, hello gentlemen! What are we talking about today?" Opportunist asked, inserting himself into the conversation easily, but for once, Cold didn't mind.

"Could you actually settle something for us?" Cold asked, keeping his voice as monotone as possible, but he was secretly intrigued to see how this would go.

He gestured towards Contrarian, who looked none the wiser, and if Cold had the capacity to care, he'd almost feel sorry for inflicting this upon the other bird. "I was trying to convince Contrarian that Stubborn needed to relax, and that he should help with that."

Understanding dawned on Opportunist's face at what he meant. Everyone knew how Contrarian liked to make others relax and feel better, even if it didn't work most of the time.

Opportunist tilted his head in Cold's direction, giving nothing away on his face when in front of Contrarian, and asked, "You think that would be a good idea?"

All Cold had to do was nod, and then Opportunist was spinning to face Contrarian at a breakneck speed, practically beaming at the other as he said, "Oh, well then I don't see why you shouldn't! I don't think there's anyone more capable of cheering people up than you."

Cold saw the nervous look Contrarian was wearing, still on the fence about whether he should go through with it, and Opportunist casually added with a shrug, "Or you don't have to. Nobody would be surprised if you didn't."

Then Cold had the pleasure of seeing Contrarian's face shift from nervous to determined-the thought of being predictable overpowering his common sense-and he instantly dashed away without even sparing either of them a goodbye.

That was definitely going to cause a ruckus later. But more importantly, now that they were alone, Cold had the chance to nudge Opportunist with a wing and softly say, "Thank you," as if the gesture actually meant a lot to him.

But then Cold got to witness how much Opportunist glowed under his praise, and he even seemed to stand up straighter, a starved look in his eyes that he didn't even try to hide.

Opportunist wanted Cold's attention and praise. That's what this was about.

Something dark and powerful came over Cold in that moment-the fact that he had this effect on Opportunist by doing the bare minimum to him. Part of him wanted to know why, but that would take the fun out of it, so he didn't bother thinking about why too much.

Especially when an hour later, they all saw Hero tending to Contrarian, who had his arm broken by Stubborn. Cold glanced at Opportunist and-try as he might to hide it- he saw a flicker of guilt on the other's face, and Cold knew that this was going to be really fun.

So Cold kept doing it.

He kept asking Opportunist to do little things for him-sometimes to the flock's misfortune-and he would reward Opportunist with either a thank you, a smile, or even a touch on the shoulder, if he wanted to be thoroughly amused that day.

Opportunist ate his attention up like a starved animal, having no shame or self respect in the slightest, it seemed.

The most amusing part of all this though, was whenever the consequences impacted another flockmate, and the result was usually negative.

Opportunist would stare at the results of his actions, his drive to do whatever Cold wanted of him. He would take in how he hurts his flock, whether physically or emotionally, feel guilty, and then come crawling back to Cold for validation.

It was baffling. It was twisted. It was exhilarating.

To think that he had this much power over someone, who let themselves be pulled along like a toy-the idea was almost laughable, but that's what was currently happening.

Opportunist tended to stick to Cold now, thinking that they were closer, and Cold suddenly got the urge to see what Opportunist was like when there was nobody else around to witness them. He wanted to see how far he could push him.

He stopped and looked down at Opportunist, making the other pause and glance up at him in confusion-and Cold gave no warning as he shoved Opportunist against a wall and loomed over him.

"What are you-" Cold shut him up easily by grabbing at his chest feathers, almost pulling him closer.

Cold watched the way Opportunist's eyes widened in both fear and glee, his breath hitching at their close proximity, and Cold could even feel his feathers puffing up beneath his fingers.

Cold pressed their bodies closer, and Opportunist shook in anticipation, gazing up at him in desperation, as if waiting for Cold to finally make a move.

Cold wasn't sure if Opportunist was in love with him, or just wanted to be in Cold's good graces. It didn't really matter in the end-he was still shamelessly begging for attention either way.

Cold leaned his head closer to Opportunist, who's eyes were clouded over now, and Opportunist was probably expecting a reward for all his hard work, to make all the harm he caused the flock worth it.

But when Cold's lips was inches away from the other's, he suddenly paused-and chuckled.

The feeling of Opportunist freezing beneath him was very satisfying, and Cold looked into his eyes, eyes that were usually scheming, but were now just left wanting. Opportunist wanted Cold so badly that it was pathetic.

He held Opportunist gaze, and then he moved his hand to pat the top of his head like a pet, and said in a mockingly loving voice, "Maybe if you keep managing to entertain me, you'll get more than this one day."

Cold didn't give Opportunist even a moment to process what just happened, and quickly straightened up and walked away without another word.

Before he left though, Cold had the absolute pleasure of seeing the devastation on Opportunist's face-along with the knowledge that he was going to keep playing along for Cold.

He truly was the most pathetic bird to ever exist.

[ret1cent]

the space between (pt.1)

josh dun x fem reader

WC: 3,000+

“you want me? fuckin’ well come on and find me”

a/n: hey everyone! this is my first fic on here and the first fanfic series i am dedicating myself to ever since a wattpad markiplier x reader fic i wrote in 6th grade LMAO.. so bear with me as i get used to writing consistently again.. just a heads up this fic will have heavy themes for some people so make sure you read the warnings <3 i also think it's worth mentioning that unless made obvious all new characters introduced are purely fictional.

warnings: angst, unhappy relationship, falling out, topics of mental abuse and manipulation, bad work environment, stress and depression, abandonment issues

pt.2 here

May 19th, 2016.

“On your right!” I hear the voice of a man coming from behind me.

I whip around, quickly swerving to the left, almost running into the wall of the hallway as a group of camera loaders haul a huge camera, wind rushing past me as they scurry past. I sigh as I look down and see that the sudden maneuver caused the coffee in my hand to splash onto the front of my cardigan. I closed my eyes, as if when I opened them again the overwhelming feeling of frustration building up in my chest would magically dissipate.

I was delivering coffee like an intern and my favorite cardigan is stained, today is going great. I continue down the hall and enter the studio, the overhead lights shining hot and nearly blinding. I stagger through the bustling set, unable to hear my own thoughts from the chaos amongst me. I walk until I find Frank, a big burly guy with dark facial hair who wore the same crusty hat every day. He’s my new boss and the head of our production department who ordered me to bring him a latte. Needless to say it was quite embarrassing to play out an intern movie trope in real life.

“Frank, I have your coffee.” I say, pulling his attention away from the set designers he was closely studying, most likely looking for any excuse to yell at them. He looks over at me in silent annoyance and takes the coffee without a word. I turn to start walking away but then turn back.

“You know I’m not an intern Frank, I’m a production assistant and I’ve been working with the actual equipment for years, you can give me more technical tasks.” I say bravely, trying to hide any obvious anxiety in my voice.

It was true, of course my job title wasn’t the most renowned. I hadn’t been with Warner Brothers for an prolonged amount of time. I spent many years picking up gigs with smaller indie film companies or brand photo shoots until I landed this job.

So on a lot of sets it wasn't unusual for production assistants to do coffee runs, but I had started to become well known and appreciated on sets due to how well versed I am with technology. I was usually given larger tasks. In fact, the last head of our production department had brought up the possibility of my promotion. Unfortunately, that was shortly before he left, and Frank was not shy about hiding his disinterest in the possibility.

He looks up at me, as if offended. “Well last time I checked I’m your boss and I don’t give a shit.” He says with a curt laugh. “I think I know what I'm doing I don’t think I need you to be telling me how to do my job.” He says harshly.

“Ok, sorry.” I say with false sincerity, biting my tongue to hold back the many profanities I wished to inflict upon him. As I start walking away, he takes a sip of his coffee.

“Is this fucking whole milk?” He asks in disbelief, stopping me in my tracks.

You’re fucking kidding. I look at him over my shoulder, confused.

“You just said you wanted a latte sir you didn’t clarify anything about the kind of milk.” I say with a thin smile.

“I always have oat milk in my latte you should know this about me!” He says, aggravated and shoving the cup into the hand of a passing intern. “Throw this away.” He demands her and she nods quickly in compliance and then he turns his attention back to me.

“That’s ridiculous I have never gotten you coffee before how am I supposed to know what kind of-! Forget it.” I say turning away to keep walking as I knew that no matter how good of a defense I had, arguing with Frank was like arguing with a brick wall. He was a stubborn bitter man.

“Yeah, if you can’t even get a latte right that’s probably why you’re not working behind the camera.” He says with a crude laugh, and I quickly blink away the hot tears stinging in my eyes. Crying when angry was probably one of my most embarrassing tendencies. I make my way back down the hall, coworkers staring at me with concern after my obviously distasteful interaction with Frank.

── ࣪˖ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ── ── ࣪˖ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ── ── ࣪˖ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

I sat in my car with my head on my steering wheel, still in the parking lot of the set as I tried to regain myself after all the frustrations of the day before I left. I sit up and sigh, putting my car into reverse. It was a quiet drive home, the radio quickly silenced as every song playing only seemed to further my annoyance.

I pull into the driveway of my house, wishing I had other plans to prolong my arrival. The house itself wasn’t the issue, it was in a quiet neighborhood in North Hollywood, it was a humble yet comfortable rental home with a cream-colored exterior, a warm wooden interior, a short red brick staircase with bushes lined up by the entrance.

The issue was my fiancé, Logan. We’ve been dating for 2 years and just got engaged this year. Everything started great until I slowly started to see red flags, him lashing out over minuscule inconveniences, random negative comments about me that he plays off like jokes, and the way he always seems to victimize himself in every argument we have. His family has a history of mental health issues and every time I try to bring it up to him, he gets angry, claiming that he’s a not a “crazy person” whatever that’s supposed to mean, or he claims that it’s my fault he acts the way he does. But we’re engaged and I'm almost 30 and still not married, our families have the expectations of our marriage and he’s not awful all the time. I still love him. But these days it was just difficult to be around him sometimes.

I get out of the car and walk into the house, finding him sitting on the couch drinking a seltzer in the dark, the only light being the glow of the tv. I turn on the living room light and he looks at me with annoyance.

“Hi.” I say curtly, putting my bag on the ground and laying my boots next to it.

“Hey.” He replies, equally as unenthusiastic, taking another long sip of his drink. I looked at the coffee table to see about 5 other abandoned cans. He’s been drinking a lot more than usual recently, he used to barely drink at all. “What’s for dinner tonight?” He asks and I bite the inside of my cheek, frustrated.

“Logan you were supposed to make dinner tonight.” I remind him softly, trying not to lose my temper and start an argument.

“No, it’s your night.” He says in a bored tone, not providing any defense for his accusation and not turning his attention away from the screen.

I knew from the bottom of my heart it was his night, we had assigned tasks for the week. His job today because he gets off work before me was to get groceries and make dinner for us. I don't even bother trying to defend this, knowing it’ll get me nowhere. I walk to the kitchen. Fine, I'll just suck it up and make dinner. I need to be fed one way or another. I opened the fridge to see it was mostly empty besides fruits, drinks and condiments.

“Logan did you not go to the grocery store?” I ask from the kitchen.

“Forgot.” he replies dully.

I feel my eyes burning with tears again and rub them away. Work has been hell today and all I wanted was to sit down in peace and eat a hot meal. I walk into the living room and Logan looks up at me, seeing my fuming expression.

“Why don’t we just order something?” he asks with shrug and annoyed tilt of his head. “I’m hungry and I know you are too.” He says trying to reason with me.

We’re on a budget, rent here is expensive and although we both held decent jobs it still wasn’t enough for constant luxuries beyond rent and groceries. But at this point I'm so exhausted and just want to eat.

“Whatever, just order a pizza, something cheap please.” I beg and walk down the hall to our room that was adorned with house plants and my photography framed on the walls, flopping onto the bed looking up to the ceiling. In moments like these I just can’t help but wonder what I’m doing with my life. Of course I'm lucky to have a job in production, so many people dream of that. But from a young age my real dream has always been photography. But it’s such a competitive industry that I finally just gave up on the idea of it, I needed a job that would sustain me. But at this point with rent going up and my mental health spiraling, even that doesn’t even feel worth it anymore. But I don’t have a choice, the industry is oversaturated right now and I'm lucky to even be holding my current job. I feel my phone start to vibrate besides me and turn it over to see that it’s my friend Kass calling me.

“Hello?”

“Hey dude, you ok? I saw Frank Fuckface was giving you a hard time earlier?” she asks gently.

I laugh softly at her nickname for him. “Yeah, you know Frank, he was just being a dick. Got mad I didn’t get oat milk for his latte when he didn’t even ask me for it.” I say with a scoff.

“Seriously oat milk? That’s a little fruity Franky.” Kass says and I laugh.

“Stop it!” I say and she laughs.

“I’m just saying unless you have an intolerance caring that much about what kind of milk is in your coffee is a little gay!” She says, both of us laughing.

Not that there would be anything wrong with him being gay, but he has not made his far right ideals and obvious homophobia very secret. He’s not the type to be careful about posting his opinions on social media.

“You know you can leave too... right?” Kass asks, turning serious and I sigh. Kass had recently put in her two weeks to leave the company. My work life was now going to be even more miserable without her. She has a new job lined up, but ironically enough it was to be a crew member for a tour of my ex best friend’s immensely successful band. I guess that’s just what happens when your friends have a web of attachments to each other.

“Kass...” I start with a sigh, already knowing where this was going.

“I’m serious (Y/n) I could easily hook you up. Or you could hook yourself up if you would just make up with Josh!” She argues. “Imagine how fun it could be. Us on the road escaping from all this bullshit, helping with these amazing shows! Their music is phenomenal, and you know it.” She points out.

She wasn’t wrong, I was happy for Josh in that aspect, I never had any wishes against his success, him and Tyler worked incredibly hard and deserved all of the success and adoration they got. “Of course I know that, they are talented. But I have a life here now, even if work sucks, I still have a fiancé and I'm getting married in a few months.” I say, hearing my own voice falter at the thought. “Plus, I just can’t be around Josh like that, I’m still hurt by everything.” I say softly.

“I know.” She says gently and there was a momentary silence. “But if you change your mind...” She says playfully, trying to lighten the mood.

“Nooo.” I groan.

“He’s back in LA right now!” She says in a singsong voice.

“KASSSSS!”

“Ok fine, dropping it.” She says laughing. “I just wish I could keep working with my bestie.”

“I know, me too.” I say sadly, my chest suddenly feeling heavy with emotion.

She changes the subject, and we talk for another half hour until she had to go. The happiness from talking to Kass quickly faded when I came back to my dull reality, the house was quiet besides the hum from the ceiling fan and the incoherent voices coming from the Tv in the living room.

Maybe it was crazy, but I couldn't help but feeling a sense of yearning for the life that Kass had described to me. I can imagine it now. Seeing new cities every week, exploring with Kass, being cramped but content in a tour bus with likeminded coworkers, late night gas station runs, bonding with Josh, Tyler and Mark again... My heart stings at the thought.

Josh and I were long term friends. We met in 2010 through a few mutual friends. Ever since that point the rest was history, we spent countless days lounging around each other’s places, going to gigs together, me going to his own band’s gigs, hanging out at each other's work places when things were slow...

We were inseparable. When Josh met Tyler, he quickly introduced me to him. I got along with him effortlessly, we all formed our own little group with the three of us and the boy’s other mutual friends. I helped Tyler and Josh with their creative ventures with the band, me and Mark often acting as their camera crew. I did photography for them and promoted the band around as much as possible. Those were the days. I didn’t know it, but things were just so much simpler, they were fresh, new and exciting. Josh and I fell out of contact in 2013. He had started dating a girl by the name Sophia the previous year. He was head over heels for her and I supported him in every way. He seemed happy with her. Josh even brought her to hang out with the group sometimes. I always tried to make her feel welcome and even create a bond with her, but she just never returned the same energy.

Over time Josh became less and less available to hang out. I understood, he had a girlfriend after all, it was normal for him to want to spend time with her. But it got to a ridiculous point where I finally confronted him about it. I look up at my ceiling reflecting on the memory.

January 12th, 2013.

I sat on a wide leather couch with Josh, his legs sprawled across it while I sat in the corner of it, my head leaning against the wall. Mark and Tyler in the other room filming a video Josh had already completed his part for. It was the first time he and I had been alone together for a prolonged amount of time in months. We had been chatting and laughing about random things, but I finally gained the courage to ask the question that had been pressing me for so long.

“Josh?” I ask softly, my voice holding an air of somberness.

“Yeah?” He lifts his head up, sitting up halfway and bracing himself back with his hands. His expression held slight concern, yet a strange look of expectancy. Like he knew what he was going to hear, or like there was something he wanted me to say.

“Why haven’t we hung out just the two of us in so long?”

His expression falters. “Well, you know with us releasing an album under a label for the first time and being with Sophia I don’t know things have just been... busy" He stutters slightly.

“I know I know.. I understand things have been hectic for you guys, I’ve been seeing it firsthand. It’s just that... It always used to be us... You know?” I let out a shaky breath. I was never good at any kind of confrontation. “I just... miss you man.” I say sadly.

Josh fully sits up, his hands on his knees as he looked at me. “I know I... I miss you too.” He says genuinely yet almost sounding guilty.

There was a silence.

“Can I be honest with you (Y/n)?”

“Of course.” I say, a nervous anticipation swirling in my stomach. I don’t even know what to expect.

“Sophia doesn’t want us to be friends anymore...” He says slowly.

There was a long pause.

“Why?” I ask, a blurry layer over my eyes as they welled up. I had a gut feeling ever since we stopped hanging out that this was probably the situation at hand. I was just hoping it wasn’t true.

“She thinks we’re too close. I-I don’t know she always freaks out about it. She thinks there’s something going on between us and it’s been causing a lot of issues in our relationship.” he says, running his hand over his face.

I scoff. “Well, that’s ridiculous, have you tried to tell her nothing weird is going on? We’re just friends!” I say and he looks down at his shoes at this, not saying anything for a moment. He looks back up at me.

“I’ve told her that so many times she just won't believe me.”

“Well, she should trust you! You’re her boyfriend.”

“I know...”

“So... what do we do?” I ask, looking up at him and he looks to the side, biting the inside of his cheek nervously.

“I guess we’ll only be together when we're with the group... That’s what she asked me to do.” He says, avoiding eye contact and I laugh in disbelief.

“What so we’re forbidden from ever hanging out again?” I asked, standing up and wiping the tears that were dangerously close from rolling down my face.

“(Y/n) she's my girlfriend!” He pleads desperately, also standing up.

“What so that means our friendship lost all value? You aren’t even trying to fix this!” I say, slightly raising my voice.

I hear the noise in the other room quiet and a few moments later Tyler and Mark are standing in the doorway, concerned expressions on both of their faces.

“Guys what’s-” Mark start’s but Josh speaks over him.

“I have been I’ve been trying so hard to fix everything, but I don’t know if I can!” Josh says his voice staggering.

I was silent, looking at the pleading expression in his eyes. “Well... I think you’ve made it abundantly clear where your values lie.” I say with my arms folded over my stomach while I walk to the door.

“(Y/n) stop!” He pleads.

“Why should I?” I ask plainly, turning around with a humorless smile.

“You’re my best friend.” He says quietly.

“Then fucking prove it.” I say, turning back around and leaving the building.

That was the last time we had spoken.

Tyler and Mark reached out to me occasionally after the fight. They let it be known that their friendship to me still held despite me and Josh’s falling out, but I slowly fell away from their friendship as well. Not that their efforts didn’t go unappreciated by me, but being with them only when Josh wasn’t around would’ve felt wrong, it would have only remind me that everything had changed. So my relationship with Tyler and Mark held in the way a pair of old high school friend’s would, they’d text happy birthday and send holiday wishes, but we all had our own lives to move on with.

Of course me and Josh’s relationship equated to nothing after everything. We weren’t petty enough to unfollow each other on social media or block each others numbers, we just never talked. Josh would try to text me after the fight, apologizing and telling me he missed me. But I was hurt, his actions spoke louder than words. When I never responded he slowly stopped texting. I suspected this was the work of Sophia, or him just realizing it wasn’t getting him anywhere. I just wasn’t going to reply. Maybe this was petty of me, my stubbornness had never been one of my attractive traits.

But when you’ve had so many people who mean anything to you in your life leave, you just learn to let go. Holding on so hard only hurts more. But no matter how hard I tried to block out the pain of Josh’s absence in my life, it always lingered. It felt as if a part on my soul was missing ever since that day. I rub my hands over my face. Is it crazy to feel that way about an old friend?

“(Y/n) the pizzas here!” Logan’s voice shouts, snapping me out of my trance.

I get up slowly. Yes, it was crazy. I have a new life now, and I have to remain present. I can’t stay stuck in the past forever, it’s time to move on.

I walk down the hall, my socks padding against cold wooden floor. He looks at me, holding the pizza box with a smile. I look up and softly smile back.

[malamiteltd]

The PAL GUN

(Transcript of a Palworld weapon concept)

Preface

As of recently, the way that your Pals are summoned had been changed. While originally the Pal Sphere is aimed and thrown into an area to make the Pal appear, the newer method instead summons the Pal next to the tamer. More than likely this is meant to be a workaround summoning method due to a legal dispute with Pokemon, and it's currently unknown if this will be the default from this point forward.

Regardless, there are many people that dislike the alternative, as tossing the Pal Sphere helped the Pal focus attention on tasks or foes once it has been summoned. It's difficult to direct the Pal after immediate summoning, and having them appear a distance away from you can help with certain attack strategies which are currently not possible with the newer summoning method. I have thought about the situation, attempting to make an alternative method to summon Pals that would address some of the concerns.

While I'm no legal expert on such things, I wanted to at least offer some idea that could be a little more distinct...and perhaps a little more impactful.

The PAL GUN Aggressive Summoning Weapon

Crafted as a weapon, the Pal Gun basically takes the long-distance summoning of Pals and amps it up slightly. Selecting your desired Pal as usual, you aim the Pal Gun at a living target within its firing range, and if the reticle lights up, you fire the Pal Sphere at the target with great speed. The target will be stunned/ragdoll upon the impact, and the Pal you chose will appear near the target to further engage in battle. The target will be focused on the newly-summoned Pal, allowing you to make your next move separate from the confrontation.

The Pal Gun will function this way if: A. You currently have no Pal summoned B. The Pal you currently have selected is not the one you already have summoned (firing the Pal Gun will make your currently-summoned Pal disappear, so be very careful about that)

Aspects of the Pal Gun have some similarities to the Grapple Gun; it only functions as intended if it is fired at applicable living targets (humans and Pals), and has a recharge timer so the gun can't be fully abused, though upgrades could be possible that could shorten this recharge timer or increase the firing range, or both.

Details to Consider

The Pal Gun is intended primarily to be an alternative summoning method, being more aggressive and covering greater distances than the current default. But it may be possible to give it an alternative usage as a "ping" tool for your Pal. If your Pal is selected and summoned, the Pal Gun could possibly be used on targets from a distance, and "firing" at them will instruct the Pal to approach them and do whatever they need to. As a possible extension, the Pal Gun could recognize certain resources as targets (wood, stone, etc.) and direct the current Pal to cut or mine, etc.

The impact of the Pal Gun is mainly meant to stun on contact, with possible damage being a lower priority. (Admittedly part of the idea stems from certain tag-team fighting games, where your partner would enter the fray by dive-kicking into the opponent.) If damage is decided to be a more major factor, things to consider when deciding how much damage it would inflict would be either the type/size of Pal being fired or their current level, among other things.

One other thought would involve what could happen if aiming and firing the Pal Gun at your current Pal. For example, if you highlight a different Pal and fire at your current summoned one, it could just swap their places at that very spot. If your current Pal is the highlighted one, it may just call them back, or it could be a way to issue orders or even choices of attack to them.

Conclusion

The Pal Gun was primarily designed to address a new situation introduced in newer developments of Palworld's gameplay. With this alternative summoning method, it can allow certain abilities lost before to be possible once again, while offering a few new twists that can still make the tool useful and distinct. And with some potential secondary uses, it could even be considered a handy item to have even if the initial summoning method is brought back into the game.

[rageprufrock]

can you please share with us more about your experiences relating to your response to the post “if you wouldn’t go to someone for advice, don’t take their criticism either” ?

(asking for a friend who’s struggling at work re: wanting validation and receiving criticism instead)

Unfortunately, very different situation for me. I had a work colleague-semi-mentor who I'd known for a long time, so it took a long time before I could really reconcile that their behavior was completely unacceptable and manipulative. It was a necessary period at the end of an increasingly toxic sentence.

As for your friend re: wanting validation and getting criticism, I do have some generalized insight on that.

One of the most difficult things about a professional career is not having clarity on your performance. Most managers aren't trained on how to manage people, which feels counterintuitive and insane, until you think about how organizations are structured: we usually progress into management after exceling as subject matter experts, which makes sense in some dimensions of work, but is cosmically cursed in so, so many other dimensions of work.

With the caveat that I can only speak to a certain species of Western aligned office for a certain phylum of profit generating organization: something I talk about with a lot of my earlier career employees and colleagues is the deep frustration of feedback, because it's multifaceted.

For a lot of folks it's the frustration and hurt of your manager never providing positive feedback for good work, because the de facto behavior in a lot of workplace environments is that silence is the positive review. It can leave you toiling away without knowing if you did well, or, knowing that you did well and not getting any acknowledgement for it.

This isn't great! A better trained and better prepared manager is as forthcoming with praise and encouragement as they are with constructive feedback. But that's an idealized workplace that doesn't exist in reality, and I think the most important thing to take away from this is that you're not in school anymore, and you can't get your validation from work. Unless you're one of the lucky ones and you work for an organization that's really invested in leadership training, you're likely to have to learn how to cope with this on your own.

You cannot and should not rely on your job for prestige or emotional validation, you shouldn't be looking to build great friendships there, to fall in love there. To be clear: all of these things are possible to gain through work, but none of them are guaranteed or even likely, and no one should expect them. Your job is the thing you do for money, so that you can do other things in life that will validate you emotionally and bring you joy--the job cannot be the thing itself. We all know people whose jobs are their entire personality, and not only is it terminally miserable sitting next to them at dinner parties, it is also not great for the person inflicting it upon you! No job will ever love you back, and you cannot, under any circumstances, let it become the whole of you, or to rely upon it for your sense of worth.

That's a long and intense way of saying: depending on the type of manager and the type of work your friend has, they may never get any validation, and they have to find a way to be okay with that.

But they also need to be honest with themselves, because is it that they're not getting positive feedback when they're delivering great work, or is it the "I turned around this 50 page presentation deck to you in two days and all you did was say that there were typos on four slides" experience?

Given the way you described it in the ask, my guess, and this is a rough one, because there isn't a lot of context here, is that they're doing work they think is good and only getting feedback that focuses on the smaller things that are wrong with it.

Firstly: hell yeah dude that fucking sucks.

Secondly: that said, you did have typos on four slides.

One of the other most significant transitions you make that nobody talks about when you move into the professional sphere is that you're no longer evaluated for effort. That can be a great or terrible thing.

That you spent 100 hours killing yourself to put this project together doesn't really matter if there's something embarrassing and dumb on page 16 that makes your boss look like an idiot in a meeting in front of the clients. As far as they're concerned, you weren't being paid for the 100 hours of effort, you were being paid for delivering something that would make them look smart in that presentation.

By that same token, if you can do that same backbreaking work in 15 minutes with a bunch of Excel macros and fuck around the rest of the day? Who cares--it's getting done, and if it's getting done well, great. Jobs are not forcing you to show your work.

But that doesn't change the sting of how much it sucks when you've worked so hard on something, and at the end of the day, the feedback you get is over something that you perceive to be petty.

Now there are a lot of different influences here: you could have a shitty manager who is just an asshole, you could be working with a fucking weirdo who needed to be shoved into more lockers as a teenager, you could be working for a sociopath--these are all possible.

But what's more likely, from what I have experienced professionally, is that you're likely working for someone who is busy, who hired you to take on something and own it, end to end, and who wants--desperately--to be able to give you work, and never have to think twice about its quality and to trust it absolutely, because it would simplify their life in some way. I'm saying this from personal experience. This is what I want--desperately--from my team, even though I know it is not realistic, and it's almost never possible in a seamless way.

So this is where it's really important that your friend be honest with themselves and evaluate whether those criticisms are--however frustrating--legitimate. Were there issues with the deliverable? Should they have done something different? Should they have communicated better? And if there's smoke there, try to work on gritting your teeth through the knee jerk emotional response and put out the fire, however small, because that's the grit that's going to help propel you through your very long professional career.

It's so, so, so frequently the little things, the rough edges, that feel so unfair to have called out. The typo on page 76. The weird formatting. That one image that uses the wrong hex code for red so it's cool instead of warm tone and that's bugging your leadership team.

But also these small things stand out in the face of an otherwise well-done deliverable. They mar the final work. I'm not saying the weight that they're given is entirely fair--it's not. But don't undercut your own hard work by letting yourself get sloppy as you're dragging across the finish line. You've worked way too fucking hard not to get the credit you deserve for all the work you did to get here. Of course it sucks that this is what anyone is going to notice instead of the broader value, but you can't control that--what you can control is building in time for a last review. Using your network of colleagues to help you give things a proof. Ensuring that you're communicating clearly with your team and manager. Fully take ownership of the stuff you can control, because that's how you're going to get your work taken seriously.

If you can do that, and you can be self-reflective and also detached enough not to let your work performance be an analog for your value, that's going to be an incredible asset as you continue to grow in your career. People say unhinged things to me all the time, and I'm not going to lie and tell you that it doesn't bother me at all anymore, but I'm really good at giving myself the beat, taking five, and then coming back with less immediately murderous reactivity to evaluate things on their actual merits. It means people aren't afraid to be honest with me when there are issues, and it means that I learn about them early enough that I can remediate them and stay a trusted partner and advisor in the workplace.

(And then I go to training and pretend the fucking 20 pound ball filled with sand is my manager and I throw him into walls yelling, "FUCK YOU DUDE," because that anger still has to go somewhere.)

I know it's probably not the answer you or your friend would want to hear, but it's the truth. I try my best to gas up my people by shouting from the rooftops when they do good work, but God knows I also make them crazy when they've spent a long time working on something only for me to tear it to shreds in editing or say, "thanks but this needs another proofing pass," and I'm sure they're plotting my death in bars about it.

[evidence-based-activism]

https://jaapl.org/content/34/1/90

What are your thoughts on this through a feminist lens? I'm trying to name & grapple with the abuse my mother inflicted upon me and while something like this fits, the moment I saw the name I immediately went «oh, this will be used against mothers to fuel the adoption industry, won't it?» and indeed it seems to be true. Why is there so little written on the topic, am I looking in the wrong places?

Hello!

First, I am very sorry about the abuse you faced, and hope you are doing okay.

The paper you linked [1] does a good job describing many of the issues with the Munchausen Syndrome by Proxy (MBP) diagnosis, some of which I'll discuss below. But, first, if I am understanding your comment on adoption correctly, then I'd say that that issue concerns the demand for infants, who are not usually the victim of MBP. Between that and the rarity of the disorder, I don't think you need to be concerned that this is being used to coerce adoptions.

One of the main criticisms of this disorder is that it requires an understanding of the motivations of the perpetrator, generally a desire for attention or praise from others rather than any obvious external rewards (e.g., financial incentives) [2]. This is a difficult thing for an outsider (i.e., doctors, lawyers) to establish, and they often neglect to even try.

That being said, you are not an outsider in your situation, and are therefore uniquely qualified for determining if your mother's abuse fits this description. You may be able to find more information about this under the term "Factitious disorder imposed on another", [2] which is the most recent name for MBP.

You may also want to look into the term "medical abuse", which is often used synonymously with MBP, although it can refer to a broader range of abusive behaviors. It does not require a specific motive for the perpetrator and places the focus on the harm done to the victim.

---

As I stated earlier, the article you linked describes many of the issues with this diagnosis.

I actually think the most important criticism is the effect it can have on adults and children with rare disorders and the mothers of children with rare disorders [3, 4*]. This article [3] by an advocacy group concerning people with rare disorders outlines how many of the "symptoms" of MBP are also common to mothers of children with yet undiagnosed rare diseases.

Assuming MBP in these cases would be detrimental to the children who do have some health issue and need to be diagnosed and treated. This, however, is something that doctors and social workers need to be aware of and account for in any consideration of possible abuse. It isn't something that applies to the (presumably healthy) adult children of abusers.

Per request, in terms of feminist concerns:

Work by the originator of the MBP diagnosis (Roy Meadow) was used to falsely convict innocent women. Once his work was discredited, those convictions were called into doubt. [5, 6]

Medical misogyny interacts with these issues outlined by me and the first article [1]. For example, the tendency to disbelieve women's reports of symptoms or to assume psychological over physical illness.

Prevalence comparisons usually fail to consider that women are more often the primary or sole caretaker of children.

A Master's Thesis [7] showed that, in a mock trial involving a MBP case, "jurors awarded more money to plaintiffs abused by female defendants than male defendants", suggesting they hold women more culpable of this form of abuse than men.

I hope this answers your questions and maybe alleviates some concerns!

References under the cut:

Pankratz, L. (2006). Persistent problems with the Munchausen syndrome by proxy label. Journal of the American Academy of Psychiatry and the Law Online, 34(1), 90-95.

“Factitious Disorder Imposed on Another (FDIA).” Cleveland Clinic, Cleveland Clinic, 2024, https://my.clevelandclinic.org/health/diseases/9834-factitious-disorder-imposed-on-another-fdia.

Gortze, J. (2015). Rare disease caretaker vs. Munchausen syndrome by proxy/medical child abuse perpetrator: a comparison of psychological profiles.

Eichner, M. (2022). When the Helping Hand Hurts: How Medical Child Abuse Charges Are Undermining Parents' Decision-Making Rights over Children's Medical Care. J. Am. Acad. Matrimonial Law., 35, 123.

Doward, Jamie, and social affairs editor. “Ministers Told Child Harm Theory Was Flawed.” The Observer, 25 Jan. 2004. The Guardian, https://www.theguardian.com/uk/2004/jan/25/childrensministry.highereducation.

Freeman, Simon. The Mistake That Cost Roy Meadow His Reputation. 17 Feb. 2006, https://www.thetimes.com/article/the-mistake-that-cost-roy-meadow-his-reputation-ksg83qpnsjv.

Hurst, D. R. (2005). Munchausen Syndrome by Proxy: Gender, Sexism, and Just World Beliefs as Predictors of Juror Decisions.

*I don't agree with everything in this paper, but the work they review is informative.

[woodchipp]

@siezult

Alright, so.

Why did Basil show up? Because this is a dramatic scene and the drama genre relies on inconveniences to make the situation worse for the characters and progress the plot. Yeah it is convenient, but thats kinda the point?

It's one thing when the situation is made worse via a believable circumstance that is, even if it's slightly improbable, is explained by the story itself. I can suspend my disbelief then. It is, however, very different when the situation is made worse via a random occurence that's not only highly improbable, but is left entirely unexplained. In the latter case, it's usually bad writing.

Contrived coincidences are not inherently a bad trope. Tropes are tools, after all. There's a reason said trope is mostly used in comedies, though - make a coincidence too contrived in any other genre, and the story intended to be serious will become farce instead.

If you want an in-universe reason, Basil’s parents arent there to drive him to the ceremony, so he decides to stay at sunny’s house the night before so they can take him there.

There is no proof of this in the game.

I wouldn’t say she “didn’t tolerate mistakes”

I never said that either.

I wouldn’t say its out of character for her to react that way because its perfectly human to react negatively when annoyed, especially when its about something she really cares about like her music. I think it shows more of her character that she isn’t perfect all the time and will sometimes have a bad side.

My point was that her 'bad side" is only relevant to the story when it's needed to give Sunny a reason to lash out at her. It has no bearing on her character otherwise. I've said as such in the post.

Finally, why are you insinuating that Sunny is this awful person?

Because I have proof he is.

Like, yes, his accident was awful, and he shouldn’t have lied to everyone, but at the same time, he was fucking 12. A mortified 12-year old scared shitless of what will happen to him after people find out about his manslaughter will obviously make dumb decisions; he clearly wasn’t thinking straight at the time and was just doing what he got told would “fix” the situation.

Honestly, I'm sick of this argument. I've seen it so many times it's not even funny at this point.

1) You're talking about Sunny as if you are defending a real kid. He is a fictional character whose decisions have been predetermined by an adult writer, and thus I will judge said decisions accordingly.

2) "He's 12" removes Sunny's agency as a character - by your logic and the logic of essentially everyone using this argument, he can't be held responsible for anything bad he ever does for the sole reason of being a stupid kid. A 12 yo may be immature, impulsive and inexperienced, but not necessarily stupid.

3) A "mortified" 12-year-old who "wasn't thinking straight at the time" would not feel "at peace" upon seeing his sister's hanged body.

If anything you should be mad at Basil for making the decision to lie and dragging Sunny in on it.

1) Basil wouldn't have needed to lie if it wasn't for Sunny fucking up in the first place lmao

2) It's true Basil created the lie, but it was Sunny who chose to uphold it.

I think being a depressed, suicidal, possibly anorexic shut-in for 4 years is quite a punishment.

An entirely internal and self-inflicted one, yes. My point was that he suffers no external consequences (e.g. his friends leaving him since they're pissed at him), and the canonical state of the group after the confession is left ambiguous.

I'm not going to feel bad for an asshole whose only remarkable trait is feeling bad for himself all the time without ever doing much.

it’s implied Sunny’s parents knew, and was the reasoning for his dad leaving.

Source that isn't a single contextless quote in Black Space 2?

If his parents actually knew the truth all along, they woukd've been a lot more relevant to the game's plot. As it is, it's more likely the father left because the suicide of his daughter destroyed the marriage.

him “conveniently skipping town” wasn’t his choice. He didn’t intend to avoid repercussions by moving

That's why the word "conveniently" is there - it's true it wasn't his choice to move, but it still reads as a convenient way for the story to let him off the hook.

him moving was the catalyst for the games events as its when sunny decides to tell his friends the truth and give them closure, meaning Sunny is well aware that his friends would likely hate him, but thinks it would be for the better for them to know.

1) Source?

2) This implies Sunny would've been perfectly content to continue upholding Basil's lie were it not for external circumstances forcing him to come clean.

3) Given that Sunny wants to come clean purely for his own peace of mind, this also implies Sunny doesn't decide to reveal the truth out of a genuine desire to make things right - he wants to do it just because he has a deadline and he needs to get his weight off his shoulders while he still has the time.

[witchofhimring]

Hi there. Thank you so much for taking the time to answer my last questions. And I completely understand if you choose not to answer some of them (for the safety of spoilers 🤫🔐🙊). I do have some observations and theories regarding our "dear friend🙄" Lady Cerilla 🐸, if that is alright. As we know, she has a deep hatred and rivalry towards Lady Lannister, and I feel she may even have a secret vendetta against her. Cerilla joined forces with Ellyn to inflict their torment and cruelty on our hero together. And even when our hero became Lady Lannister and Cerilla was put under her service, she never really bothered to display even a bit of respect befitting Lady L's station. Now, with my rant over, here are my theories and thoughts 💭🧐.

🌹🥀🌿🏵️🌷🌹🥀🌱🏵️🌷🌹🥀🌱🏵️🌹🥀🌱

Firstly, is it possible that Cerilla was the one who fabricated those rumours about Aemond and Lady L as I believe she was jealous of her? As we know, Lady Jenna placed Lady L in the Targaryen court to be her eyes and ears. Could Lady Jenna have sent Lady Cerilla for the same reason? Maybe even ordered Cerilla to get close to the royal family, be it getting into Queen Alicent good graces or to catch the eyes of the Princes? However, it was Lady L who grabbed their attention and developed the closest bonds with them. She was a close lady in waiting to Queen Alicent and had a very strong bond with Aemond and Jacerion.

Also, could Cerilla have harboured some resentment towards the royal family for not recognising her, as she may have felt that she was more superior in comparison to Lady Lannister🤔? I noticed and came to this observation at the end of Chapter 14, with how she mockingly informed Lady L of the status and fates Queen Alicent, and the Prince's deaths after the Dance.

Another theory that I have is, is it possible that Cerilla harboured feelings of love or affection towards the Princes? And would it be possible that Cerilla was aware of Jacerion's feelings towards Lady Lannister? This ties in to my belief that Cerilla felt threatened by Lady L, at how close and strong her feelings were towards Aemond at the beginning. She may have viewed herself as a more suitable match compared to Lady L, another reason for Cerilla's jealousy of our hero. This feeling of jealousy and being threatened could have pushed Cerilla to spread those rumours to not only ruin Lady L's reputation, but her relationship with Aemond. This speculation also ties into my belief of her supposed resentment towards the Princes at the end of Chapter 14, for not reciprocating her feelings.

💔🍼👶🌹🥀🍼👶🥀🌹🌷💔🍼👶🥀🌹🌷🙏

I'm after reading Chapter 14, as well as your teaser for Chapter 15. All I can say is that my heart is absolutely 💔BREAKING💔 for our hero. She has lost so many good people who were just wonderful, loving, supportive and looking out for her when she needed it. They are just being snatched away from her left, right and centre. And now that Eowyn is being ripped away from her, it is just shattering💔😢🖤💔, and at what seems to be Lady Lannister's lowest point. I'm so worried that Lady Jenna will continue to try to control and take charge of what Lady Lannister will do as she knows how 'Loyal' our girl is. Sending thoughts and prayers, praying that Eowyn will be alright and safe 🙏🍼. And that someone will come and save our girl from this cruel course that was thrust upon her. But alas, in the world of Westeros and in these games, no one is ever safe or gets a happy ending😢.

👑🗡️⚔️🐺🐉🦁🌹🐟🦌🦑☀️🗡️⚔️👑

I apologise for the long rant, but your writing in your latest chapter and teaser alone was so engaging and gripping, that I can't help but feel Lady L's hopelessness, fear, and distress at the situation she is in. Your writing just puts us straight into her shoes. Excellent work as per usual 👏👍✍️.

I hope these theories will be a good read and looking forwards to your response. Anxiously awaiting for the next chapter and sending thoughts and prayers for Lady L's and Lord Eowyn's safety🕯️🙏👑🌹🐉

It was my pleasure to respond to you questions!😊I am really excited that you have taken time out of your day to ready my book💕

There are lots of complex people in this story. Morally grey, those who dance between good and bad, and then there is Cerilla. Cerilla is not one of these people. She is downright bad. Cerilla’s dislike of Y/n is a darker reflection of the reader. The reader is loyal to the point of siding with people who are either bad and/or do not have her best interests at heart. Take for example her hatred of Rhaenyra. While Rhaenyra is flawed the reader wholeheartedly believes she is an evil person. She believes this because this is what she had been told. Reader is loyal to her side without considering other pov. Cerilla is a reflection of this.

Cerilla is the younger sister of Lady Jenna’s son. At one point it was though my the reader might marry him. But instead Cerilla’s older sister married him. At this point Cerilla is brought in and fostered by Lady Jenna. All those years Kady Jenna put the idea into her head that Y/n was bad. And so Cerilla allowed that to influence her. Cerilla is a darker twisted version of the reader.

You are right about Cerilla being brought in for the same reasons. Like Y/n she is an informer. Now you mentioned Cerilla possibly being jealous over the readers close attachment to the royal family. In thrush I had not considered that but given Cerilla’s character she probably was. She would have seen the reader as an opportunist that snuck her way into the royal family’s good graces. As the jealousy over the princes, this more has to do with Cerilla disliking the reader getting any positive attention.

Thank you so much for these questions, they really make my day! They have me considering aspects of my characters not thought of before. Chapter 15 will be out very soon( this week probably).

As to who will save the reader….well…. They are very Strong 👀

[milk-crafting]

Tagged by @turbulentpumpkin43 !! I'm doing this for my three main obsessions right now I'm so sorry 😭 blorbos below the cut, blorbo be upon ye

NAME: Valtiel Lupei NICKNAME: None yet (apart from knight commander) GENDER: Cis male STAR SIGN: The Stranger (Cosmic Caravan) HEIGHT: 6'2"/188 cm ORIENTATION: Straight NATIONALITY/ETHNICITY: Mendevian (Varisian)/Aasimar FAVORITE FRUIT: Persimmons FAVORITE SEASON: Winter FAVORITE FLOWER: Globe thistle FAVORITE SCENT: Woodsmoke, iron, old books COFFEE, TEA, OR HOT CHOCOLATE: Hot chocolate with a little bit of chili pepper or cinnamon added AVERAGE HOURS OF SLEEP: 5 on a good night DOGS OR CATS: Cats DREAM TRIP: Nidal lmao NUMBER OF BLANKETS: just a top sheet, no blankets unless absolutely necessary RANDOM FACT: He's deeply devout to Zon Kuthon, and views his faith as pain being a necessary aspect of life.  Consent comes first and he doesnt inflict pain on others unnecessarily and will direct it towards himself if no willing participants show up.  That, or, he will insist on being on the front lines in battle (as a warpriest) to make up for this.

NAME: Martel Morris NICKNAME: literally anything that @toffeetart 's boye Pim calls him GENDER: Cis male STAR SIGN: Aries HEIGHT: 6'0"/183 cm ORIENTATION: Bi NATIONALITY/ETHNICITY: American/white (toreador antitribu vampire tho) FAVORITE FRUIT: Oranges FAVORITE SEASON: Spring FAVORITE FLOWER: Cactus flowers FAVORITE SCENT: Rain, wet dirt, ozone, cut grass COFFEE, TEA, OR HOT CHOCOLATE: Black coffee, when he was human AVERAGE HOURS OF SLEEP: Varies, from dawn to dusk DOGS OR CATS: Dogs DREAM TRIP: Somewhere tropical tbh, he's never been outside of California I think 🤔 NUMBER OF BLANKETS: He would rather make sure his partner has enough blankets, and will go without if needed RANDOM FACT: He is a guard dog man and his partner is a magpie man

NAME: Ivallen Helvi'rret NICKNAME: Firstboy (more of a title) GENDER: Cis male STAR SIGN: whatever Faerûn's equivalent of Sagittarius is HEIGHT: 5'10"/178 cm ORIENTATION: Gay NATIONALITY/ETHNICITY: Drow, from Menzoberranzan FAVORITE FRUIT: Any sort of yellow apple FAVORITE SEASON: Summer FAVORITE FLOWER: Roses FAVORITE SCENT: Leather, cooking meat, brandy, citrus COFFEE, TEA, OR HOT CHOCOLATE: Hot chocolate AVERAGE HOURS OF SLEEP: 8 DOGS OR CATS: Cats DREAM TRIP: Saekolath (sp?) Or some other surface drow city NUMBER OF BLANKETS: As many as possible, usually 3 or 4 RANDOM FACT: After he becomes a vampire he hunts people for Astarion, and kind of goes out of his way to serve him. He doesn't let Astarion lift a finger when he thinks it's unnecessary.

[bigapollospectra]

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[sunny6677]

What A Downer.

[A Spooky Month Fanfiction about my oc]

Chapter 1: A Downer.

Summary: A 9 year old by the name of Zander struggles through life.

TWS: BULLYING, KIDS BEING ASSHOLES, DEPRESSION IMPLICATIONS, SELF WORTH ISSUES.

————

"Can anyone tell me how rain is made?"

That was the question that Zander's teacher asked as she stood at the front of the room, standing beside her desk with her hands gesturing toward the many children in the room.

Zander kept his head low, though his gaze was fixed upon the teacher who made it clear that she needed to be paid attention to. Otherwise, Zander wouldn't learn, and most of the other children wouldn't learn either.

Zander often didn't know how to answer questions such as the one his teacher had asked. He could spend days in bed pondering all of his endless thoughts, but never could he ponder questions that he usually never thought about.

If he were to guess how rain were made, he'd only assume that possibly it was just stuck inside of the clouds until it poured out. Or he'd only assumed that water left from rain gradually vanished over time due to the earth consuming it all, or possibly the hot blazing sun.

A child such as himself was never to be taken seriously. Even if he did give the correct answer, his teacher would give a condescending smile and would somehow find a way to say that he was wrong.

Zander internally bashed himself on the head for this thought though. His teacher wasn't some kind of super villain or something who hated his guts to the point of making him out to be wrong about everything. No one really was. If anything, he was just being petty.

A kid from beside him spoke up, "Maybe its.. uhh.. um.. uhhhh....". Another kid frantically waved their hand in the air, and smiled, saying, "Do people make it?!". "No, stupid! Obviously, people don't make it." A girl said from beside that kid, making the kids face soften with slight dread.

"If anything, if someone were to make it, It'd probably be Zander." The girl said, glaring I Zander for a moment, "It'd be no surprise if he were, considering how gross rain can be sometimes."

Zander furrowed his brows, his gaze becoming half-lidded with slightly restrained frustration. He was used to such words coming from his classmates. They all despised him so, though of course no one really liked him anyway. Zander merely rolled his eyes, for it was all he could really do. It wasn't really like the teacher would do anything anyway.

He caught himself muttering, "I don't make rain.."

The girl snapped her head back at him, "Really? But who else could be responsible for something so icky? You're the only icky one here, Zander. If rain were made by anyone, it'd probably be you."

"Icky?" Zander repeated, "..how can someone be icky?"

The girl opened her mouth to speak back at him in a more irritated manner, "Well, obviously—". The teacher quickly spoke up again. "Cynthia. Cynthia!". The girl quickly stopped speaking, and turned her head back towards the teacher. The teacher spoke up once more, "There we go. Thank you. Now, the way rain is actually made is—"

As the teacher spoke, Zander looked down at his hands. Him? Make rain? Icky? Honestly, he had no idea what Cynthia's line of thinking was, but she was probably right. Maybe he was responsible for every sort of trouble in the world. It wouldn't really be that much of a surprise.

Zander looked back up. He could see Cynthia's harsh gaze staring at him from where she was sitting. She was practically giving him a death glare.

Most likely, she was angry about him getting her scolded by the teacher. He didn't blame her. After all, she was trying to speak to him, and he got her interrupted by the teacher. The only thing Zander really could do was look down at his lap in the hopes that she'd stop staring at him. He didn't like it when people looked at him for too long.

Of course though, staring wouldn't be the only thing Cynthia would inflict upon him. He knew something more was coming.

But, there was nothing to be done. He just had to wait and see what it was.

————

School was over for the day. Zander didn't take the bus home, since his house was already close enough anyway. So he would be walking back to his house.

He had to admit, he was a little relieved. Like always, he'd be able to continue his usual routine of laying in bed for hours on end and doing absolutely nothing. It wasn't a meaningful routine, but what meaning did anything have anyway?

Zander heard the conversations of children from all around him. Excited shouting. Crying. Whining. All of it played out from around him like several broken records. Maybe everything in life was a broken record. Repeating, repeating and repeating until it eventually broke completely. Or until it was stopped. Maybe everything at this school was a broken record. Of course, those thoughts didn't exactly matter right now.

Zander began to walk slowly into the direction he'd always take whenever heading back home. A sidewalk which he could cross once he got to its end. He stood there for a moment, as if in thought. Then, he began to walk foward. He would feel a rare flicker of relief from inside him whenever the shouts of the children behind him would start to slowly fade into silence. Always, he felt relieved when there was silence.

Zander walked past the bus vehicles that stood still beside the sidewalk. He narrowly avoided being ran into by other children, and tried to at least avoid them in general. He could see several kids getting onto the vehicles, screaming and opening the windows just to say hi to nearby companions who rode a different bus than they did.

Zander kept his head dipped low at the ground, staring at the floor. Always, he kept his head low. It was a natural thing for him. Or it was at least natural to always avoid any sort of eye contact with other people.

His backpack felt a little heavier than usual. He paid it no mind, or at least tried not to. But he couldn't help but feel that there was something off.

Then, he felt two sensations run upon his back. The feeling of being pushed. He began to head toward the ground, the concrete slowly becoming closer and closer to his face. He let out a slight yelp, "Agh!". The ground kept getting closer, and closer. Somehow though, he was able to contort his head sideways. And finally, his body hit the ground.

Luckily, his face hadn't hit it. Even as searing pain entered his body, he was at least relieved his face didn't hit the concrete of all things. He let out a grunt of pain, a breath seething out from his teeth as he tried to hold back a scream. Zander barely opened his eyes. Whoever the perpetrator was, they were running away. But even as the sunlight made their silhouette appear dark, he could tell who it was.

It was Cynthia. She had pushed him to the ground.

He barely managed to get up. His little arms struggled, wavering and shaking as his hands ached with stinging pain. He could hear an older woman's voice from behind him slowly coming closer, asking whether or not if he was okay. "Zander! Are you alright?" The voice asked again. He could feel a hand slipping onto his body, and instead of pushing him, it brought him upward. Of course, it was just another teacher, nothing more.

"...yeah, I'm fine." Zander replied slowly.

"Are—are you sure? You—" The teacher stopped speaking. "..Zander, what is all this?"

Zander arched a brow in confusion. What was the teacher talking about? There was nothing that he had, was there? "What do you mean?" He asked softly. It was only then that he noticed what she was talking about.

Spilled out from his now open backpack was a bunch of junk. Rocks, papers, worn out food, wrappers. None of his supplies were actually there. His journals, his books, his pencils. All of them were gone. It immediately clicked what had happened. Most likely, this had been Cynthia's doing. Was that why his backpack felt so heavy all of the sudden?

Even so, as Zander stared at it with widened eyes, he tried to speak up. "..uhh.. I'm collecting trash?" He tried to lie. Cynthia would probably kill him if he even thought about explaining what actually happened. The teacher stared down at him, raising a brow. "Why would you be collecting trash?"

"...uhhh.. science?" Zander replied slowly in a deadpan and awkward tone. For a moment, there was silence. "Zander, you're not lying to me, are you?" The teacher inquired. Zander's heart sunk, though he should have expected this. He couldn't even lie right. He couldn't do anything right.

"N—No.. I'm not." Zander said, looking away. He then looked back at her.

It was clear that by the look on her face that she didn't believe him.

————

Zander hadn't gotten his stuff back yet, but the teacher did help him at least get all of the trash out of his backpack. But no matter how hard the teacher tried to pry into what actually happened, Zander wouldn't give her an actual answer. Sometimes, he'd mumble and other times he'd lie again. She didn't need to know. He couldn't let her know. If he let her know, then Cynthia would do something worse. And he'd just make things worse like always, because he was a downer. A failure even.

His backpack felt lighter now, and the sun blazed against his skin. The tendrils of his white swirly hair felt a bit warmer than it usually did. He had to admit, sometimes he thought he looked more like he was wearing a wig rather than it actually being how his hair looked. A kid in class had even joked that he looked like George Washington almost. He couldn't even look normal right, so technically, they werent exactly wrong.

None of the kids in his class were wrong about him, at least not in his eyes. He was a downer after all. A downer both to talk to, and to be around. If he was such a downer right now though, what did that mean for his future? Would he have any sort of future at all?

He stopped for a moment, thinking about his backpack. How light it felt, what Cynthia had done to it.

Zander paused.

...

He felt that he was going to cry.

///////////////////////

Don't worry, actual spooky month characters will show up soon. This chapter was just to introduce Zander as a character and shiz.

[more-than-a-princess]

Yaguchi's touch might have been gentle, but that didn't stop Sonia's surprise at the gesture. She flinched, jerking her shoulder away as if touching her would inflict upon the other woman the same plague of vivid dreams. Or memories. Or nightmares. Whatever it was, it was all too frightening. But looking into Yaguchi's face, Sonia felt a tinge of regret. She just didn't know that she became jumpy when touched. All of her friends did, it seemed, after the simulation: whether it was a leftover reaction from the virtual killing game or being a Remnant, touching and being touched with little in the way of consent and everything in the name of pain and control, it wasn't wise to do so without asking.

"N-no," She mumbled. In light of her knee-jerk reaction, she'd have to use her words to get her point across. Not that Yaguchi seemed like the fussing over type, but she had a feeling she wouldn't leave it alone if Sonia tried to say it was nothing. And without power in the still-pouring rain, there wasn't much opportunity to grant them any further distance than the small space Sonia's cabin allowed. "I am not all right, but there is nothing I need."

Nothing that the woman could give her, anyway: her parents still alive, her country blissfully unaware of what The Tragedy looked like. They'd remained neutral in wars for centuries and yet, due to her own part in it, Novoselic had been ravaged by war. Even if The Tragedy couldn't be avoided, she wished her nation could have been spared from the worst of it all. That wasn't something Yaguchi could give her: she'd rather suffer nightmares every night for the rest of her life, whatever she had left of it, if her country only knew peace and her family remained whole. Broken in spirit and vows and all manner of things, but whole and living. She'd take that now, rather than the reality she had.

"It is not something you can help, or help me understand," She further elaborated, her chin resting on her bent knees. Against the mattress, the scar on the bottom of her foot throbbed but it paled in comparison to her head and heart, and the amount of jumbled thoughts and feelings and memories she wasn't entirely sure were memories, or simply dreams she had no business fabricating. "Usually, when I dream, I am recounting times of The Tragedy. Things I do not want to remember, things that are-"

Horrible? Awful? Atrocious? Sickening? Inhumane? Or every possible descriptor Junko had in mind for Despair, The Tragedy, and her Remnants that had done it all for her. Like dominoes: she tipped one forward, the slaughter of Chiaki Nanami, and all of Class 77-B had fallen at her feet as a result.

"-Unpleasant," She decided, but from the way the syllables broke from her voice, dry and downhearted, she meant something far more intense. "Or, from times at home, before I left for Japan. Mostly happy, some revealing that a royal life is not entirely gilded and smelling of roses. But this...this was different."

She paused, wondering how best to phrase this to someone who, in all likelihood, would assume that her descriptors were rather on par with what Sonia's idealized life would be. And how much it was an anomaly instead. "I...was at a party, a ball," She began, steeling her nerves for what she expected to be a nonplussed reaction. "It was not at home, or any home of any aristocrat I knew. It was like a museum, but I have never attended such a party at a museum, not with artifacts on display, so many Japanese antiques, and dancing. I wore a dress so horrid I doubt it was chosen for me and everyone I spoke to would not speak to me. It was pouring rain and it felt real, as real as the nightmares with so much blood and guts and begging and screams but..."

She trailed off for a moment. Yes, this sounded exactly like a page out of a royal intrigue, the sorts of novels some people gobbled up like chocolates to fantasize about a life far removed of their own, one they craved to be a part of, a society and wealth and tradition they could only imagine in the pages of a book or on a screen. The sort of life that she, as the former Ultimate Princess, must have had. Did she?

Did she?

"The music felt real. The rain felt real. The dark terrace in the storm outside of the ballroom felt real but I cannot place it." She emphasized the important point with a steadier tone, though her eyes still filled with panic and fear. "I do not remember it. I cannot discern if it was a dream, all of those Japanese artifacts on the fringes of a ballroom floor and a storm and people who never looked at me and refused to speak to me. And that...that frightens me. That there are whole sections of my life that does not even involve despair that I cannot recall! God, did the Future Foundation not properly test the limits of the Neo World Program and what it might do to anyone who undertook it?! What else besides The Tragedy did the Neo World Program TAKE from us!?"

In the storm, the surrounding cabins couldn't hear Sonia wail and shout. And there was no reason to maintain some sort of decorum in front of Yaguchi: she'd seen her in her own filth, bleeding and so intoxicated she couldn't stand on her own. So Sonia cried, into her bent knees and soaking the pants of her pastel flannel pajamas. "I cannot trust...anything in my own head anymore..." She whimpered in-between sobs. "I think I am insane."

They didn't sleep easily. Another side effect, in a sea of side effects, of her habitual abuse of various stimulants and steroids over the years. Her body had long been trained to sleep lightly - to be ready to move at a moment's notice, with as little disorientation as possible. It was rare, then, for her to sleep deeply and soundly on her own. For a while, Seiko had provided her with various sleeping aids that wouldn't interact poorly with her drugs - some pills here, a syrupy tonic there - but they, like everything else, had been cut off as part of her detoxification.

Even then, she should have realized that something was wrong with her - that her treatments were causing side effects that required more medication, that themselves caused side effects. But, Shinobu Yaguchi had been too focused on things, then, avenging Anzu, seizing victory, helping the remnants, finding the nebulous hope that people like Makoto Naegi always spoke so fondly of. By the time everything caught up with her, it had already been too late. Then again, wasn't that how these things always went?

In bed, they waited until they were sure Sonia was asleep, then carefully stood up. Perhaps if the wind had slowed, she could sit on the doorstep and smoke a cigarette, or even just sit in the kitchen with a window slightly cracked to blow smoke out. Whatever plan she'd choose for herself, though, was swiftly interrupted by the intrusion of one Anzu Tachibana. "It's a lot harder to ignore me when it's just the two of us, huh, Shinobu-chan? No movies, no food, no pet project sob story bitch."

"Leave me alone." From the sound of rainfall against the roof, loud and constant, the storm hadn't let up. Even cracking a window would just cause trouble for Sonia, sleeping in her bed, so Shinobu supposed a cigarette was out of the question. "I'm not going to, Shinobu-chan. You know that. I'm never going to leave you alone." Suddenly, she was there, lingering in the doorway to the kitchen. The collar of her sweater was soaked through with blood, dripping steadily down from an open wound at her neck, while her feeble, shaking hands impotently pressed over all the places where the fabric was torn. Stains of red bloomed slowly out, like polka dots, slipping through Anzu's fingertips and dribbling onto the floor of the cabin.

"Did you forget?" It took all of Shinobu's resolve, the combat training that had steeled her nerves and suppressed the instinct to panic or run, not to stumble backwards as her breathing hitched in her chest, irregular and shallow. "I know your brain's all fucked up now, Shinobu-chan, but you still remember this much, don't you? What they did to me?" The scent of metal and smoke and sweat, accompanied by the distant sounds of gunfire and screams. Smog had surrounded the highest buildings in the city - those that were still standing, at least - and the sky had looked an otherworldly orange. No one could forget something like that, nor what had followed. No one.

The blood that was leaking into the cracks in the wood of the cabin floor was not real. Another hallucination, just one of many. And yet, they could scent it, stale and rotting, as though it had flooded the space beneath the floorboards and been forgotten. A shiver spread through her legs, before her knees buckled, leaving her on the ground looking up at the specter of Anzu Tachibana, her bloodied fingers pressing tightly at either side of her face. It felt wet. "You're sorry, Shinobu-chan. I know. I know you are. You're so sorry. You're sorry about me, and you're sorry about Seiko-chan, and you're sorry about all those girls, and what you did to Sonia-chan back when she was normal."

She had bent down to meet Shinobu at eye level, the blood from her neck pooling in their lap. "And yet you don't change. You just keep making the same mistakes. How am I supposed to take that, huh, Shinobu-chan? How am I supposed to take that!?" It was a hallucination, her diseased mind's worst impulses exacerbated by chemical withdrawals, self-flagellation disguised as her best friend's fury. That was all it was. And yet, there was something demonic about Anzu Tachibana, soaking through her sweater, knuckles white as she squeezed Shinobu's face, her amber eyes cloudy with betrayal and rage. If she tore Shinobu apart right there, could anyone blame her? She wouldn't.

"Just die! Just die already! Spare yourself this pain, and spare me this shitty performance! I'm sick of this character who never learns anything and just meanders about." Her own hands flat against the floorboards the only thing keeping her upright, Shinobu couldn't even form words in her mind. What was there to say? "And stop acting all self-righteous about that sleeping beauty. Earth to Shinobu-chan, she's not gonna fuck you! You work for the organization that is treating her like shit, and you ruined everything for her with Togami. She probably despises you! And you should despise her, too! Are you just so hard for her that you don't care about any of that, you stupid fucking lesbian?"

Sonia. Sonia. The thought of her was an arrow through the glass, shattering it, jolting her, at least somewhat, out of her delusions. "She needs me. Just for a little while." "Oh my god, she doesn't need you! I don't know what the hell happened to you, Shinobu-chan, that gave you this ugly savior complex, but it's not a cute look! It's pathetic!" The blood was disappearing from the floor, and the oppressive air had vanished, leaving only a dying dead girl holding her face. "They say put on your own oxygen mask first before helping someone else, but you're already drowning, Shinobu-chan. You're not gonna help her, and you're not gonna help yourself. You're just gonna make yourself even more miserable until you decide it's time to come be with me."

And then she was gone. The smell, the blood, the indents on Shinobu's face where Anzu's nails had dug in. All gone, as if they'd never been there at all. Shinobu put a hand upon her chest as she closed her eyes, trying to steady her erratic breathing, trying to calm herself. They thought about Sonia Nevermind - her strength, her weakness, her bitterness cut with an underlying compassion that was, nevertheless only for others, not for herself. When she laid in bed and watched a movie, or leafed through the pages of a book, eager to see what came next, wasn't she the same as anyone else? Didn't she, like everyone, deserve someone who believed in her, and who cared about her?

It was a grounding thought, as Shinobu picked herself up from the floor, wiping sweat from her face and checking that there were no bloodstains marked upon her cheeks - just in case. As long as Sonia needed their help, then they had every reason to resist the pull of their hallucinations and intrusive thoughts. Her wellbeing and happiness were things to focus on, to put first. The hope of a cigarette forgotten, she shambled back into the bed, tucking herself in and hoping to find something resembling restful sleep, to put the events of the night's end behind her.

Unfortunately for Shinobu, whatever sleep she found was short-lived. Attuned as her body was to disturbances, when Sonia awoke, Shinobu wasn't far behind. She looked troubled, in so far as Shinobu could see her in the dark, hugging her knees and trembling. On instinct, Shinobu rested her hand upon Sonia's shoulder, both gentle and lightly protective of her. "Miss Nevermind, are you alright?" Of course she wasn't - Shinobu could only imagine the sort of dream she might have woken from. They were sure the concern showed upon their face, on their lips, in their red eyes permanently haunted. "Do you need anything?"

[has-gilgamesh-doneanythingwrong]

I adore 💓 Astolfo 💓 Can you do some sfw and nsfw hc's of best rider class servant ?

Hello anon, thanks for the request (ASTOLFO IS THE COOLEST) and for waiting for so long. Sadly, this request is very vague so I am going to stick to the basics about Astolfo for this one. I can only write in detail if I am given a concept. Also for the NSFW, I will try to focus more on their personality so it won't be that explicit (?)

Lol this is my first time writing Astolfo as well, so I hope it's ok.

Astolfo General Headcanons (SFW AND NSFW)

Warning: Some implied 18+ content in the NSFW section (but not detailed). I am tagging it as 'LEMON FANFIC'.

Also the master parts are a gender neutral master, and Astolfo has (they/them) pronouns in these headcanons.

SFW

💓 Astolfo may not seem like the strongest or the most powerful servant to many, making them a very underutilized and underappreciated character. However, what they don't have in stats, they make up for in HEART.

💓 Astolfo has the sheer power of will to do anything they set their heart to, and if they like their master; you bet that they will go above and beyond, pushing past all limits! (to the moon)

💓 Though they seem very whimsical and illogical in their actions and movements, Astolfo is a very popular character amongst all in Chaldea. They're easy to talk to (though they may take the conversation in completely unprecedented directions), they do as they desire, and they express themselves completely sincerely. Though they may accidentally inflict some chaos at times, every day in Chaldea is an adventure thanks to them.

💓 You may catch Astolfo and Roland roaming naked around the halls of Chaldea sometimes. Please don't ask why.

💓 It can be fun as well to join the group of Paladins congregating amongst Chaldea for tea, or for any unexpected adventures as well! Though they make for an off-kilter bunch, they are good company to have.

💓 Astolfo loves hanging out with Chevalier D'Eon pretty often! They like to take many selfies with her, scrapbooking them into a little collection of photos to treasure their memories of Chaldea and all the people they've met.

💓 However, this does not mean they are to be underestimated either. Thanks to not possessing common sense, they have insight into things that others would usually overlook; and can be a great person to talk to because of that. There are times in which Astolfo can take on a much more serious hue than the impression that their outer self may give off. From such a lack of common sense could possibly be a fountain of wisdom... or maybe not? Who knows. Astolfo is an enigma, that's for sure.

💓 If the master has any struggles with their identity or with being themselves, Astolfo will support them WHOLEHEARTEDLY with their journey of self-discovery. Feel embarrassed about yourself? Astolfo won't mind. Struggling to affirm yourself? Astolfo gets it! They had times like that when they used to posses common sense as well. Once Astolfo is your ally, they will support you for as long as they possibly can.

💓 They may be a bit absent-minded or drift away sometimes, but they can be very sincere if the time calls for it as well.

💓 Flights upon Hippogriff by Astolfo's side can be an exhilarating and fun way to pass time, or trying on clothes together, or admiring nature, or doing something active, or more relaxed... Astolfo is not very picky with what they like to do; as long as it's fun.

NSFW (L E M O N)

🍋 Now, Astolfo is famous in their many legends for their powerful libido and incredibly vivacious spirit. In other words, they enjoy sex. And they are very good at it, too.

🍋 They are a very attentive lover, wishing to fulfil their lover's needs, touching upon the spots that their partner likes the best; and helping teach their partner on where they like to be touched, as well.

🍋 I believe that Astolfo will be very non-judgmental, supportive and gentle within the bedroom. It will likely be a heady night, but also one that is soothing and fun, as well.

🍋 They have boundless energy, so be prepared to go on for many rounds. Or hours, or maybe even nights in a row. Good luck, you're going to need it when handling Astolfo's stamina.

🍋 As for positions, locations and dynamics, Astolfo seems like a very free-spirited individual, so I don't think they will be particularly fussed about it. They're just here to have a good time with you, and explore the crevices of your body; driving you to the edge with their consistent and caring affection. Whether it's outdoors, indoors, whatever... they are fully up for it.

🍋 They will likely not be the sort to get flustered or surprised. This is a domain that Astolfo is extremely comfortable within, and you bet that they'll be able to make you feel comfy too. There's no shame when having sex with Astolfo, so feel free to let loose and liberate yourself alongside them!

🍋 However, partners who disrespect Astolfo's boundaries and try to use them to exert sexual superiority; or those who focus solely on taking pleasure from them instead of sharing it and delighting upon pleasure together... well, Astolfo definitely won't entertain those sorts of people at all. They're so grateful that you're not like that, glad to have you by their side.

[ddarker-dreams]

Out With the Old. Yan Childe x Reader [COMM]

Warnings: Brief mentions of injury and blood, typical yandere undertones. Word count: 3.2k. Notes: i absolutely loved writing this!! i never realized how badly i needed a yandere childe that’s so obviously whipped for his darling. :’))

i.

“Dearest [First],

I can only imagine the look that must be on your face as you read this. Don’t be too harsh on me for saying so, but I promise not a day goes by where I haven’t thought of you. Now stop scowling at the letter, it won’t do any good, after all; it’s just a piece of paper. I’d hate to come back home to see that you’ve aged from all that frowning at parchment.

Somedays I wake and fail to notice I’m in Inazuma instead of Snezhnaya. The scenery has its differences, of course, but it’s only when I realize I can’t see you that it truly sinks in. Writing this, I realize your judgment about my honesty only appearing in written form rather than in person is true. You’ve always had a penchant for keeping me in line, haven’t you?

Not that I can blame you.

You’ll be relieved to hear that the reason for my being here turned out to be a simple misunderstanding. There’s no grand coup d'état waiting to unfold amongst the lower ranks, so, unfortunately for me, it turned out to be a waste of time. On the bright side, that means I’ll get to come back home all the faster.

Tonia tells me that you’re doing well and I’m glad to hear it. I know your parents aren’t that fond of me, which is a smart call all things considered, but I hope they’re both in good health. Let me know if they need any help with their shop and I’ll see what I can do. Just don’t let them know it was from me, or they might blow a gasket.

When I come home, I wonder if I’ll see your face among the crowd on the pier this time.

At the very least… consider not discarding this letter like the others. Really, I can’t tell who is more stubborn, me or you.

-Yours eternally, Tartaglia”

This is the first letter of his that you’ve bothered reading in some time, as he made a point of mentioning. It’s difficult to identify the exact feelings his handwriting and characteristic word choice inflicts upon you, ranging from relief to exasperation. He has some audacity, refusing to see you in person for months on end, only to carry on as if nothing happened between you.

With the letter in hand, your mind wanders back, hoping to find some hints of where it all went wrong.

You remember the words said to you on that late, fateful winter evening. The confident timbre of his voice then still resonates in your head at random, never muffling despite the years that have passed, ringing as clearly as a bell. Does he ever think about it? It’s hard to say.

“One day,” Ajax, or Tartaglia as he claimed his new identity to be, had told you, “I’m going to conquer this world.”

His breath materialized in front of him as white, vaporous wisps. There’s something about that particularly frigid season that felt like magic, more so than the Cryo Vision wrapped snug around your neck. You bit back a scathing remark and instead focused your energy elsewhere. Your gloved hand raised and hovered just above his split lip, a prominent frown etched onto your face at the fresh wound. Likely the first of many to come, you lamented.

Your Vision pulsated with life and light blue shone through at your command. The tender, bruised flesh on his lip began to close, before it faded away altogether. Tartaglia raised his hand to gently touch where it had been, now nothing but a faint memory.

With that out of the way, you placed your hands onto your hips and gave him a stern look. “I wish you’d stop saying things like that. It’s going to get you into trouble one day.”

He laughed and waved off your concern.

“If only. Things have been so dull lately, I wouldn’t mind stirring up a little trouble.” Tartaglia hummed, much to your displeasure. It was no secret in your quaint hometown of Morepesok that this boy had been spiraling down a dangerous path. Your parents said as much and even encouraged you to break off ties with him. This just won’t do, you thought.

“Ouch!”

You flicked his forehead and offered up your most intimidating glare. “So you are capable of feeling pain, huh? Good. If it keeps you out of fights, then I won’t heal you anymore.”

Tartaglia rubbed the spot and smiled sheepishly.

“You say that, but I’m sure you’d change your mind if I came to you all bloodied and battered. You’re just that kind of person.” When he paused to reflect, you raised an eyebrow and challenged him.

“Now what’s this? I’m what kind of person, Ajax?” You pinched his cheek, much to his vocal displeasure, mischief gleaming in your eyes. “Say it loud and clear this time.”

“The kind that always looks out for others, even those who don’t deserve it.”

Your arms fell limp by your side. At that moment, your heart twisted in a way it never had before. It could only compare to how it felt when Ajax had stumbled back home after missing for three, long days. You weren’t sure if you had heard him right — his eyes widened as did yours like he felt equally surprised — and he rushed to save himself. The flush that dusted over his face was most certainly not from the cold weather.

Tartaglia shot up and made way for the door at a record speed. “I told my old man that I’d be home before dark. He already worries about me enough as is, so... I’ll be on my way. See ya around.”

Your rebuttal was slow as your tongue felt frozen. Tartaglia waved to you over his shoulder and took off, leaving you to wallow in your muddled thoughts. What exactly had he meant by that? Why did his gaze soften and his usually boisterous voice drop in volume?

Questions flooded your mind, questions that wouldn’t be answered for years to come.

ii.

You’ve always found this area of Morepesok to be serene. There’s no buzz of the community gathering, chattering about the latest gossip and notable news, no vendors vying for people passing by to purchase their fresh early morning catch. The surroundings are nothing but peaceful, and most importantly, silent. In the summer, there’d only have been the sound of the rushing rivers that are now frozen over and humming insects.

Twigs and dry leaves crunch behind the tree stump you’re hanging out at, signaling an approaching figure.

“I thought I might find you here.”

Tartaglia sits down next to you, blades of grass rustling against him as he did so. You don’t bother to look up, instead feigning interest in your fingernails, staring at them intently. Anywhere other than his face, which most likely than not would be boasting his trademark grin. Seeing the fake expression that he plasters on daily would only add fuel to the fire that rages inside.

Your lips part after an uncomfortable silence settles in, the atmosphere growing tenser by the second. “So you’re a Harbinger now, huh?”

“You don’t look impressed like everyone else,” He notes, his language notably more tentative than usual. It strikes through your heart, piercing flesh and blood, your fingers curling painfully tight. If he notices, he decides not to comment. Tartaglia gives you the time to process your overwhelming thoughts as if it’d make any of this easier on you.

“How could I possibly be happy about that?” You snap your head, catching how he’s momentarily caught off guard before it’s covered up just as fast. “This… this is going to be the death of you, Ajax. And Archons, the worst part is, I know me saying that won’t matter in the slightest. That death would just be the result of a fulfilling fight to you.”

Your breathing grows erratic, to the point you’re forced to stop speaking to regain yourself. He doesn’t dare utter a single word — uncharacteristically silent — watching your every movement with calculating precision. It’s taking all your strength to keep yourself together, not wanting to come undone in front of him, feeling weak just for showing this much. This is why you were hoping to avoid him, but figures he’d go out of to seek you out.

“And if I don’t die? Would that make a difference in how you feel?” He challenges, tilting his head, voice dipping in volume. “You can be honest with me, [First]. It’s not just that you’re upset about. No, there’s something else.”

He knows you too well and it’s beyond frustrating. Your body language might be difficult for others to read, but not Tartaglia, who picks up on every little nuance with ease.

Your lower lip trembles. “I hate that this is what you’ve become.”

“So that’s it then,” Tartaglia nods his head, once, coming to terms with it as soon as the words left your lips; like he already knew it all along. “I figured as much, but to hear you say it… haven’t you heard of mincing your words before?”

Hugging your knees to your chest, you internally plead with yourself not to let the nonchalant words get to you. It’s his way of dealing with strife to act unbothered, you know this, and still, it strikes deep. What if this isn’t a façade, but who he really is now? That boy you knew and grew up with — Ajax, your dearest friend — he may be physically sitting next to you, but his soul is gone. Whatever happened in those hellish three days changed him forever. Now his flesh and bones are nothing but a vessel urged on by bloodlust.

How ironic, you think. That your Vision lets you heal physical wounds, but not the unseen kind, which runs deeper than any gash could hope to. Maybe you were a fool for thinking you could fix him, revert him to how he used to be like nothing ever happened. Or maybe he let you try just to earn more time together for whatever twisted reason. Knowing that once reality settles in, you’ll go someplace far out of his reach, where he can never get you back. Sitting here, you realize that it won’t just be you losing him. He’ll also be losing you.

Is that why he is sticking around? To prolong the inevitable?

“When I look into your eyes,” you clear your tightening throat, not willing to let yourself cry. “There’s… there’s no light, no humanity, and you know it. That has to be why you chase all those stupid fights, all so that you can feel alive again.”

Tartaglia allows you the room to ramble without interruption, your venomous feelings that have long festered gushing out. When you work up the courage to look up, you find Tartaglia frowning, staring far off but at nothing in particular. So even he can sometimes be rendered to a loss for words, huh?

He sucks in a deep breath through his nose, the chilly air invading his lungs. “You’re wrong about one thing.”

Another cautious pause. He’s giving this a lot of thought.

“My fighting is not for the sole sake of the adrenaline rush, as enjoyable as that is,” he scratches the back of his neck and forces a laugh. “It’s so that I can get stronger. I told you, didn’t I? That I intend on conquering the world. To do that, I need to be the strongest, or else I can’t fulfill my promise.”

Your lips part, eyebrows furrowing together in irritation, but he places a finger to your lips before you can tear into him. The leather feels cool against your skin, and it’s just now that you realize how close he is to you. Having been so absorbed in your emotions, you failed to notice his stealthy movements, the two of you now shoulder to shoulder. Your heart thrums, reminiscent of that day ages ago.

“When the entire world lays defeated at my feet, what I want is to have you by my side. Until that dream of mine comes true, I’m afraid I’ll have to continue making you sad, but know that it’s for a reason.”

Tartaglia pulls his hand back, his finger lingering just a second over your bottom lip, finally allowing you to speak your piece.

You’re drawn like a moth to a flame to his lifeless eyes, which have seen more bloodshed in the past few months than you could ever fathom. Murmuring, you find it within yourself to respond, albeit so quietly he has to cant forward to hear. “If you accomplish just that… who’s to say I’d want to be by your side? The side of a killer?”

“Hm? Did I ever say you had a choice in the matter?” Tartaglia returns your inquiry with a bold one of his own, one that sends you recoiling in astonishment. He lets the words settle like fresh snow on the ground before laughing them off. You cross your arms over your chest, making your displeasure over his comment evident.

“Please, I’m kidding! Don’t look at me like that,” he puts his hands up in mock defense. “Ah, it’s suddenly feeling colder than usual. You’re doing that on purpose, aren’t you? I never thought that humble [First], the child of the town’s apothecary at that, would be so bold as to freeze me to death.”

Your nose wrinkles up and you hold back a laugh, swatting at his shoulder. “Yeah, right. Like I could ever stand a chance against you in battle.”

“You might be surprised! I could make a warrior out of you yet. Think about it, Her Royal Highness the Tsaritsa saw fit to bestow a Vision upon you, didn’t she?” He accents his words by pointing to your neck, where you prefer to keep your Vision. Subconsciously, your hand raises, delicately touching the icy gem.

“I’m not like you,” you shake your head at his jest. “Hurting others is the last thing I’d ever want to do, trust me.”

He hums, your words taking him back, memories flashing in his mind. “I know, that’s why I’ve always done it in your stead.”

“Whoever would’ve thought fending off bored kids with a wooden sword would escalate into you climbing the ranks of the Fatui.” Had it not been for the final part of the sentence, you would’ve found it endearing to reminiscence back to your early childhood together. Still, the frost around your heart melts at the sweet memory, despite your attempts to keep it hardened. This goes to show how much I cherished it, you muse.

Lips curling into a smile, you take him by surprise and lay your head onto his shoulder. His muscles go tense, body unresponsive to the affection you used to bestow upon him in heaps. It’d been so long that he forgot the warmth you radiate like you were the sun incarnate. He had once commented that he expected a Cryo user to be cold, only to be delightfully surprised by how warm you were.

“Maybe I was always terrible, and you just didn’t notice?” He proposes, to which you snort.

“That most certainly is not the case. I’m a better judge of character than that.” You scoff at the mere idea. No, little Ajax had been nothing but a darling, there’s no doubting it. Wherever you’d go, he’d follow as if his life depended on it. There was hardly ever a time where the two of you wouldn’t be seen paired together.

“You’ll get no argument out of me there,” Tartaglia rests his head on top of yours like he used to. The circumstances have undoubtedly changed, but it’s nice to feign ignorance for a few minutes. “Say, you remember when we used to sneak off and meet here, right?”

“How could I forget?”

Tartaglia nods his head in agreement. “I was always dragging you into trouble, even then. I’m not one to dwell on the past, but I guess it’s hard not to when we’re here.”

Now that he mentions it, it wasn’t an immediate shift into his now unhinged personality; like all things, it began as a gradual descent. You should’ve noticed something was awry with how frequently he’d come to you, boasting injuries of all sorts. Each was accompanied by a rehearsed explanation as not to alarm you. Unfortunately for him, in a small town such as this, word travels quickly. It was inevitable that you’d find out the bitter truth behind his wounds.

Maybe you always knew but didn’t want to face reality.

“There was this one time in particular that always stuck out to me,” he closes his eyes, reflecting. “When I said I intended to marry you when we got older, or whenever you’d have me.”

You’re amazed at how Tartaglia recounts it without so much as stuttering, the humiliating memory sending your head spinning. There were so many memories he could’ve mentioned and that’s the one he decides to go with? You’re certain he’s messing with you at this point.

“I-I thought we swore never to mention that again!” You exclaim, blood rushing to your cheeks.

He blinks when you abruptly lift your head and shrugs off your concern. “I don’t remember ever agreeing to that. It was you who kept insisting to take a vow of silence on it, for whatever reason. Personally, I find it cute, you were so eager to accept my proposal then.” 

You sigh, running a hand through your hair. This irksome teasing quality had reared its head alongside his other new shortcomings. The best way to deal with it, you’ve learned, is to keep the conversation going. Dwelling on it for too long never ends well.

“So, Liyue, huh?” You recall the gossip from the marketplace earlier. Some locals were fussing over the news that the Fatui’s latest Harbinger, Tartaglia, would be sent abroad for more work. There were murmurs of excitement over how a child from this seaside town managed to make it so far up the ranks. And to think they used to bemoan Ajax’s violent streak, you remember. Now that it’s beneficial to them, they sure have changed their tune.

“I wonder what it’ll be like,” he muses. “Anthon seems to think the people there eat rocks, for whatever reason.”

“Kids always say the craziest things unprompted.”

He seems agreeable to that statement. Neither of you utters another word for some time, instead thinking of both the past and the future. It’s not a comfortable position to remain seated in, yet neither you nor he complains about it. For a few brief, glorious seconds, everything almost seems normal again.

“Hey, [First].”

You hum in response. Tartaglia’s Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows thickly, his eyebrows knitting together in contemplation. In the silence that follows, you swear you hear a sound akin to electricity crackling, the hairs on the back of your neck standing from the drastic shift in atmosphere.

“I meant what I said. Someday, you will be by my side. I don’t care what it takes, I’ll make it happen; even if you come to hate me.”

“Because once you make a promise… you keep it.”

And he intended to do just that.

[tokoyamisstuff]

Tender Ch. 1 - Loki x Mute! Reader

Summary: Even though Loki doesn’t understand why the new member of the Avengers should be kind to him of all people, he doesn’t want you to stop either.

Warnings: Loki being depressed, the Avengers being kinda mean, mentions of Torture and Death

Words: ~2100

[Story Masterlist] [All of my Works]

All eyes were on him again.

As soon as Loki would step inside, the previously lively room would fall completely silent. Well, it’s not like he wasn’t used to being the involuntary kill-joy...

Usually, the God of Mischief craved attention, may it be positive or negative - most of the time being the latter. But lately, after months of having all those distrustful and hostile glares piercing holes into him, he’d rather wish for the ground to swallow him whole.

“Umm, so...I gotta go.” Natasha was the first one to flee the unpleasant atmosphere, not even putting the energy into mutter anything else than a cheap excuse on her way out. Clint wordlessly followed her close after, but not without shooting the Odinson one last, spiteful look.

Loki on the other hand was picking on his hands, a nervous habit he had inherited from his mother. As much as he tried to avoid meeting their eyes, the tensioned aura they were emitting making him feel close to breaking down completely - but he would never give them the satisfaction to witness this, he swore to himself.

And yet: Maybe he should just leave. Disappear, forever.

Although he’d never admit, Loki had grown very tired of his life following this stirr path, unable to diverge into a new direction. Everything he did would ultimately bring death and destruction upon mankind, inflicting fear in the hearts of all people.

His whole existence was based on being condemned to fail - just for others to reach their ‘glorius purpose’.

“Great” Tony scoffed. “Now they’re gone. Well done, prince of nothing.” Steve cut his friend off, clearing his throat very exaggeratedly.

The god still hadn’t moved from the doorframe of the conference room, while all others were already sitting on the oval-shaped table. He didn’t got what all that fuss was about. If Steve didn’t insist him to attend this emergency meeting, he’d just have gone about his usual business and avoided everyone as good as he could.

“C’mon, brother” Thor sighed, well knowing that if his brother was to stay in the team, it would ultimatively drive a wedge between them. All that pressure in the air was straining for everyone, including himself. 

Tony on the other hand was pretty chill about everything, aside of being passive-aggressive. This was probably due to their similar coping styles.

Even though his near-death-experience back when he stopped the Chitauri was still eating on his mental health, he’d prefer glossing over it with stupid jokes and overly confident behaviour. “No sassy remark today, Reindeer Games?”

Stark was leaning back in his chair, arms crossed as he rose an eyebrow on the god, who only muttered a hoarse “No...not today.”

Yeah, it was kind of his style to break the unsettling silence through puny comments or self-glorifying speeches, to distract from his own insecurity.

But right now, he was just so damn tired.

Of this planet and it’s people, as well as the humiliating circumstances he had to dwell in. The fact that he was a prisoner at the Stark Tower, amongst his worst enemies. Being forced by his brother to keep up this meaningless act, as if he’d ever be seen as a team member or ally - when in reality, he was but a slave to the people he once ought to reign.

Just like back on Asgard: Never one of them, never belonging. No way to break free - for his true self was something to be loathed.

However, first and foremost the one thing he was especially tired of was himself, for he couldn’t get out of his own skin. Not only could he never be considered a hero, let alone be redeemed.

After all the atrocities he had commited due to Thanos’ torture and the tesseract’s influence,  now that he woke up from that naive dream of power stilling the emptiness in his dark heart, there was nothing left for him - other than to be haunted by his crimes until the mercy of death would overcome him.

“Well” Steve began, slamming his palms on the desk to attract everyone’s attention. “As you all know, we are welcoming a new team member today.”

“They all know?” Of course they wouldn’t let him in on such sensitive information. Not that he minded either way - one Avenger more or less, it didn’t matter how many people hated him in here.

“Please, come on in.”

Loki cleared the entrance when he heared Tony’s words, turning around in anticipation of another dull creature like the Hulk to torment him - but his calm demeanour dropped completely at this unusual sight:

“Y-You?!”

That was simply not possible! The last time he had seen you was almost a year ago, and you were on the brink of death at that!

“For everyone that doesn’t know yet: Her name is Y/N Y/L/N. She is one of the victims HYDRA experimented on, and they succeeded in forming an artificial mutant.”

Steve went on and on explaining about your powers, but Loki’s head had already turned on autopilot, the only thing he could concentrate on being how the hell you of all people ended up here.

All these months, he was desperately trying to get any information about you, all of his hints ultimately leading him to dead ends - and in the end, tragically believing in your imminent death.

The memories were still painfully vivid in his mind: It was his first mission together with the Avengers, at a HYDRA hideout with most likely no civil survivors.

Actually, he had planned to make his escape right when the others engaged in a fight, wandering the hallways of what resembled a torture chamber rather than a laboratory.

On the walls were several instructions, about a serum that might cause a human to mutate if they were exposed to unbearable stress - pain being the most effective method, apparently.

Yet instead of finding anything useful for his personal gain, he found you: A  beautiful woman, yet emaciated and lying in a puddle of her own blood. At first he thought you to be dead just like the others - but as soon as your faint whimpers drang to his ears, he burst the cell you were trapped in open, rushing to your side immediately.

“Shh...” the god scooped you up from the cold stone floor, wrapping his cloak around your broken body. “Everything is alright now. Your savior is here.”

Loki gasped as he felt your hand stroking his cheekbone, even through all your pain and weakness wanting to bid your hero this due respect.

“Hel...you humans are such fragile creatures...” Loki muttered under his breath, cursing his own lack of talent when it came to casting healing spells. “Hang in there, look at me!”

Your eyes were teary and bloodshot, yet not less fit to bring across a message no words ever could: Incredible gratitude, and admiration.

He could tell you were close to passing out when your hand left his face, falling limp to the side. But he held you firmly in his arms, not once stopping to utter sweet words of encouragement as he made his way to the ship, leading you into safety.

“Your world in the balance, and you bargain for one man?”

Those were the words he once directed at Black Widow - but only now he understood her attempts.

Saving one person could never make up for all the lives he had destroyed - and yet he knew that for you, it would mean the world none the less.

In one way or another, with your life at his mercy, he began to finally grasp the preciousness of life, and doing everything in one’s might to protect it.

“Reindeer Games” Tony tapped on his shoulders, making Loki wake from his pondering. “I’d appreciate if you didn’t scare her away on the first day already.”

Oh.

Just now he was noticing his own grim expression, having towered over your much smaller form this whole time with furrowed brows.

“My apologies” was his firm response, but you only shook your head, trying to tell him it was not a big deal.

So this was what you looked like when you’re not imprisoned, he realized when he took in your physique.

Much to his pleasure, all of your wounds had seemingly healed, and you finally gained some much needed weight. Like this, you looked so much more healthier - and most definetly even more bewitching than he remembered you.

If people had let him know, would he have visited your sickbed, aiding you towards health again? Who knows...

Yet somehow, he dwelled in the thought of you being able to lead a happy life now that you were free - which made your decision to seek out the Avengers in wish for more battles even harder for him to accept.

“You are incredibly strong, Lady Y/N” Loki spoke firmly, everyone else rolling their eyes at his usual exaggeration - but you knew he meant every word. “Be sure of my eternal respect.” 

The God of Lies’ eyes widened in excitement when you directed a warm smile at him, knowing for sure that this one was genuine. It wasn’t like those fake smirks the other Avengers gave him out of politeness, or the mocking laughs when they were making fun of or excluding him.

No - that one was just pure affection. And it left him in awe.

“Thank you for saving me back then” you signed, just for Loki shooting you a puzzled look.

“What, I thought the all-tongue knows every language?” Tony yelled, as inconsiderate as always. Thor was quick to explain on his brother’s stead, him still being deeply invested with you. “Every spoken one, yes. ASL is not one of our fortes.”

Usually, Loki had always been a quick thinker. But right now he was to bewildered by your appearance that thinking straight was out of the question.  

What language were they speaking of? And why have you not been saying anything up until now? Maybe his presence was making you uncomfortable, after all? Should he leave on your behalf?

To make it easier for him to understand, you rolled down your turtleneck, revealing the unsighty scar that covered your whole throat.

There were not many people bold enough to come close to the God of Mischief without warning, yet suddenly you simply took his hand and slowly led it to your neck.

How could you be so naive and offer someone like him such a vital spot?! He’ll never get the human philosophy...

And yet, the flabbergasted god hesistantly let his hand run over the scar, while you opened your mouth to no avail - for 11 months already, no tone would leave your vocal cords.

“I’m incredibly sorry...” Loki whispered with a sorrowful tone, while the others just stared in disbelief. “If only I was able to heal this wound back then...”

What a puny god he was...and an even more pathetic wanna-be-hero at that...

He would try to take a few steps back, but you took a hold of his hand, squeezing it with both of yours, that cheerful smile not faltering in the slightest.

“Please, don’t be sad. I’m only alive thanks to you!” Bucky, whose cousin was mute as well, translated what you were signing for Loki. His tone sounded quite irritated, not fitting those meaningful words. “I only wanted to join the Avengers because I want to be just like you. You’re my idol!”

Those words touched him deeply, igniting a flame inside of him he thought long to be defunct. Was it hope?

Of course it was not nearly enough to pull him out of that deep, dark hole he felt trapped in for as long as he could remember - yet somehow, he now felt that it was not impossible to escape.

While the others were cringing at your declaration, making jokes about ‘choosing wrong idols’ or would plainly not believe Loki to have a positive effect on anyone, the two of you would just stare at each other in silent admiration.

Shyly, you signed yet another word for him - and this time, Loki would know what you mean from pure intuition. 

He smiled.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Loki was able to smile again, just thanks to your heartwarming welcome. And he was still blissfully unaware about what effect you could have on him, if he was brave enough to let you close.

One thing was sure: You literally had him wrapped around his finger from the very start.

[kaylans-imagines]

0. i hate her

pairing: peter b. parker x fem! reader

synopsis: in which y/n hates everything about peter parker, especially the way she can’t really hate him

↳ loosely based on the movie with the same title

warnings: cursing, fluff, a generous amount of angst, peter's an asshole, y/n's an asshole, familial death, incarceration. i don't know if there's more.

chapter warnings: cursing, starts off slow, flash.

series masterlist

*gif credits to the rightful owner*

The brisk air of the changing seasons accompanied Peter as he made his way to the school entrance from the train stop. His headphones sat snuggly inside his ears, playing a song that made the usually lonely journey to school less so. Ned didn’t take the same route as he did, so he had no one to talk to or make the trek to school less boring. He didn’t mind it; it gave him time to think and even finish school work. Still, sometimes he wanted someone by his side so he could discuss whatever was on his mind that day or ask questions whenever an assignment didn’t make sense.

The long ride to the school did give him time to people watch. There were times when he would deduce who could be a possible threat. Other times, he would simply look at people and try to figure out their stories without actually talking to them. The old lady who brought her cat onto the subway had severe separation anxiety caused by her estranged son. The man with exhausted eyes who looked like he was on the brink of passing out on his seat had a newborn daughter at home. And Peter was just trying to get to school, along with the other teenager on the subway. He didn’t talk to him, they were on entirely different wavelengths, but there was an understanding between the two of them. Whenever they saw each other, they would nod their heads in greeting. They would always sit one seat away from one another, and if the other was running late, they would wait.

He made his way up the stairs and towards the school, turning up the volume as a way to tune out the sounds of high school that he hated. The cheery rhymes that left the sounds of the cheerleaders to the arguing of students over who was right; he hated them before the bite, and he especially despised them now that he had hypersensitive hearing. Sighing in annoyance, he looked both ways before crossing the street only to rush forward as a car came barreling down the road.

“I swear to god, Y/N!” he heard her sister, Juliette, shriek, “we almost killed him!”

“But we didn’t. If you’re going to complain about my driving, then you can take the bus, Jules,”

“You almost killed someone!” Peter heard her exclaim. He could feel the way Y/N rolled her eyes.

“It’s only Peter,” she stated, making eye contact with him through the rearview as she let students pass, “who cares if he gets slightly scuffled?”

“You have literal issues,” Julie gasped. The car sped down the road, leaving Peter alone with a slightly elevated heart rate and irritation laced in his bones. It was the first day of school, and he nearly got run over. And by his ex-best friend turned enemy at that. He couldn’t wait to complain to Ned.

Their dynamic had changed, and Peter blamed her. They became friends because of Y/N’s grandmother and May in kindergarten. They were two birds of a feather until halfway towards seventh grade when Y/N became snippy and ruined what Peter thought was their perfect friendship. They drifted apart, and he blamed her for it breaking apart. He watched as she became someone he didn’t know anymore and left him behind. He just didn’t think it was fair for her to act self-righteous when she ruined their relationship.

“You okay, Pete?” Ned questioned as he fell into step with Peter, who was fuming with irritation.

“Yeah, just almost got run over by Midtown’s resident ice bitch,” he gritted. Ned nodded in response. He was friends with both Peter and Y/N once upon a time. Still, after everything she had put them through and the abrupt way she ended their friendship, he sided with Peter and subsequently lost a friend. He figured it was for the best. He wasn’t as resentful as Peter was—his friendship with Y/N hadn’t been built in kindergarten—but he still didn’t appreciate her actions.

“Oh,” he nodded in understanding, “are you okay at least?”

“Yeah, but it did sorta ruin my mood,” Peter confessed. He was having a pretty good morning until his reflexes were put to the test. He woke up on the right side of the bed and had time to eat breakfast with May before she went to work. The walk towards the subway station was nice; he said hi to everyone he usually greeted and even got a muffin from the lady with the three-year-old daughter. Then the subway wasn’t as busy as it usually was, so he wasn’t squashed next to the man with the foul body odor and could actually sit down. All of that happiness came crashing down the second he saw her in her car, looking unapologetic for nearly killing him and then dismissing her sister for chastising her.

“Well, get happy, my arachnid friend, because I heard some exciting news,” Ned smiled, poking him on the arm as they walked to their first class.

“What?”

“You’re top of our class, which means you’re a shoo-in for valedictorian,” Ned said excitedly. Peter grinned at that. All of his hard work would finally be noticed and celebrated. He had been working on greeting his class for four years, doing extracurriculars, and taking on extra projects for grade boosts. Sometimes he even stayed after school to help his teachers grade papers or help the librarian sort the books back into their respective spots on the shelves. It would all be worth it in the end after he finally reached the goal he had set for himself his freshman year.

There was a snag in his plans. While he may have been top of his class, that didn’t mean that he couldn’t be pushed from his place. Y/N Y/L/N was the smartest girl at Midtown. She was everything he wasn’t. She was popular—if the excessive amounts of clubs she was part of were any indication. She was social—everyone talked about the interactions they had with Midtown’s princess. She was everywhere, and nothing Peter was. She was the head of the planning committee, and everyone knew that any school party planned by Y/N Y/L/N never disappointed. Peter couldn’t compete. He found peace in knowing that he was slightly better than her at academics.

The two continued walking in silence, content with the atmosphere they had created after finding out that Peter would finally have something go his way for once. He figured it was the least the universe could do for him. He had lost both parents before he could make memories with them, then he lost his best friend, and then he got bitten by a spider that changed his life; for better or for worse, he didn’t know. Being valedictorian wouldn’t take away the hurt the world inflicted on him, but it would make him feel somewhat better.

With a skip in his step, he walked into class with a grin so large, he didn’t think anything could bring him down. Of course, he thought wrong. His English teacher had to make a day he felt he could turn around into one he wished would end faster.

“It’s about time you all had a project—the topic of discussion, poetry. You will be partnered up and tasked with reading and creating your own poems by the end of the month,” she paused, waiting for her class to stop looking at one another and whispering amongst themselves, “I’ve already chosen your partners, so it would do you all some good to stop getting your hopes up and listen.”

With that, the high schoolers shifted in their seats and gave their attention back to their teacher. She was good at pairing up students who were cordial with one another and worked well together. Friendships usually sparked from her partnering, sometimes even relationships. So Peter, and the rest of the class, weren’t as annoyed as they wanted to be. They knew she wouldn’t let them down. Peter waited eagerly as she listed off students who would be working together. He hoped he got paired up with someone who matched his work ethic or someone he got along with.

“Peter Parker, you will be with Y/N Y/L/N,” and just like that, he hated English class and lost all faith in his teacher. He looked across the room to where the said girl was seated. She was writing in her planner—Peter was sure she was planning Ms. Ingrid’s death—but she looked up when her name was called. She turned her head and met Peter’s eyes, unamused and bored. She shook her head and looked at her planner once again. Peter took that as a sign to do the same and focus on anything other than his rising anger.

Peter watched as everyone moved to meet their partners, many of them happily talking to one another. He was stubborn. He decided that if she wasn’t going to make an effort to push aside whatever hatred she had towards him and talk to him for the sake of their grades, he wasn’t going to. He was going to sit in his seat and read a poem from the packet his teacher had handed out. Just because he had a lousy partner didn’t mean his grade had to suffer. He would complete the project by himself if he had to.

“Mister Parker, last I checked, you were to be working with Miss Y/L/N,” Miss Ingrid quipped as she walked to Peter’s desk with a teasing smile.

“Actually, Miss, I was hoping I could talk to you about that?” He asked. He liked Miss Ingrid. She was understanding and compassionate, and she didn’t talk down to her students as if they were children.

“Something wrong, Peter?” she asked, concerned. Peter felt bad. He knew he was petty, and his favorite teacher didn’t need to be pulled down to his level. But he couldn’t bring himself to work with someone who didn’t want to work with him. That usually meant he was left to do the work by himself and watch the other person still get credit. It infuriated him so much he would rather do the project himself from the start.

“Yeah, um, I can’t work with Y/N,” he muttered, smiling at her with an embarrassed smile. Peter admitted it sounded stupid and childish when said aloud, but he had his reasons.

“And, pray tell, Peter, why not?”

“I just don’t think we would work well together,” he confessed. Seeing the look on her face, Peter was quick to defend himself more, “and I just don’t want to do the work for someone else and have them get credit for doing nothing. So, if it’s alright with you, Miss Ingrid, I would like to work on this on my own.” He was practically begging. Hoping she would agree.

“I’m sorry, Peter, but this is a partner project. To lessen the workload,” she sighed, “besides, I don’t think you have anything to worry about with Y/N; she’s very good at doing her share.” She stood up with those final words and tapped the table before standing up and sending him a smile. He sighed, putting his head down and looking at his desk in annoyance. He looked up when a book landed on his desk. Closing his eyes to keep himself from exploding at whoever shattered his tranquility, he was met with eyes he used to find joy looking into. Now, he never wanted to look into them ever again.

“We’re partners. I don’t like it, you don’t like it, but we have to do it otherwise, our grades will plummet, and you can’t afford that if you want to be valedictorian. So, we’re going to push our difference aside for this one project and do it, so we never have to talk to again,” she said curtly.

That left no room for argument, which caused Peter to nod his head in agreement. She was right; he couldn’t afford to lose the one thing he was looking forward to being. Sighing deeply, he motioned for her to sit down and opened the book she threw on his desk. She took a seat beside him and opened another poetry book, focusing on the words written on the paper and trying to plan their poem out. They had to get a good grade; she didn’t want him to blame her for something else.

Despite his annoyance and hatred towards her, he couldn’t help but glance up from the book he was reading. Of course, he had seen her around, it was hard to ignore one of the most known girls in the school, but he had never taken the time to admire her. His anger and betrayal kept him from doing so. She still had the same gleeful look in her eyes and the confident aura around her. Time had done her well. She had lost her kidlike features, and it was evident that she had matured. He would be a liar if he said she wasn’t pretty, and even that didn’t truly justify it.

When the bell signaled the end of class, Peter quickly grabbed his belongings and left the classroom. He didn’t stop to wait for anyone, much less Y/N. Their only interactions would be in the English room, a controlled space where she couldn’t kill him for so much as breathing in her direction. Walking towards his locker, he heard the noises of people as they navigated the busy halls of the school. Stopping at his locker with a sigh, he leaned his head on the cool metal. The day had been long, and he shrill had six other classes to go to.

A tap on his shoulder made him pick up his head. Y/N stood in front of him, bouncing on her feet as she played with her fingers.

“You left before I could ask when you can meet up. The faster we get this done, the faster we can stop being around one another,” she quipped. “I’m free on Friday after school.”

“I’m not. I have the Stark internship,”

She rolled her eyes at his response, “okay and? We need to get this done so we can go back to never speaking to each other. I’m sure Tony Stark will understand that you need to take one day off to do a school project.”

“Not happening. I don’t know if you know this, but you’re not worth losing the internship over,” he jibed. He missed the look of hurt that flashed on her face. She shook her head and scoffed.

“Well, we need to get this done. Either we work on this stupid project on Friday, or we’re both failing,” she reminded before walking away. Peter groaned and banged his head on the now open door. He ignored the looks he got from his locker neighbors and kept his head buried in the empty space. Friday’s were the days he went into the Avenger’s compound and actively worked in the lab with Tony after he finished his Spider-Man duties; the last thing he wanted to do was infect the compound with her hatred and bad vibes.

He didn’t want to invite her, but he had been working on something with Tony for the past two weeks that he needed to finish. He figured he could get some work done while someone gave her a tour around the facility—probably Steve. He was easy to convince—then he would work on the English project with her and beg father time to go faster. She was right; the quicker they finished their work, the faster he could go back to hating her. With another groan, he picked up his head and closed his locker, rushing after Y/N and grabbing her by the wrist when he caught her before she slipped into her next class.

“Friday. We’ll meet after school in the parking lot and go to the Avenger’s facility. You can drive, right?” she nodded and pulled her hand out of his grip, glaring at him.

“Don’t ever grab me like that again,” she sneered, “but fine, whatever. I have to drop Jules off at home first though, is that gonna be a problem, Peter?” He knew she wasn’t asking him.

“No, whatever,” she nodded curtly and walked in, not sparing him a glance. He shook his head and walked away. Anger seeped into his bones, and annoyance clouded his head. The following weeks were going to be torture. He just knew. There was nothing worse than being forced to work with someone the person despised.

“Hey, Penis Parker!” there are worse things, apparently. He breathed out through his nose and turned around, meeting his eyes. He knew if he ignored Flash, he wouldn’t give up. He was relentless, and his voice sounded like nails on a chalkboard.

“What, Flash?” he ground out. Flash skidded to a stop beside him with a sick smile on his face.

“I heard from a little birdie that you were partnered up with Midtwon’s resident Princess,” he started.

“Yeah, so?” he questioned. He wanted out of the conversation as soon as possible. He didn’t want to talk to his bully about his enemy. That didn’t sound like a fun Tuesday.

“So, you can help me,”

“One, why would I help you with anything?” he questioned, “and two, I’m going to regret asking, but what could I possibly help you with?”

“Because I have something you might like, and you’re going to help me get Jules Y/L/N to go to the Fall Dance with me,” Peter paused in his step and furrowed his eyebrows.

“Okay, so what does that have to do with me being partners with Y/N? Can’t you just ask Jules?”

Flash snorted, “you’re an idiot, Parker. You don’t just ask the Jules Y/L/N out, okay? Everyone knows that Y/N tells her every negative thing about the guys at Midtown to keep her uninterested and that they’re always together.” He stated.

“I’m still not sure where I fall into this or what you could possibly offer me in return,”

“I’m glad you asked,” Peter rolled his eyes but continued listening, “if you can get Y/N to, I don’t know, fall in love with you so she eases off her ‘I hate the men at Midtown’ rhetoric, then I can swoop in and take Jules to the dance without a hitch.”

“And what do I get in return?”

“Two hundred bucks does wonders for the poor, no?” Flash snarked.

“Three hundred, and you’ve got yourself a deal, Eugene,” Peter smirked. Flash blinked in anger but nodded his head anyway, reaching his hand out and shaking it. Flash walked away and left Peter in the empty hallway, rethinking everything he had agreed to. It was cruel and harsh. Sure, Y/N had stopped being his friend and became a bitch towards him, but he would be playing with someone’s feelings. Then again, three hundred dollars could help May with the bills, and it would be retribution for all the shit Y/N had put him through.

He was going to do it, and he wouldn’t allow himself to feel guilty for it. Because it was her, and she deserved to feel some of the pain she had put him through.

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