#but i know most of the people arguing have very little knowledge on it

[pluralsword]

you could argue that we did this sort of, it's a little more complicated.

You see, the reason we maintain our beard and shave it in specific ways is because transformer women often have helms that fill their face in similar ways at the cheeks or with chin armor. That helped the person who has been with this body the whole time fully absolve of herself of any dysphoria by being able to connect her facial her euphorically to a collective gender identity of womanhood of giant metal transforming robots from space since knowledge of the fact there are a lot of intersex human cis women who have facial hair (and intersex people are as common as redheads) wasn't cutting it for xem (hah). we dysphorically regret having to shave our beard recently to fly across the country out of fear of landing somewhere in an emergency where we'd be arrested for 'doing drag' at a public facility.

The reason we say this isn't simply butch per se for us specifically (a human singleton is another matter) is because there isn't an oppositional dynamic between male and female to us. they completely overlap, there's just collective gender assemblage tendencies of components being put together and identified differently (some of our writing mixing alien robot trans material-aesthetic assemblage mixed with gender tackles this, the one that does so most directly so far is our One fanfic. there will eventually be original fiction), the term we use for in our sparktion/hearth/etc. assemblage model that most closely approximates butch is torque, but it is rather different in meaning since it's primarily concerned with the (clash of) momentum literally and metaphorically and not with being masculine (xenogender stuff is fun!). It's also not confined to a physical expression appearance, so helm shapes don't necessarily fit this, and there's no single umbrella for what torque looks like. it's all assemblage, which is very different from the real problem of butch erasure in 21st century human storytelling and history

In addition we've also built up musculature precisely because it is no longer dysphoric anymore to breathe meditatively / heavily when exercising since the chest feels more like how it should, because xey always loved and wanted to emulate the warrior gal vibe (we know this applies much more widely, too, but thought it was worth mentioning), and ultimately that our nervous system now feels so much better exerting strength with HRT than before. but how we dress we think doesn't normally quite fit butch and we recoil at the thought of being more heavily clothed or armored meaning we're perceived as more masculine. the oppositional gender human patriarchy dichotomy is painful to us, we're glad this is changing with a) people understanding how curvy and rounded a lot of armor historically is especially plate, and b) women in armor where sexualization need not mean sacrificing actual armor capacity is becoming more normalized

TLDR you absolutely can be a transfem butch lesbian and we absolutely ended up on a similar but very different route of being torquey zoomdare transfem (taganite) mutualists who will for convenience's sake communicating with other people we share this lovely blue marble with use the terms t4t, sapphic, lesbian, and sometimes butch if we think we have to explain why our gender isn't 'simple' (eugh we hate how reductive that is of binary trans women) but don't think we can get away with explaining xenogender stuff and plurality. unless we are fortunate enough to, I don't know, see our terminology take off or even better that this happens alongside other assemblage models with a growth of a worldwide curiousity and capacity to accept that no one will ever know everything there is to know about gender and orientation so nobody assumes anything of us, takes what we have to say for what it is, asks questions if interested in knowing and knowing us that way, and celebrates what we have in common and what differences we have <3

Is transitioning from male to female to become a butch lesbian a reasonable option?

it is beyond reasonable, it is one of the coolest things you can do on this bitch of an earth

[bookshelf-dust]

promise to take care of my heart

carmy berzatto x fem!reader

gif by @emziess

word count: 1,830

warnings: nothing? a little swearing, but this is pure fluff and that’s all

synopsis: carmy wants to cuddle with you for the first time.

a/n: hi! new character, i know. but i’ve become rather attached to carm in the past few months and i had a cute idea for him and here we are. he’s bringing me so much comfort right now and now i’m gonna share that with you <333

���———

“Why don’t you pick out a movie or somethin,’ bub?” 

“If I could find your damn remote, Carm, I would.”

He lets out a breath of a laugh, eyes on his hands where they sit deep in the dishwater below. Good luck, he thinks. 

You scan the coffee table, the rug below the shabby couch. It’s not like there’s any use checking the tv stand because it’s still a fucking table tray. You know he doesn’t even own the full set of four table trays? He’s just got the one? That knowledge keeps you up at night. Just like how he doesn’t have a ceiling fan pull and has to get tweezers to change the speed.

You find the remote nestled in a stack of freshly organized books. You helped Carmen assemble a very simple bookshelf so that his stash of cookbooks wouldn’t have to live on the floor anymore. 

Just getting to help him turn his apartment into something other than a place to sleep brought you a contagious giddiness. Carmen’s chest aches with how much he’s laughed since he met you. 

Look at all my muscles, Carm. I’m practically ready for my dick now, don’t you think? 

Where’d you even get these? He’d looked down at the little allen wrench in your hand and said I don’t know, they were just here one day. 

Now you have a bookshelf, Bear. What a grown up. 

Carmen wouldn’t let you help him with the dishes after he cooked you dinner. He’d just kissed your shoulder and said, “Let me take care of it, alright?” with that little raise of his brows and quirk of his lips telling you not to argue because you’d never win. 

And when Carmen tells you to let him take care of something, well…you listen. 

You haven’t been dating very long, but it’s been enough that you’ve both developed this rhythm, this way of moving around and with each other and you just…work. 

He doesn’t understand how you can dial his shyness, his hesitance, so quickly, how you can make him feel like a human again so easily. But you do. 

You settle against the back of the couch, flipping through the tv guide (because Carm has never subscribed to any streaming services) until you find something worth listening to. It’s already a few minutes in, but you’ve seen the movie enough times that it doesn’t really matter. 

The overhead light in the kitchen switches off and Carmen pads out to the living room, socked feet dragging on the hardwoods. Your biggest pet peeve is people who don’t pick up their feet, but somehow it’s more tolerable when it’s him. 

He sits down on the edge of the couch. Just sits. On the edge. That means he wants to say something. You give him the time to psych himself up. 

Carmy chews on his thumb nail and rubs his nose before he turns to you, placing his hand on the couch. His blue eyes burn into yours, and the intensity of his gaze, trained on you, makes you feel like the most important person in the world. 

“H-hey, um…can we—could we snuggle, maybe?” He flushes at the fact that he just used the world snuggle. Richie would have his ass so quick if he’d heard him say that. 

Your grin is brilliant. You’ve never cuddled properly with Carmen before. Maybe a head on a shoulder or a leg tossed across another, but never a real cuddle session. “Fuck yeah, we can, Carm.” You giggle and the sound softens that bubble of fear in his chest. 

He bites the inside of his cheek, letting out the barest laugh. 

“How did you want t-to lay, Bear?” You blink at him. “Were you just gonna—” 

He starts to nod. “I was just gonna lay on your chest, honestly.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah, that works.”

“Y-yeah.”

You snort. “Lemme’ stretch out for you and then you can be a teddy bear.” 

“Seriously?”

“Yes.” Carmen shakes his head at you. He lets you pull that shit because he likes it. Secretly.

When you have a pillow under your neck and are laid out on your back, Carm slips beside you against the back of the couch and clumsily settles on top of you. He doesn’t want to crush you or anything, so he settles between your legs, only allowing the weight of his torso to envelop you. 

One arm wraps around your back, the other cradling your hip, his curls brushing your chin. He turns his head to face the tv and lets out a satisfied sigh. 

On instinct your hand threads through his tangled hair, scratching at his scalp gently and sorting through any piece that feels knotted. 

“What is this?” Carmy asks, nodding in the direction of the screen. 

“The Wedding Planner. It has Jlo and Matthew McConaughey in it.” 

“Chick flick?”

You hum in agreeance. “Yeah, but you wouldn’t hate it. Jlo’s character is like you but if the restaurant was a wedding planning business and you were, you know, a chick.”

He laughs lightly against your stomach and you can feel the puff of air over your shirt. 

The weight of Carmen’s body on top of yours is easily the most calming feeling you’ve ever experienced. You can’t get enough of him. 

“This okay?” you ask, scratching his scalp a little more for emphasis. This is a new way of showing affection. Uncharted territory. 

“Hm?” He looks up at you briefly, blue eyes fluttering closed. “Oh yeah, feels nice. I like it.”

You grin and continue to play with his hair. He’s right. It does feel nice. It is. 

The next few minutes go by without any conversation, just silence. But it’s so comfortable. Carmen’s tired gaze is on the tv. You can feel him breathing, feel the way he scratches over your back absently. You don’t know if he’s aware he does it, but he nuzzles his nose against the soft of your stomach every now and then like it’s keeping him safe. 

“You know I thought about being a wedding planner?”

Carmy pushes up onto his elbows, looking at you with the smallest smirk playing on his lips. “Really?”

You playfully bat at his shoulder and he moves to lay back down, but not before pressing a kiss to your sternum over your shirt. “Mhm. Still think about it sometimes.” You pause, but Carm doesn’t say anything yet because he knows you aren’t finished with that thought. 

“I guess I just thought it’d be nice to help put things like that together? The organization would make me feel…complete, I guess. And you know I don’t like to help people in such an extroverted way? I like to be behind the scenes.” You laugh, a little self-deprecatingly. “Does that make sense?”

Carmen squeezes your side. “‘Course it does. And then you could come home and tell me stories about all the family drama you eavesdrop on.”

You giggle, and Carmy loves that he can feel it where he lays on your chest. He can feel your joy, and that’s fucking cool. “That I could.”

He rubs your back in small, gentle circles. “And you know, I happen to have some friends who make pretty good food and would be happy to help if you ever needed.”

“Oh, do you? Well, that’s very helpful, Mr. Berzatto. You’ll have to give me their number.”

Carmy laughs into your chest. A pure, genuine laugh. It’s such a beautiful sound, and you truly think you’d have it tattooed all over your body if that was even remotely possible. His glee makes you laugh, and then you’re both snickering like you’re teenagers doing something that’ll get you in big trouble. 

You reach for his hand, the one that’s resting on your hip now, and he lets you lift it towards your face. He bites his cheek, fighting the smile that rises when you press your warm and chapstick covered lips to his knuckles. 

“You have such pretty hands, Carmy.”

He pinches your back. “I still don’t get why you’re so fascinated by them.”

“Because they’re pretty. And, look—” You hold yours up to his. “—they’re so much bigger than mine. And I like your tattoos, obviously. I like that I know how talented you are with your hands and how capable. I’m very lucky to hold such capable hands, Bear.”

“Capable, huh?” He gives you a look, one that makes you want to both tackle him and smack him on the arm. Instead you roll your eyes and he raises up to kiss you. 

“Capable of being the world’s biggest pain in the ass.”

Carmy laughs. It’s that little chuckle, light and airy and like he can’t believe what he’s hearing but he wants to hear more anyway. He flops back down on your chest, making you let out a rather loud oomph. 

You take Carmen’s hand in yours again, rubbing over the dry patches on his knuckles, the scabs on the insides of his fingers, the scar on his palm. His whole life is written in these hands. 

You start massaging the pads of his fingers without even thinking about it. No one’s ever been that gentle with him—definitely not with his hands—and a little part of him melts at the feeling. 

You kiss the tattoo on the back of his hand and just look at his skin. You’re determined to memorize each line and freckle and fucked up cuticle he’s got. 

“At least your nails don’t look like Richie’s, Carm.”

His chest moves with the giggle that travels throughout his body. 

“Trust me, they didn’t look like that when he was still with Tiff.”

You grin, your eyes falling back on the television. Maybe Carm would be open to setting it on the bookshelf? That table tray has put in a lot of work. It deserves a break. 

Carmen can see why you’re so fond of this movie. It’s one of those that doesn’t require much thought, that has humor and feels more human than most. He knows he shouldn’t think it, but you having said what you said before makes him wonder if you’ll plan your own wedding…with him. 

Shut the fuck up, he tells himself. But maybe we’ll get there. 

You catch him smiling when they fuck up the statue in the garden and pretend not to notice. You both keep quiet now, but Carm reaches up and puts your hand back on his head.

Your fingers thread through his curls again, scratching at his scalp gently. Your other hand does the same thing to his back. You know it’s going to lull him to sleep. 

When you say it, he’s already dozed off. But you are so happy that you get to make him feel safe. That he’s comfortable enough to sleep on you like this. Lucky is an understatement. 

“Thank you for letting me in, Bear. I don’t think my life has ever been this beautiful.”

————

please let me know if you liked this! feedback is always appreciated!! comments and reblogs mean more than you know. <33

note: none of the gifs or images i use are mine! i get most of my images from pinterest or here, and gifs from about the same. please let me know if i ever don’t credit someone properly!

[wintertime-in-june]

Reverse Arranged Marriage

Colonel!König x Recruit!Reader

The Colonel.

Your Colonel.

König.

You looked at him, twisting a strand of hair around your finger, big eyes shining adorably up at him, hanging on his every word...

So you can imagine the shattering feeling you felt when he arrived back to the base after a short sabbatical back home in Austria with a woman at his side.

His fiancé.

König has no experience when it comes to women. No previous relationships, no dates, not even an attempt at obtaining one... and his parents to be quite frank were worried.

Their little boy... their not so little boy... turning 30 and not so much as an interaction with a women to their knowledge.

When he had returned to Austria for his birthday, they decided to surprise him. Waiting back home was a woman, Katharina, 'a good Austrian woman' his mother had described her as.

König, well, he didn't say anything. His parents took this as a good sign. They had everything already arranged, the two of them would stay in KorTac military housing, Katharina would work as a nurse at the local hospital and they would return to Austria for the wedding in June.

Katharina was nice enough, there was nothing explicitly wrong with her... but König felt nothing. He didn't even try to feel anything. He didn't kiss her, he didn't hug her, he didn't even speak to her.

Since their meeting they simply just walked together, around his parent's house in Austria, through the airport and now through their house on base.

It didn't take long for König to move his things over, he wasn't a very materialistic person, he helped Katharina unload her boxes from the lorry, still, wordlessly.

That's when she heard it for the first time. You.

"Colonel, do you need help with that?"

And it just progressed from there, like a high pitched drone in her ears, annoying, inescapable.

"Colonel please help me with..."

"Colonel can I show you..."

"Colonel do you want to maybe..."

"Colonel this..."

"Colonel that..."

She was sick of it, and she was sick of you.

How come he would pay attention to you? You were just some dumb little recruit, she was his fiancé and he didn't even give her a word most days.

He didn't even take that stupid mask off in front of her, but he lifted it up for you to kiss the grazes on your knees, the tiniest scratches on your arms, even a frickin' paper cut. He couldn't have his little recruit get hurt in his training sessions and not kiss it better!

They slept in their bed, on opposite sides, untouching, rigid, mask on. But if you had a nightmare, he was there in an instant, tucking you up tight in your covers only to stay and hold you when you said...

"Please, Colonel, I'm scared..."

The final straw was when you had come round to their house one evening, uninvited, to give them some Topfenstrudel you'd baked... because you just so happened you made too much... yeah right.

She didn't buy it, not for a second, you just so happened to make too much of this dessert, an Austrian dessert, an Austrian dessert that just so happened to be the Colonel's favourite.

She was seething with she had one and it was... well, delicious.

As the Colonel showered you with praises, saying what a good young lady you were, how you'd make a man very happy one day, how you know the way to people's hearts. She glared daggers into your very soul, a glare that you answered with a sweet, innocent smile.

I mean who comes round, uninvited, in their little silky pyjamas, acting all innocent and cute, she could see right through you... but the Colonel couldn't.

"It was lovely chatting with you two, see you at training tomorrow Colonel!"

And with that the door shut and you walked with a skip in your step back to the recruit's barracks.

If you hadn't been so all consumed in your own little world you just might have heard the arguing that ensured as soon as you had left...

That next morning the Colonel came in with a smile under his mask, not that you'd have known, he placed a firm hand on your shoulder, looking down. After a pause, he eventually spoke.

"Katharina had to go back to Austria."

"Oh, how come?" you say feigning worry, as though your heart didn't skip a beat.

"It seems we were not a good fit for each other."

You hold back a smile, instead putting on a look of concern. "Aw that's such a shame! I hope she finds who she's looking for."

He chuckles at your sweetness, you were always thinking of other people in his eyes.

"I'm sure she will." He said with a little sigh.

"You know, I was thinking, I still have the military housing until the end of the season, how about you come over and show me how to make that Topfenstrudel, ja?"

You smile up at him, nodding profusely.

"For sure! It'll be cool me teaching you for once." You giggle.

The Colonel may not have a fiancé but he was more than fine with that...

Besides, perhaps his parents wouldn't need to cancel the wedding plans set for June...

[star-sim]

supermassive blackhole ☆ jay park pt. 2

☆ non-idol!jay x fem!reader

☆ summary: You and Jay Park couldn't stand each other. But after a drunk makeout session at your university's annual soccer mixer, combined with Jay's secret identity as the city's friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, the two of you are pushed closer to each other than ever, challenging your long-time status as 'enemies.'

☆genre: enemies to lovers, suggestive but no nsfw/smut, angst, fluff, spiderman! au, college! au, so incredibly american HELP, reader has glasses bc it's cute and jay has a lip piercing bc i said so

☆ warning(s) ? many mentions and instances of alcohol (all characters are of age), this is very suggestive but there is no smut

☆ word count:  16.7k ☆ tag list: @sophiko22 @yenqa @kwiwin @okikinshasthehiccups @lovelickies @siyen @blackhairandbangs @pjjongsaeng @chkltmlk

part 1

The next day, exactly one week before finals week officially began, you and your friends decided to have a beach picnic to de-stress from the impending doom that was semester finals. It was your meeting place, ever since high school. Clad in a pretty yellow sundress, you entertained yourself with a sand-castle building contest between you and a few friends. Unfortunately for them, a course in urban design (which you shared with Jay Park) equipped you with just enough knowledge on how to build a killer sand-castle.

“Woah!” Isa, the one that you helped get with Jay’s friend all those years ago, exclaimed. You were crouched right next to her in the sand, using silicone molds to make sand seashells. Since junior year of high school, you and Isa have grown apart. It wasn’t the break up rift that caused the distance. In fact, you got closer because of the break up. People just grew on their own, and sometimes that growth was in opposite directions. Now that you were at the same university, you were still friends, but not as close as you used to be. “Specky, you’re really good.”

You grinned to yourself, melding the wet sand into a pillar. “I know.”

Even when your friendship thinned, there was one thing that made Isa distinct: the fact that she called you “Specky,” (short for “spectacles,” since you wore glasses) and no one else did.

“It’s what a course in urban planning and design gets ya,” you quipped, poking your friend with a sand-covered finger.

There were some things that you two disagreed about.

Like when Isa picked her major to be fashion design and apparel construction. Not the most useful or appealing to most employers unless she made it big, which was why you were so vehemently against it. Between the required courses in fashion design and political science (your own major), you argued that the latter would be much more useful. 

But that was two years ago, and now you joke about it.

“Yeah?” Isa cocked a brow. “But can you make leopard print look good?”

You smiled. “No, but I know how to pass a law that makes leopard print illegal.”

Isa nudged you playfully. It was supposed to be a light nudge, and it was. Except, your heads bumped together. After a bit of laughing and a few ‘sorry’s’ Isa stopped in her tracks, nose scrunching.

You glanced at her curiously.

Isa didn’t say anything, only leaning closer to you. This time, she pressed the tip of her nose against your exposed shoulder.

“Are you sniffing me?”

Isa only laughed before pulling back. You shot your friend a suspicious look. 

“You smell like someone.”

“Don’t I always smell like someone?” you molded the sand in your palm. “Like.. I dunno, myself?”

“Yes, but-” Isa leaned into you again. “You don’t smell like yourself.”

Before you could question her further, Isa called over a few more friends.

“Jake! Kazuha! Come smell Little Miss Specky!”

After having five whole people smell you, they all agreed that you smelled “un-[Name]-like” (whatever that meant).

Isa frowned, placing a thinking hand on her chin. “A-Ha!”

You watched amused as the woman jumped to her feet.

“I know who you smell like!” 

Isa threw an accusatory finger your way. 

“You smell like Jay!”

Jay Park knew there was something wrong when his toaster broke that morning. 

Him and his (your) friends were having a beach get-together, but you went first. He told you that he “had something to do for his job.” Probably easy to guess what he was actually doing.

He arrived at the outing an hour after you did. 

And the moment he stepped out of his taxi, there was an entire group of grown adults (read: his friends) charging at him. It wasn’t unnatural for this to happen, but it was what they were screaming and the person they were dragging along with them– You.

Except, when he made eye contact with her ,you looked away embarrassed.

And that was when he remembered the worst slip-up of his life.

“Yeah, I think Jay Park is in love with you. He tells me all about he’s liked you since freshman year and–”

Lying to you while being Spider-Man…. About how he, in his civilian form, liked you.

In his defense– he was panicking, okay? He didn’t know what to say! And he didn’t want to make it awkward either– ew, that would be so icky. 

Apparently making his enemy think that he was madly in love with her better than making the atmosphere awkward. When he went home yesterday night (that is, after dropping you back at his place and then making another round around the city so that you wouldn't suspect him), he almost jumped off a building without shooting a web to suspend himself. 

He chewed on the inside of his bottom lip.

Jay couldn’t make out any words they were shouting at him, other than your name, “fucking,” and “smell.”

“Okay, okay, shut the fuck up!” Jay finally yelled back at them. “All of you. Let me sit down first.”

When they got back to where all their other friends were, his friends sat him down, looking very serious, as if he was their teenage son who they caught drinking, or something.

“Why are you guys so serious?” he questioned suspiciously. 

“You know why!” one of his friends chided.

Jay really didn’t.

In the corner of his eye, he could see another one of his friends dragging you toward them. 

Dread. 

He could not face you after what happened yesterday.

Eyes narrowing, he turned back to them. “What is this about?”

“How ‘bout you tell us what you’re about?” one of them quipped. “Why does [Name] smell so much like you?”

What.

“Wait, what?” Jay’s lips curled. “What do you mean?”

“Let go of me, Jake!” Jake Sim finally managed to get you, who was kicking and screaming, to come over to where Jay was. You struggled out of his grasp. “Dude, I just want to build my sand-castle, Jesus fuck-”

When your eyes met with Jay’s again, instead of a glare or disgusted expression, you simply looked away awkwardly.

“[Name] [Last Name]!” Isa proclaimed. “Are ya gonna tell us why you smell like your sworn enemy?”

“I don’t know!” you shot your friends a glare. “What do I even smell like normally?”

“Sweet, kinda like an orange,” Jake answered matter-of-factly, smiling.

I would know that, thought Jay.

“And what does Jay smell like normally?” 

When Jay and you locked eyes, you knew the answer exactly. You both knew why you smelled like him, and it was an answer that was more complicated-sounding than it should be. 

You slept in his bed. Not because you slept together on his bed, but because he also used to sleep in that bed, so it was only natural that his scent wore off on you. You also used his shampoo and body wash. Not because you showered together (ew!), but because you lived in his house.

But if you told them that, there was no way in hell anyone would believe that there wasn’t some sort of relationship between you two.

“He smells like wood, but like, mixed with Axe body spray.”

“I do not!”

It was a silent agreement between Jay and you.

Act stupid.

“I literally have no idea what you’re talking about,” Jay grumbled.

You crossed your arms over your chest. “I knew you guys were stupid but I didn’t think you were that stupid.”

Jake and Isa sent each other suspicious looks, reconvening before a large grin spread across both of their faces. 

“I knew it,” Jake murmured. He got louder. “I knew it!”

Everyone looked at him curiously.

“What are you talking about–”

Swinging an imperious finger at Jay and you, Jake announced loud enough for surrounding people to hear and turn their heads. “These two are fucking!”

.

.

.

What?

The uproar that that single statement caused was uncontrollable. In your group of friends, it was common knowledge that Jay Park and [Name] [Last Name] had nothing to do with each other. If Jay was on one end of the spectrum, you would be on the other. Even suggesting that there may be anything more than simply hate was outrageous.

“No way, man….”

“That’s insane.”

“Impossible!”

When Jay looked over at you, ready to deny everything that they were saying, instead of your characteristic scrunched nose and curled lips in disapproval, your face was plastered with nothing but an awkward and almost embarrassed expression. 

“Y’know what?” one of their friends spoke up. “I saw Jay and [Name] kissing at the hockey mixer last week!”

You were completely out of commission, and uncharacteristically so, with a panicked and flustered face. Everyone else was consumed in such clamor. So Jay would have to take everything into his own hands. Taking a deep breath, he waited (while showing great disapproval) for everyone to shut up.

It wasn’t like they’d believe him if he explained the truth. 

“Are you guys done…?” he finally spoke, clear dissatisfaction in his voice. 

Everyone shut up. 

Jay Park was generally an easygoing guy. He didn’t snap at people, and if anything, he was often the butt of jokes. Not that he minded. He was hot-headed and an asshole, but he was probably one of the easiest people to joke with.

However, his censure was not something to mess with.

He was an older brother. He was a STEM major, which was already a rigorous department to go into, no less civil and urban engineering. He was the top of his class in high school (after a certain someone, of course), and ostensibly worked, like, three jobs.

If there was anyone who was normally very patient and smart, it was him. If he’s annoyed, probably shut the fuck up.

Plus, there was nothing like pissing off a tired college student a week before finals.

Jay wet his lips. “You guys are making [Name] uncomfortable. Look at her.”

It was true. You were literally cowering into yourself, frowning deeply and playing with the hem of your yellow sundress.

“Look, I get that you’re our friends, or whatever,” Jay huffed, folding his arms. “But maybe there’s a reason that we don’t tell you certain things. Maybe because everything gets so blown out of proportion and you guys assume the worst.”

He turned over to Jake. The scariest thing about Jay was that even if he was hotheaded most of the time, he was incredibly calm and laid-back when confrontational. “You– You especially. You constantly force [Name] and I together. Some people don’t get along, and that’s okay. Stop trying to force people who don’t want to be forced together.”

Jay wasn’t angry. He wasn’t even annoyed. Just trying to set things straight. When he was done, he looked at his friends expectantly. One by one, they apologized awkwardly.

There was no real resolution, just Jay saying, “Cool,” and walking away to talk to his other friends.

To say that you felt awkward would be an understatement, and to say that you were comfortable with the fact that you were feeling awkward would be a lie.

There was a lot to unpack.

Everyone was trying to suggest that you and Jay had some sort of sexual relationship. People always joked about it, sure, but for an entire group to accuse you of it was beyond disorienting. Now sitting under the parasol with a floral-print towel beneath your sundress, drawing shapes on the sand that had gotten onto the towel, you wished you could have said something. Sure, they were probably being light-hearted, and you knew your friends had no intention to make you feel uncomfortable, but there was something else they didn’t know.

That the number one source of your discomfort was directly from Jay.

When Spider-Man detailed everything that Jay had apparently told him about you, you didn't know how to feel.

According to Spider-Man, Jay Park has had a thing for you since freshman year of high school, and he keeps the hero up until early hours of the day just talking about you. Initially, you were horrified. Could Spider-Man be messing with you? There was no way that Jay Park– the bitch-faced, uncouth, uncivilized, villain that was Jay Park– liked you.

Just the thought that someone like him saw you in a different light made you uneasy.

On the other hand, you were a bit flattered. As Spider-Man explained it, Jay had a thing for you but not necessarily a crush. Rather, he found you attractive. 

“And he still does,” the hero had added. “He still thinks you’re attractive, even if he argues with you.”

Jay was the victim of some of your worst moments. You’ve screamed bloody murder at him, shed hot tears, and shrieked so hard that you’d lost your voice. He’d point out your major flaws and insecurities, ones that you didn’t even know that you had. He’d seen your true destructive, tyrannical, and malicious self.

But he still found you attractive? 

That was terrifying.

Has he ever seen you with your friends? How you were you soft and kind, all affectionate and tender? How you’d take care of them, how you’d pet their heads and listen to them cry?

How could he ever find you attractive if he’d never seen you be a good person, when he’d only seen the monstrous side of you?

How could anyone find you attractive?

You got positive comments about your appearance many times before, but they were always followed up by comments about your character

You were snapped out of your thoughts when a familiar dark head of hair passed through your line of vision. You never took the time to observe what he was wearing: basketball shorts and a hoodie. It seemed like he could never dress for the occasion, regardless of where he was.

He had his earbuds jammed into his ears, an irritated expression on his face. 

After years of purposefully trying to make his life miserable, you could read his face easily

Jay was hot. Physically– Wait no. 

Jay was hot, as in ‘affected by the scalding weather.’ His brows always scrunched up with his bottom lip jutting out when he was feeling especially warm. 

Maybe if he took off that hoodie of his for once.

You looked down at your hands.

You were under a parasol. 

Which gave shade. 

Which would make someone feel less ‘affected by the scalding weather.’

“Park!”

You never really thought that you would be the one to invite Jay Park to sit under a parasol with you. Especially after such events that transpired earlier.

It was silent.

Awkward.

Usually, you’d be able to look him straight in the eye, but now equipped with the knowledge that he may or may not have been attracted to you this entire time, you felt queasy.

Maybe this was a bad idea.

He had his eyes glued to the book that he was reading. Upon closer inspection, you knew that book. In fact, you had it.

It was Design of Cities: Revised Edition by Edmund Bacon. The textbook for your urban design course.

And he had the audacity to call you nerdo freak all this time! 

He only looked away from his book to glance at his phone. 

To change the song that he was listening to.

When you peeked at his phone screen, you noticed a familiar album cover playing.

Bright orange and blue, four men gathered around the table.

Then you noticed the white text right below it.

Supermassive Blackhole.

Before your mind could even think, your mouth moved for you.

“You listen to Muse?”

Jay took his earbud out of his ear, looking up at you slowly with a questioning look.

.

.

.

This scene has happened before.

“You asked me that already,” Jay said simply. 

“I-I know.” Why were you stammering? “Summer of freshman year. We were at the beach then, too.”

He cocked a brow at you, and just as he was turning back to his textbook, you continued, voice meeker than usual. “I asked you if you listened to Muse because I also listen to them. But you.. You thought I was making fun of you.”

Jay looked at you slowly.

Why were you shy?

He fingered the earbud that he had removed. You seemed to notice, bracing yourself for the slight embarrassment that would come with his shoving that thing back into his ear. Except, he didn’t. Instead, he presented it in his palm before you.

Was he… offering it to you?

“If you’re just going to stare at it–”

You snatched the bud from his palm, prodding it into your ear.

When the music played, you were met with Matt Bellamy vocalizing into your ear and that iconic, yet rough, guitar rift. Weird that the very song that you listened to when working out was the one that Jay used to study urban planning and design.

You watched Jay’s focused face. The scar on his nose got lost in the divots on his skin when he scrunched his nose, presumably in reaction to something he had read. You never really noticed the birthmark on his neck either.

The next song played, but before it did, Jay paused it.

“What are you looking at?”

You recoiled.

“You were looking at me,” Jay remarked. “Is there something on my face?”

“No, there’s nothing.”

“Okay.”

He caught a glimpse of the song playing before pressing ‘play.’

“You must love this song,” he muttered.

You couldn’t tell if he was being serious or not, until you were met with a distinct drum, rugged bassline, and the 4-on-the-floor beat.

Exo-Politics.

That was the name of the song. 

The song that was playing was called Exo-Politics.

You were a political science major.

Was he trying to joke with you?

Was the Jay Park attempting to joke with you?

In the corner of your eye, you could see some children building sand-castles, just like you had been doing earlier. You then peered at the textbook he was reading.

Design of Cities: Revised Edition by Edmund Bacon.

You bit your lip.

“Do you…” you began. “Do you want to see who can build a better sand-castle?”

A civil and urban engineering major and a political science major. 

Both were taking the same urban planning and design college course.

Who would build a better sand-city?

“What the fuck is that?”

“I’m going for a high-rise look!”

Maybe it wasn’t the greatest idea. 

Especially when it was two ‘nerdo freaks’ trying to out-wit each other.

“The housing density is insane.”

“That settlement looks squatter.”

“That looks unsustainable.”

“That neighborhood is just looking to get gentrified.”

At that comment, you, who were only a few feet away from Jay, grabbed a handful of semi-wet sand and hurled it at the man. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Hey!” The glob of sand had landed on one of his ‘high-rise’ buildings. “I’m trying to say that your neighborhoods look poor.”

“Poor?!”

You went for a more sustainable look. Geometric layouts, charmingly sinuous roads, mid-height buildings with only a few clustered high-rise ones, concise zones of income, and clumps of wet sand littered all across the sand-city, imitating trees.

“Is that… New Urbanism?”

You patted your hands off. “Glad that you can recognize it, Park.”

The detail really was something to marvel at. Each building had a indents into their surface to imitate windows, the sandy ‘roads’ were strategically carved with a sharp fingernail to replicate the different uses of land, and even the globs of sand that represented trees were fluffed up to look like actual trees rather than miscellaneous globs.

Jay rolled his eyes, going back to shaping the pointed tip of his building.

Whereas your city was terribly idealistic, he went for a more true-to-life replica. After all, it was his job to study and create infrastructural pieces for real-life cities. High-rise buildings, strong geometric structures, high-density housing, narrow spaces between structures, and little open space. They were built with incredible precision: all the lines were perfectly straight, all the shapes were beautifully even on all sides, and it genuinely looked true-to-life.

“Your city looks like something that would need protection from Spider-Man.”

Ironic.

Jay sighed to hide the slightly-amused grin that you had elicited from him.

“You like Spider-Man?” 

Your face contorted, eyes squinting. “In what way?”

“Whaddya mean ‘in what way’?”

You frowned. “I mean, economically and politically speaking, he’s kind of a disturbance, dontcha think?”

Do you even like Spider-Man? Has Jay been misconstruing everything?

Did he technically kidnap you?

“He’s, like, more effective than other law enforcement, but that’s really a testament to him as a protector and how shit current law enforcement is,” you thought aloud. “I think he’s good.”

“Just good?

You frowned again. 

“Aren’t you his friend?” you changed the subject. Even in your strange uneasiness, you didn’t find it hard to maintain steady eye-contact with the man. Given the fact that you’d cussed him out using all swears under the sun while looking him straight in the eye.

Jay feigned surprise. “Yeah, he is. How do you know that?”

The man watched as your bottom lip was taken under your teeth. “He came by last night.”

Jay quirked a brow.

There was a pulse of silence between you two.

Not quite comfortable, but not exactly hostile.

Other than the sound of soft breathing, seagulls squawking and people laughing in the distance, and sea waves crashing against the sandy shore, it was completely silent. 

Dare Jay say, a nice moment.

“Jay, come play football with us!”

That’s right. 

Every time they’d go to the beach, Jay would play football with the boys. 

He wanted to play. 

But he also wanted to show you up in your sand-city competition. 

As he constructed another sand skyscraper, Jay slowly looked up. His eyes met with yours. You gave him a sharp nod, as if to say, ‘Go ahead.’

The man sighed.

Dusting his sandy hands off, Jay rose to his feet.

“I’m not done here, by the way,” he remarked as he passed your crouched form. “I can still make a better city than you.”

Jay felt a glob of sand flicked at his leg, he knew that the feeling was mutual.

Jay lost control of his spider-like abilities sometimes.

His fingers would stick implacably to papers if he wasn’t careful, he’d turn a door handle mindlessly and break it with his inhuman strength, or be acutely aware of the most miniscule of all dust specks flying close to someone’s face.

Sometimes, he’d use those abilities to his advantage.

Like right now.

Jay wasn’t cheating!

Just making use of what his body can do.

Fast reflexes to dodge those that would charge at him head-on, incredible (in a human way) running speed, and probably the greatest throws, like, ever.

When Jake Sim passed the red-brown ball in his direction, who was he to not use those spider reflexes and catch it with larger-than-life precision? As his eyes scoped around for who to pass to, he found the perfect person. Preparing, he raised his arm, squinting for accuracy. At once, he hurled the football.

Except, he found that he’d lost control of just how much strength he was putting into the throw. 

At top speed, it began shooting through the air, its pointed tip charging like a missile. As if it was in slow motion, gravity dragged the leathery ball toward the sandy ground. Like a rocket torpedo, the football flung straight into the elaborate city of sand sculpted by your very hands.

If it was any normal, human-strength throw, only a portion of the sand-city would be destroyed.

But because Jay had an obscene amount of strength, the ball not only destroyed the entire city, but dug so harshly into the sand that it exploded it– debris-like chunks of sand just bursting everywhere. And especially all over you and your pretty yellow sundress.

The earth must have stopped spinning, the sun shedding a single ray like a stagelight in a theater over your now frozen figure.  It wasn’t just Jay’s super hearing senses. It was like all sound at this bustling beach died out in an instant, zeroing in you.

You turned your head slowly. Your expression was completely vacant, but that spoke volumes. There was sand all over your face, so with a willful arm, you wiped all of it in a sharp swipe.

Even though he was several meters away from you across the beach, and even though there was no way of telling who threw the ball, Jay could feel your stone gaze right at him. You took a deep breath.

Jay ran to you.

“I’m so sorry,” he breathed, swiping his tongue over his bottom lip. “I didn’t realize that it– the ball– was going your way– I–”

Everyone was ready to hear you shout your lungs out at Jay. In fact, Jay braced himself for the onslaught of profanities and obscenities that would be rightfully spewed at him.

But there was no yelling.

You breathed through your nose before rising to your feet and dusting off your sandy dress.

You looked at him.

“Thanks a lot, Jay.” There was a sliver of a smile spreading on your lips, but the way your teeth so clearly clenched together told a different story. You squeezed your eyes shut to conceal your bubbling anger, but you simply couldn’t take it. “It always seems like you ‘didn’t realize’ something all the time. But I’m not really surprised anymore.”

With that, flicked a piece of sand off your shoulder before snatching up your tote bag that was perched against the parasol and turning on your heel.

All Jay could do was watch your retreating back, football in hand, as you walked in the opposite direction away from him to the parking lot. 

He dug his nails into the leathery ball. Tearing his eyes away from you, Jay was about to turn back to his friends. 

Except, a massive crash erupted through the air.

With his spider-like reflexes, Jay snapped his head up. From behind the high-rise buildings and tall structures emerged a giant shadow. 

Almost immediately, in the distance, Jay heard cars honking, wheels screeching against the road, and screaming. There were mini fires in the distance from cars crashing.

As people scurried for their lives, the car smoke cleared, revealing a greater shadow in the distance. 

Six claws, seemingly mechanical and woven together with many tiny wires. Two antennas extending from the crown of the figure. Metallic body, with red and flashing accents.

Shit. 

He knew exactly who that was.

Doctor Discotheque.

Didn’t he fight him a week ago?

“Where’s Spider-Man?!”

Jay clenched his fist. 

He had to find a way to get into his hero suit without anyone seeing. Speaking of…

The man whipped his head around to where his friends were. Like everyone else, they were running for their lives. At least they were going in the opposite direction.

Clenching his fist again, Jay was ready to charge straight up to the supervillain, but his dark eyes incidentally caught onto the frozen figure of none other than you. You were completely frozen in your spot, unmoving as you gawked at the incredible size of the villain.

Damnit, [Name], Jay sucked in a sharp breath. It wasn’t abnormal for people to freeze in the face of danger, but he never thought it would be you. 

Shooting a web from his wrist, Jay retrieved a stray towel. In what was only a fraction of a second, he threw the towel over him before he changed into his Spider-Man suit. Fixing his mask, he discarded the towel.

The ground rumbled under his feet as Doctor Discotheque’s gigantic body terrorized the streets.

Jay’s feet immediately began moving, running toward your direction. As he approached her, he shot a sticky white web, sticking to your clothes back and effectively yanking you right into him. The hero threw you over his shoulder with an arm around your waist, and began running the other direction.

When you didn’t react, Jay gave a pat to your ass, the way a parent would do to their infant.

“Oi, [Name]!” Jay propelled himself off the sandy ground, discharging a few webs to allow him to swing. 

“S-Spider-Man?!” Finally, you snapped out of your dazed state. “What’s– What was that?!”

Jay tightened his grasp around you as he began climbing up a building. By now, he was far from where Doctor Discotheque was. Good for your safety, but not good for his own crime-fighting. 

“What, that big thing?” He felt you nod. “That’s just my good pal Doctor Discotheque.”

His tone was far too easygoing, and you audibly gulped.

“Relaaaaax, Angel,” Jay swung to another building. “He’s just a little villain. I beat him twice already. Nothin’ for ya to worry yer pretty head about about.”

“But he’s huge! And, you’re–”

Jay gave your ass another pat. “Just trust me on this, Baby.”

Finally, you reached the destination Jay had planned for you– the underground subway station. It was far enough from all the commotion for it to be calm, but just safe enough.

Jay placed you down. Despite all his reassurance, your face was twisted with concern.

You squeezed his shoulder, lips jutting out into a frown.

“I told ya already,” Jay knocked on your head. “Don’t worry about me.”

When you wouldn’t stop frowning, Jay flexed his bicep, placing your hand on it. With his hand over you, he squeezed his firm bicep.

“Ya feel that muscle?” you nodded slowly. “I’m strong. Spider-Man is strong.”

You stared at him.

“So you don’t hafta worry about me.”

Granted, Jay was talking to you the same way that he would talk to a crying six-year-old, but hey, it’s the principle of it!

“Just…” you took a deep breath. “Be careful.”

Jay unknowingly grinned. “Yeah, yeah.”

There was a pulse of silence between you two.

You looked up at him, with nearly glossy and wide eyes. You bit your lip.

“Before you go…” you murmured something under your breath. Abruptly, you grabbed Jay’s masked face, bringing it down so that he was eye-level to you. You pressed a quick peck to his cheek, before pulling back immediately. “Just…  Don’t do anything dumb.”

Jay stared at you, blinking a few times to absorb everything. He swallowed on his dry throat, licking his lips. Another wide grin spread over his face. 

“Of course, Gorgeous.”

Okkkayyy….

So maybe Jay was a bit of a liar.

According to the supervillain himself, Doctor Discotheque got access to some high-tech science shit and now had this supermassive mechanical body to control.

Just great.

Spider-Man was no wimp. He fought with all his might and was actually quite effective. Effective enough to damage Doctor Discotheque to the point that he ran away and yelled, “Damn you, Spider-Man!”

The only issue was that Doctor Discotheque was a little too strong for Jay to handle unprepared. 

The night was completely silent now. That is, if you didn’t count the police sirens and helicopters flying overhead, reporting on the incident.

There was an undoubted hush that fell over the city. The supervillain hadn’t done anything that was crisis-causing, but he was an unequivocal threat. According to the police reports, three people had died, while an entire block and a half of important infrastructure, including parts of the beach, had been subject to damage. The news, after collecting data, reported that quantitatively, 67% of citizens felt unsafe and were fearful of what was to come. Indeed, there was a threat.

And even worse, Spider-Man was injured.

Doctor Discotheque wasn’t lying when he said that he had “some high-tech science shit,” because one of his tentacle-like claws managed to stab Jay’s thigh. It was nothing fatal, but it was certainly debilitating.

“Ah– Shit.” Jay had to resort to climbing the walls instead of swinging around buildings. Before he entered his apartment complex, he made sure to tie a piece of cloth around his bleeding wound and change back to his civilian clothes.

When he cracked open his apartment door, he was surprised when you bombarded him with questions.

“Where the hell were you?” The you that Spider-Man knew was vastly different from the you that Jay Park knew. “We were all so worried– Shit– No one saw you, like, at all, at the beach– and you weren’t responding to any texts or calls– and–”

Jay blinked. 

“What were you doing all this time? You could have been killed, or injured!-- or– It doesn’t matter– Where have you been all this time and why haven’t you been responding to any of us, or–”

You dug your teeth into your bottom lip. “Look! Even your brother’s worried sick!” 

Jay looked over at Wonnie, who was eating chips (and getting crumbs all over) and watching TV, completely unbothered.

“I, um,” Jay stared at you. Quick! How was he going to get out of this one? “I was– I was at my internship. We.. uh, We were studying infrastructure… as a result of the… Incident.”

You eyed him suspiciously. “Was the studying so interesting that you couldn’t respond to any texts or calls?”

Jay fumbled with his phone that was deeply squashed in his pants pocket. “It was dead.”

It was now that he noticed the way that you were circling him, inspecting him like a hawk. It was a good thing that he changed into his civilian-wear, or else you'd see the cuts and bruises all over his arms, as well as the dirt and debris that had gotten into and onto his hero suit. 

“Oh my god, are you bleeding?!”

Jay looked down, and lo and behold, there’s blood dripping down his thigh, creating a puddle of dark red below him.

Maybe next time, he shouldn’t use a tiny piece of cloth to tie up such an absurd wound like that.

“Oh. I am.”

“?!”

And that’s how Jay found himself sprawled across the bathroom floor with one ear pressed against the bathroom door, listening to your voice on the other side.

“Is it bad?”

“Yeah, there’s blood everywhere.”

“?!”

He finally fessed up and admitted that he got stabbed in the thigh (with an appropriate excuse, of course). You were just going to leave it at that, snarkily saying, “Hope you know how to fix up a stab wound,” but when he responded with, “I don’t,” you grumbled under your breath and forced him to take a shower. You weren't exactly excited to see him naked and so bare (his thigh!) and neither was he, so your direction was all told behind a bathroom door.

It was a tedious task having to listen to you. 

But you were a tedious person.

Look for things in the wound like glass shards, disinfect it with alcohol, patch it up.

Except he couldn’t get past the second step.

“Shit, shit, shiiiiit,” Jay hissed. Rubbing alcohol burned.

“Park?” your voice resounded behind the bathroom door. “Are you okay in there?”

He fumbled with the various medical equipment. “Y-Yeah– It just kinda hurts.”

There was a silence.

“I’m fine.”

Behind the door, he heard you sigh.

“Put on some clothes, Park.”

“W-What?”

“You’re so fuckin’ incompetent that I need to help you. Put on some clothes so I can get in there, will ya?”

Now the two of you were sitting on the floor.

“Ow! That really hur–”

“Stay still then!” “I can’t when it’s burni– Ah.. Agh! It hurts!”

The wound was a lot worse than you had thought. Jay said that one of the interns dropped a saw knife on his lap, causing it to stab him. Honestly, you did not buy that story but it was the best he had so you just accepted it.

Unfortunately, this stab wound looked a lot worse than someone just accidentally dropping a sharp object onto his lap.

The two of you were now sitting on the cold bathroom floor, you in between his legs. Jay had shorts rolled all the way up, revealing his injured thigh. Other than the occasional hiss of pain, annoyed murmur, and sound of Wonnie’s TV channel in the background, it was completely silent. The early-summer night was only beginning to darken. If the night of the party was discounted, then this may have been the closest that you two have ever been.

Your delicate fingers against his skin, Jay sunk his teeth into his lip. Your glasses were at the very tip of your nose, almost falling off your face. He wanted to push them up badly, but decided against it. After all, you and him were not friends. Barely even acquaintances.

Well, you and him, a.k.a.  you and his civilian form, a.k.a. you Jay Park.

You and Spider-Man seemed to be great friends.

He wondered why you hated him so much. You got along well with Spider-Man just fine, and Spider-Man was probably the most free version of Jay there was. Was it just the very essence of Jay Park?

Thinking back to what happened earlier at the subway station, you were sweet. Too sweet. The sweetest that he’d ever seen.

Jay never thought that he’d look into your eyes and see genuine worry, concern.

The way you held onto him, those pouty lips, gleaming eyes that looked up at him like he was some god.

Jay’s lips parted unconsciously as he watched the way you were currently working between his legs. 

It would be a lie to say that Jay wasn’t, to some degree, attracted to you. He’s always been. Your [H/C] hair, those glasses that would delicately lay on your nose. Your mean words, nasty glares, critical eyes, and most strikingly, your wicked intelligence– they should have made him completely terrified of you, but for some reason, it only made him more attracted to you. 

Too many guilty nights were spent thinking about you, contemplating what he should say to you the next day to elicit a reaction.

Sometimes, at night, his mind would wander about what would have happened that night at the soccer mixer if Wonnie hadn’t called him. What would have happened between him and you? 

And when you kissed him earlier, he felt like a little schoolboy talking to a girl for the first time. Why was he so giddy?

He bit his tongue as you finished off your bandaging job.

He was going crazy.

Yes, you did indeed need to ask Jay Park for help again. Normally that would be embarrassing enough. But now it was another level of embarrassment.

A few days had passed since the incident at the beach, and someone had the wonderful idea to have a frat party. In the middle of the week. Which was what you (and by association, Jay) were getting ready for.

You and Jay agreed that you both would be taking your car to the party, but under the condition that you went in at appropriately-spaced times to avoid misunderstandings.

Jay’s version of “getting ready” was literally nothing. He wore what he always wore to parties. On the other hand, you actually dressed up.

The only issue was you didn’t have your friends with you, who would usually help you get ready.

Which was why you were now embarrassingly asking Jay Park to zip up your tiny red dress.

“C-Can you– just–” you had to cross your arms to keep the thin spaghetti straps from falling off your shoulders. Even so, in front of him, you felt like you were practically spilling out of the dress. “Can you just zip up my dress?”

How embarrassing.

Jay agreed to it with a silent nod, but you could feel his judgment boring into the back of your head. 

You felt his large hands ghost over your lower back before stopping.

“Move your hair.”

When you didn’t respond, Jay repeated himself. “Move your hair. I can’t zip it up if your hair’s in the way.”

“O-Oh.”

How embarrassing.

When he was done, you instinctively turned around to face him. When you were with your friends and they zipped up your dress, you’d turn around and ask, “How do I look?”

Unfortunately, Jay wasn’t one of those friends.

Your cheeks burned in embarrassment when Jay gave a questioning look, ready to turn around and scurry off. However, you couldn’t help but notice the way his eyes clung to your dress-clad body, and especially the way that he gulped harshly, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

You couldn’t stop the self-satisfied curve forming on your lips.

“What?!” was the simultaneous reaction of Jay and you.

Inevitably, when you arrived at the party, you parted ways to go to your own friends.

“I don’t know how you could hate him,” a friend chuckled into your ear as you hung out in the billiard area, drinks in hand.

“Hate who?”

Another friend nudged you. “Y’know.. Jay.”

You grimaced. “What about him?”

The friend laughed. “Have you seen his arms?”

“No, I haven’t.” You frowned. 

Your friends shrieked, giving you a slap on the arm. “Christ, he’s, like, fine as fuck– oh my god, the lip piercing–”

The bespectacled you frowned again, taking a sip of your canned beer. “If you like him so much, you should tell him. His big ass head might like the attention.”

Your friends exchanged looks.

“Nah, I can’t do that.”

At that point, you weren't even paying attention, too focused on the pool game happening in the room. “Why not?”

“Because everyone knows that Jay Park is yours.”

.

.

.

“WHAT?”

Jay Park?

Yours?

?????

“He’s not-”

Your friend threw an arm around your shoulder. “Look, babe, we all understand. It’s pretty much an unwritten rule that Jay Park is reserved for you and you are reserved for Jay Park.”

You scowled, taking another long sip of your beer, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. Your neck felt uncharacteristically warm. “But, we’ve never even shown interest in each other!”

Another friend put a hand on your shoulder. “Everyone sees the way he looks at you.”

“But that’s just him!” you crossed your arms. “I do not like him!”

There’s cheering in the other room, which you momentarily poked your head out of the room to take a look at. Meanwhile, your friends shared a look.

“[Name], Sweetie,” they smiled when you came back. “Remember when he got his first girlfriend? You were glaring daggers at her.”

“Because she was an objectively bad person!”

“Then why were you crying into my shoulder for hours because you randomly ‘felt sad’?”

“Because I was randomly feeling sad!”

“Right…”

Your friend sighed. “You guys are crazily oblivious.”

You spluttered.

Likewise, Jay was having a similar dilemma.

“Dude, I don’t care if you think [Name] is hot,” the dark-haired man crossed his arms.

His friends stared at him. “Uh. I think you do.”

Jay’s nose scrunched. “I don’t.”

“She always looks like she’s gonna eat you up–”

Jay leaned back on the sofa, throwing an arm over his eyes. “Yeah, which is why–”

“And you always look like you want her to eat you up.”

.

.

.

“That’s not true.” Okay, so maybe Jay Park knew that it was true. When you called him stupid or cursed at him, it may or may not have been a turn-on. He’s not weird. “She doesn’t even call me by my name.”

“Right, [Name] exclusively calls you Park.”

Another friend chimed in. “She wants your last name!”

“Wha–”

Another one spoke up. “She calls you by your last name because she’s waayy into taking it.”

“Okay, okay,” Jay muttered. “But even if I did like her, I don’t think she’s like me back.”

“We never said anything about you liking her…”

.

.

.

“I’m leaving.”

He didn’t end up leaving. In fact, he and his friends ended up in the hallway bedroom along with an entire group of other people. Including you and your own friends.

“Let’s play truth or dare!”

The moment that that fuck-faced, son of a bitch Jake Sim reached for the glass Heineken bottle and gave it a spin, Jay knew he was doomed. Because the bottle landed on you yourself. And the mischievous look on his face told the room everything they had to know.

“[Name], I dare you to play 7 Minutes in Heaven with Jay!”

That’s how Jay Park found himself sitting face-to-face with you in a stuffy closet. 

Awkward.

Outside, you could hear the muffled voices of your friends, giggling amongst themselves. It was deathly silent in the closet, so quiet that Jay’s ears rung with static. Despite this, your eyes were not shy; steady and unwavering eye-contact was always the way for Jay and you, no matter the situation.

“Are they gonna kiss?!” someone whispered not-so-loudly on the other side of the door. You, staring dead into his eyes, cocked a brow, your lip twitching. 

“Six minutes!” someone shouted outside.

Jay was uncomfortable. You probably were, too.

How could he lighten up the mood?

Well, he’s comfortable with you when he’s Spider-Man, and vice versa. What’s something Spider-Man would say?

“You look great tonight.”

Good one, Spider-Man.

Your brows furrowed together, your entire face scrunching. Just as Jay was about to pray to the sky for the ground to swallow him up, you opened your mouth. 

“Thank you,” you said quietly, and for the first time since you got into the closet, averted your gaze from his. Your eyes dropped, before using your foot to nudge him. “Nice socks, Park.”

That’s right, tonight he was wearing… Spider-Man socks.

Oh man, he looked like a weirdo.

Jay chewed on his bottom lip. 

When he glanced over at you, for the first time ever, instead of feeling indignation or irritation, he felt something adjacent to admiration. 

Jay had seen you for every one of your embarrassing phases. And when he looked at you now, those dark and curly mascara-laden lashes, glossy pink lips, and shimmery eyeshadow lining your eyes, he only realized then how gorgeous you were. You had always been attractive to him, and he’d always known that. But now you were seriously beautiful. 

There was no doubt that you put effort into your appearance. He was stupid, and he knew he was, to indulge in the idea that, perhaps, you dressed up for him.

On your end, your heart was hammering in your chest. Which was weird. Because that only happened when you were nervous. And what was there to be nervous about when it came to Jay Park?

“Five minutes!”

Your friends’ words rang in your head.

Was Jay Park really that attractive?

He had honey-gold skin, strong and sharp features, tousled dark hair, and a pierced lip. If you looked past his smug expression when he got what he wanted or that slightly-pathetic look in his eyes when he didn’t, you supposed that he could be attractive. 

You glanced at him. His distracted gaze, pointed at the carpeted floor below their feet, was almost daunting.

Was there something between you and Jay, something that neither of you knew about?

If someone asked you that question years ago, you would have punched them square in the face for asking such a dumb question.

But now you didn’t know.

You would be lying if you said that you never thought of Jay Park in a different light. As much as you hated to admit it, there were times where you questioned your attraction to him. It wasn’t like he was going around charming you with physical affection. 

Instead, it was small actions.

Rolling his sleeves up, his large hands littered with rings, the bruises along his knuckles and splinters and cuts along his fingers because of his engineering workshops, licking his lips, that little side smirk he’d do when satisfied with himself, when he’d quirk his brow at you, when he’d correct people, when he’d speak academically, when he’d help people in class.

You were so immersed in thoughts that you didn't notice the way Jay was outright staring at you. 

You were only pulled out of it when you felt a finger push up your glasses.

Surprised, you jerked back, eyes looking up at a just-as-surprised Jay.

“I’m sorry,” Jay blurted almost immediately. “Your glasses– they were falling down your nose, so I–”

You bit the inside of your cheek, feeling your ears prickle with heat. Sheepishly, you pushed up your glasses, holding onto the rims as a way to hide your embarrassed face.

“I’m so sorry,” Jay rambled. “That’s so weird and I shouldn’t have and–”

“It’s okay,” you interrupted. You pushed up your glasses again.

Another silence fell over you, this time, even more tense. Until Jay broke the silence.

“How did we even start hating each other?” 

You cracked a small smile. “You don’t remember?

“No, I do,” Jay said. “I just feel like there were so many opportunities for us to become friends. We just never did.”

“I guess.”

There’s another pulse of silence.

“I don’t hate you, by the way,” you mumbled. 

“You don’t?”

“I mean, at least I don’t think so.”

“Then I don’t think I hate you either.”

“Thanks.”

Jay almost laughed. “‘Thanks?’”

You shrugged.

Your eyes met, staring into each other’s eyes for a few moments before a bashful expression spread across Jay’s face. “Y’know, I stopped talking to Taehyun after you yelled at me.”

Your lips parted. “Why?”

Jay scoffed, his brows knitting together in an attempt to explain himself. 

“I dunno. I guess you..” he trailed off. Again, those wide and glossy eyes that looked at him. This time, though, instead of gazing at him as if he was some god, you watched him as if he was a book, trying to read him. “You beat some sense into me.”

“Three minutes!” someone shouted. From outside, there were giggling and fake kissing noises.

You two shared a small laugh at your friends.

The remaining 3 minutes were quiet.

College student stress was no joke. That coupled with a pinch of sexual and housing frustration, and the result is a drunk you.

You really didn’t mean to drink so much tonight, but everything seemed to become a much bigger problem when on a dance floor next to a whole bunch of sweaty bodies, so why not drink your problems away?

Currently, you were on top of a guy, who was equally as drunk as you, in the guest bedroom of the frat house. Tangling your hands in his hair, you smashed your lips against his. Whoever you were kissing was a messy kisser– He shoved his tongue into your mouth, aggressively exploring every crevice. His kisses left your lips swollen and pouty, pink lip gloss leaving pretty residue at the corner of his lips. Cold metal pressed into your bottom lip– it must have been a piercing. It should have hurt, and it did, but the foreign and cold pain only made the kiss even better.

Meanwhile, his hands roamed.

Would it be a good time now to mention that the guy was Jay Park-- just that both of you were too drunk to even notice each other? For the second time.

Jay's large, ring-covered fingers gripped your hips, hard enough to leave bruises. With each passionate kiss, he pulled your hips against his, before sliding his hands down to your ass and giving it a squeeze, earning a squeal from you. 

You finally pulled away from each other only to catch a breath of air. You, with puffy lips and blown-out eyes, shifted in the man’s lap; you shoved your knee between his thighs, while your hands grasped his hair to tilt his head, giving you access to his neck.

Pressing wet kisses along his honey-gold skin, you took in his woody scent. Your fingers, laced harshly in his soft locks, pulled on his hair.

“Fuuuuuck,” Jay groaned. 

You gave his hair another harsh tug, pressing your lip directly against his neck– right at the crook where his jaw met his neck. You swiped your tongue over his skin. Grinning to yourself, you graze your teeth against him, before sinking them in and giving his plush skin a soft suck. He gasped.

“You like that?” you breathed in his ear. He shuddered, nodding quickly. 

Unsatisfied, you sank your teeth into his skin again, sucking harshly this time. “I wanna hear you fuckin’ say it.”

“Yes– shiiit–” your lips moved to the crook of his neck. Jay threw his head back, sighing loudly. “Fuck, I like that.”

Even under the dim bedroom light, when you pulled away,you could admire the red-purple marks left on his skin, along with the slight shimmery sheen of lip gloss left. Just when he thought it was over, you ran your tongue along the bruises that you left, pressing the sensitive skin. 

You ran a pedicured hand up his chest, before pushing him down so that he was lying flat on the soft bed. Currently, you were completely straddling his thigh, so you threw a leg around him so that you would be straddling his hips.

In your drunken stupor, you couldn't make out his features, other than a sharp nose and dark hair. Jay's hands came up to grip your hips once again, rocking yours against his just slightly and letting out a desperate cry.

You ran your nail along Jay's neck, admiring the marks you left.  You grasped his chin, shaking it side-to-side. “Uh-uh. Not until I say so.”

Yanking the hem of his hoodie, you pulled it up, revealing a toned and tanned stomach. You graze your nails against his skin, biting your lip.

“Raise your arms,” you slurred. He sat up and complied, so you pulled his hoodie over his head. With him still sat up, you pulled Jay close so that your chests were pressed right against each other.

Once again, you smashed your lips against his, engaging in another heated make-out session. Your nails dug into Jay's biceps, while his hands roamed your body– squeezing your ass, grazing your thighs, and tugging at the thin spaghetti straps of your dress.

“Take it off,” he whined against your lips, pawing at your dress. “Take it off, please.”

You chuckled, amused. You grabbed his chin. “What did I say earlier?”

“Please, please, please,” he begged, completely ignoring what you said.

You slammed your lips against each other, pulling him by his face. The room was filled with the sound of lips colliding with one another, and occasional whines and pleas.

Both far too intoxicated to focus on anything other than your desire, you didn’t notice the sound of footsteps and laughter approaching the guest bedroom.

“And I was like–” the door clicked open. “OH MY GOD–”

Why does this keep happening? 

The last time Jay went to a frat party, he nearly hooked up with you and got cockblocked one way or another. Last time, it was his kid brother. And now his friends.

As he ran out of the frat house (of course grabbing a water bottle and chugging it to sober up), searching for you, Jay couldn’t help but feel a harboring sense of disappointment and shame. His cheeks burned against the cool night air, his eyes glossy and watery with the initial surprise and now, shame. He tried to blink back the tears that were beginning to line his eyes, biting his lip hard enough to draw blood.

When two of your friends bursted through the doorway, the two of you were completely frozen. Jay was too drunk to even comprehend what was happening, but when he heard “[Name],” everything came back to him.

You didn’t seem to realize it was him either until you heard his name.

And the moment that you did, your face grew red, morphing and twisting. As crystal tears began to fill your eyes, you began hitting and punching Jay. Maybe he was too drunk to understand, or you were too drunk to generate coherent words. But he couldn’t understand anything that you said.

Not until you let out a loud sob, yelling, “I hate you, Jay Park.”

You jumped off of him, running out of the room, pushing past the group of friends that had formed a mini-crowd around the doorway. 

You must be disgusted with him. He was a fool to think that he could even have a chance with you.

Humiliated and disgusted with himself, Jay watched as you ran off into the night. His heart sank to his knees, an uneasy and nauseating feeling settling in his stomach. As his heart calmed down, Jay lowered his head in humiliation, unable to even face himself.

You said that you didn't hate him, but you surely must now.

Just as he was about to run back into that frat house and drink himself dead, he realized one very crucial thing: where the fuck was you going?

You were drunk. And crying. Even if you hailed a taxi, there was no way of knowing that you'll be safe.

Sucking in a sharp breath from his heavy breath, Jay looked down at his hands.

God, he was so ashamed of himself. He would love– and truly, love– to go drink until he was shitfaced drunk again. There’s no way that he could look anyone, and especially you, in the eye after this. He felt disgusting. Nasty. He must be a repulsive person.

But there was no way in hell that he was going to let a drunk and vulnerable woman run around the city late at night.

Which was why Jay found himself pulling the very woman that crushed his soul close under a street lamp. 

Of course, as Spider-Man. 

Luckily, you hadn’t gotten in a taxi yet. He found you sitting under a street light, crying. His heart ached, wrenching in his chest. 

Standing over you, he extended a hand.

“Let me take you home, Angel.”

Even with all the shame that befell over him, Jay was gentle with you. Even though you were the source of all his troubles, he couldn’t bring himself to treat you as anything less. In his heart, you were still the you that he knew (and loved).

Crouching down, he pushed your hair out of your face, running a thumb over your wet cheek to wipe away your tears. Patting your head, he couldn’t help but coo at your pouty face. 

He didn’t like to see you cry like this.

When Jay cupped your face, you grabbed his wrist, nuzzling your cheek into his warm palm.

“Please,” you whispered.

And who was he to refuse you?

You cried into his neck the whole way home. In a way, Jay felt like a fraud. The same person that ran you away from was the one holding you. If you knew who Spider-Man was, you’d run, too. 

“Don’t wanna go inside,” you murmured into his ear once they arrived at his apartment.

Jay stroked your hair gently. “Why not?”

“Because,” you sobbed. “Because— it’ll r-remind me of him.”

The hero frowned. “Of who?”

You cried harder. “Jay—“ you stopped yourself, only holding onto him tighter. 

“[Name],” Jay whispered against the shell of your ear. “How ‘bout I stay with you out here?”

You sniffled, glassy eyes shining in the bluish moonlight. You nodded your head profusely. Much to your surprise, Jay launched the two of you up onto the roof of the apartment complex. When you looked at him sheepishly, he simply muttered, “I go here when I want to clear my head.”

Ten minutes later, all of which were just filled with you sobbing in your drunken glory, neither of you wanted to leave your current position: Jay sitting cross-legged and you on his thigh so that he could see your face. The whole time, as you cried, Jay stroked your hair, occasionally whispering a few words of reassurance in your ear.

As you calmed down, Jay cupped your cheek. You must have been beginning to sober up, because you resisted his touch, pulling away to hide your face. 

“[Name],” he said against the shell of your ear, delicate fingers grasping your chin. “[Name], look at me.”

Rich from someone who could barely look you in the eyes right now.

“Nooo,” you whined, bringing a stray strand of hair to cover your eyes. “It’s embarrassing.”

Jay cracked a grin under his mask. “What’s there to be embarrassed about?” you didn't respond. “Yer embarrassed about crying in front of Spider-Man?”

“Am not!” you shot at him, but the way you continued to hide your face told Jay everything he had to know. “H-Hey!”

Jay forced your face to turn to his. He ran his thumb across your cheek, caressing your puffy and tear-stained skin. “Talk to me, Gorgeous.” Your lips pursed into a pout. “What happened? Did someone do something to make you cry? Do I gotta fight someone?”

Yeah, yourself.

He knew the answer to that.you were going to cry again, wail about how much you hated Jay Park, how disgusted and horrified you were with Jay Park, how it was him, that bastard of a man, that made you cry. Jay knew he wasn’t emotionally prepared for what you were going to say, but he wanted to hear it from your lips for some reason. He would at least gain some closure, even if it meant rubbing salt into the wound before he was going to inevitably beat himself up over it later.

But to his surprise, you shook your head. 

“No one did anything,” you sniffled.

“B-But–”

You looked down at your hands sadly. “It was my fault.”

How could it be your fault? Jay was certain that it was his.

“I’m such a bitch,” you breathed. “He… H-He didn’t even do anything– I– I wanted him– so bad– But I pushed him away…”

Jay tightened his hold around you. “What… What are you talking about?”

“If I talk about it, I’ll start crying again,” you murmured. When Jay gave your head a soft pat, whispering, “I won’t make fun of ya if you do,” into your ear, you took a deep breath. You turned over your shoulder to gaze at him. “But you have to promise not to tell anyone though.”

It wasn’t like Jay heard you say that though.

Because he might have been too fucking enraptured by you.

The yellow-marble moon shone behind her, giving you an ethereal backlit glow. Even so, the lights of the bustling city reflected off the sparkling luster of tears collecting in your wide eyes. Your hair was endearingly disheveled, and your nose and ears were getting sensitive from the cold night air. You were probably the loveliest person he ever-

No. He should stop.

Jay extended a pinky finger. “Promise.”

You sucked in another deep breath, fiddling with the hem of your dress. 

“Me and Park… We got drunk and almost…” you trailed off, hoping that he would get what you were trying to say. He hummed, signaling that he did. You opened your mouth to continue, but frustrated, shove your face into your hands, letting out a whimper. “And then… our friends walked in on us– And– I just– Felt so embarrassed.”

Embarrassed.

That word stung.

Your eyes began to quell, and the wet sniffles started again. “I got angry, I got so– Fucking angry– and I just began yelling and h-hitting him–” you cut yourself off with a sob, to which Jay squeezed your hand.

He let you cry into his shoulder.

“He– He–” you sobbed. “He looked so hur– hurt. A-And that’s why I-I’m crying!”

Jay sunk his teeth into his bottom lip. He urged you on, rubbing circles on your back. 

You used the back of your hand to wipe your tears. “J-Jay–” His ears perked up at the sound of his name. You almost never called him by his first name. “Jay-fucking-Park makes me feel so-”

Jay braced himself.

“-weird. I-I thought I hated him… B-But–” you squeezed Jay’s hand– “I…. I think I.. I…Ugh!”

You smashed your wet face into Jay’s shoulder in frustration. In his complete and utter bewilderment (you truly didn’t hate him?) Jay let out an airy chuckle. Feeling his chest rumble, you groaned, giving him a smack.

“Y-You said you wouldn’t l-laugh!”

Jay stopped, giving your head another pat. “Sorry, sorry. Ya said that Jay makes you feel weird? Whaddya mean by that?”

You ran a hand through your hair. “Tha- That’s the problem: I don’t know!”

You looked up at him helplessly, grappling onto his wrist. “Help me, Spider-Man!”

Jay let out another airy chuckle. “I mean, how do ya feel around him?”

You glared at him incredulously. “H-He– I normally d-don’t feel anything!-- But re-recently I feel… Hot.”

“Hot?”

“Like, like I’m about to b-burst!”

Jay studied your face. “Do… Do you just hate him?”

“I-It’s not hate!”

“Then I don’t know!”

“Spiiiider-Maaaan!”

He didn’t want to say it. Even suggesting it was probably too emotionally-wrecking for the two of you.

“Do you… have a crush on him then?”

You flopped over him.

“?!”

With your body thrown over his shoulder, you shoved your face into your hands, letting out a drawn-out groan. There’s a pulse of silence. 

Jay clenched his fists. There was a lot to take in. It could be the alcohol lingering in his system, or the overwhelming emotions he felt, but he genuinely could not process anything right now. He’ll sleep on it. All he knew was that he was on-edge.

You responded to his question with an inaudible, muffled, mumble. 

From the way that you stilled against him, not even uttering a sound, it must have been an utterance to yourself, something that he wasn’t supposed to hear.

You clearly didn’t want to confront it, so he won’t force you to.

With little thought, Jay frowned while he traced shapes against your thigh, while you were still sniffling away. You two sat in a comfortable silence, soaking in the moonlight.

“Did you just draw a poop?” you blurted.

“Yeah,” Jay replied. His gloved finger, laced with mischief, traced another figure– consisting of two circles and a long tube.

“I don’t even want to say what you just drew!”

Jay snorted. Wrapping his arms around your hips, the hero hoisted you up momentarily, before lifting you off his shoulder and onto his lap. It was only when you let out a short squeak when he realized that your legs were now draped on either side of his hips.

He deadpanned.

This scene has happened before.

But instead of you pushing him away and punching his chest, you simply giggled, cold hands coming up to grab his masked face. Jay was startled when you pulled his face closer to yours.

“[Na–”

You tried to squeeze his cheek under the mask. When you felt plush, warm skin, your face lit up. “Woahhh!”

“Why’re you so surprised?”

You squished his masked cheek again. “You’re real!”

Another thing about you that enamored him: your naïvete and nearly innocent nature (but only sometimes, when you weren’t trying to kick his ass).

Jay chuckled. “Of course I am. Didja think that I was fake?”

You hummed. Then ,you cupped his cheek, before pedicured fingers slithered toward the juncture between his ear and neck. You fingered the cloth there. Jay’s breath caught in his throat.

“I’ve always wondered who’s behind this mask,” you thought aloud, caressing his neck. Your voice was low and light, like a whisper.

Jay felt like a middle school boy; he was getting nervous just by how close you were to him. He could smell your perfume, and even your breath against his neck. His heart hammered in his chest.

“You…” he rasped, voice deep. “You don’t wanna know.”

“But I do!” you giggled. “Do I know you in real life?”

“Err… I can’t answer that.”

“Awwww.”

You stared at him, before cracking another grin. “I don’t care who you are in real life. I’d still be your friend.”

Jay quirked a brow. He slunk his arm back around your waist, pulling you in closer. 

“What if I was someone you hated?” he murmured. His dark eyes locked onto yours. Such an indulgent question. He was opening himself up to get hurt, but for some reason, he didn’t care.

“I wouldn’t care,” you breathed. “I’d love you either way.”

He knew that was a lie.

That night, you fell asleep in his arms up on the rooftop.

When he snuck back into his apartment, he placed you down on his bed, tucked you in, and whispered, “Good night, Pretty.”

The moment that he shut that bedroom door, Jay felt weak to his knees. His heart rate was picking up, nose suddenly becoming runny. He was in the middle of chanting, “Don’t cry,” to himself when the first tear rolled down his face.

A hand reached up to clasp his mouth tightly as he squeezed his eyes shut. He couldn’t wake you or Wonnie up.

Jay didn’t know how long he cried sitting with his back against the bedroom door, but when he was done, he felt dizzy.

Jay went on an early morning patrol.

He didn’t get much sleep, but that sleep was indeed helpful in clearing his mind.

As he swung from building to building, occasionally scaring off criminals and sketchy people alike, his mind was occupied with thoughts about last night. It was hard to rationalize last night, and while it still was hard, the cool morning air kissed his cheeks just enough to give him the calm to think.

Okay, so, she doesn't think I’m disgusting, I didn’t actually do anything wrong, she was just embarrassed. I make her feel weird, and she might actually hate me. She says that she would still love me if I was… me, but like, “me” as in “Spider-Man” and the other “me” as me, Jay Park, and–

God, this was frustrating.

Even if you didn’t blame him, there was no way he could face you or any of your friends as Jay. His friends were blabbermouths. Everyone and their mothers probably knew by now the events that transpired.

His anguish built up. So much so that even when Jay was disarming a knife-bearing mugger, he couldn’t bring himself to make a few snarky remarks. His body was moving on its own, jumping around and soaring through the air. His mind was in a world of its own, running and drilling with little break, just mulling over all the possibilities.

He didn’t notice the time (three hours later) until all the delis and flower stores began opening up for the day. Plopping down onto one of the hedges on top of a building, Jay only realized how out-of-it he was; his legs were plagued with an abnormal ache, and his chest pushed out air using labored lungs.

Jay pulled off his mask, letting the cool air hit his face. He took a deep breath, peering down at the quiet bustle beginning to spread throughout the city.

He was about to sit there and contemplate, probably reflect on himself or simply relax. 

However, an ear-splitting ringing sound cut through the air.

Beep beep!

“Shit,” he muttered, slipping his phone out of the seamless pocket attached to his suit’s leg. “Whaddya need, Wonnie?”

“Mayday, mayday!” his brother whisper-yelled into his ear.  “Code red! I repeat: code red!”

“Why’re you whispering?” Jay jumped to his feet. He sensed the urgency in Wonnie’s voice on the other line, slipping back into his mask. “What happened?”

“I’m at school right now,” Wonnie hissed. “It’s your girlfriend!”

The man prepared for mobility, rubbing his wrists. “I don’t have a girlfrie– And why are you calling me at school right now?”

“Aghh!” Wonnie cried. “It’s [Name]!”

“Did something happen to her?” Jay’s voice immediately switched to a serious tone. He flexed his muscles, suddenly becoming hyper-alert of his surroundings. His eyes scanned the surrounding area. 

Jay heard fumbling on the other side of the phone, presumably Wonnie almost getting caught by a teacher or something. “Okay, okay. Downtown– the skyscraper along the greenbelt– yes, that one! Doctor Discotheque; I think he’s hanging her!”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Jay grumbled. 

He was on top of a retail store. If Jay’s urban design professor was correct, then there should be a big stretch of apartments in the next few hundred kilometers. In the center should be the CBD. The only issue was that those apartments were dense. If he wants to drill past them in time, then he would need to be quick.

With just his enhanced spider-sight, Jay could see all those hundred kilometers ahead, straight to the central business district. Doctor Discotheque was standing at the top of the downtown skyscraper, and apparently he ditched the massive mechanical body that the “high-tech science shit” gifted him. Instead, the supervillain wore a sleek spandex suit. Doctor Discotheque was laughing villainously, because next to him was a crane hanging right at the edge of the building. The silhouette that was dangling from the crane was you yourself.

Jay heaved. 

Let’s fucking do this.

“Spider-Man did it better, by the way.”

“If you keep talking, I will drop you off the side of this building.”

You couldn’t even be surprised anymore. Somehow getting kidnapped by a supervillain was less outlandish than making out with you enemy twice.

This morning, when you were just starting to leave for class, the window shot open, revealing a goofy-looking villain in purple spandex that he totally didn’t rip off of Spider-Man. Seriously, it was the tackiest outfit ever. He had a sparkly panel as a recurring design motif and it seriously was not good.

Nowy ou were suspended 400 meters in the air, with your feet fastened to the lift of a construction crane. You crossed your arms over your chest. 

You should be scared. You really should. For God’s sake, you were dangling upside down over a busy road from an unsteady crane on top of a building that was 400 meters tall. 

But the sight of a supervillain wearing a sparkly suit was too unserious. If there was anything to be afraid of, it would be Doctor Discotheque’s little villain costume.

“Nice outfit, Sparkle Boy.”

And besides, you knew that Spider-Man would save you.

Doctor Discotheque ignored your not-so-subtle jab at his suit, too busy scanning the sky for a certain red and blue - clad superhero.

In fact, that really pissed you off.

How dare he, a sloppily-dressed, dilapidated-looking, old geezer, kidnap you and threaten your life? And when you tried to talk to him, he just ignored you? Such a poorly-designed supervillain. 2/10 from you.

“Hey!” you yelled from where you were dangling. “Hey, you! Purple Wurple!”

Doctor Discotheque ignored you again.

You huffed. “You motherfucker! How dare you ignore me!”

Nothing from him.

“Hey, answer me! Doctor Disgusting!”

Finally, the supervillain snapped his head at you.

“It’s Doctor Discotheque, not Doctor Disgusting,” he spat.

You snorted. “It’s a good thing you became a supervillain, and not a villain-namer, because wow, ‘Doctor Discotheque’ might be the worst deed you’ve ever committed.”

Doctor Discotheque narrowed his eyes at you, before a wide smirk spread across his face. “I had higher standards for Spider-Man.”

When you glared at him, he continued.

“I can’t believe he could date such a wretched person like you.”

“Date?”

“You seem more surprised at that than me kidnapping you,” Doctor Discotheque muttered. He observed your scrunched expression, his grin widening. “I saw you and Spider-Man getting cozy last night on the rooftop. Never knew that he would go for a woman as insufferable as you.”

“Hey, we’re not–”

“And, if you don’t shut your mouth,” the villain spoke through tight lips, “I’ll throw you off this building.”

Before you could retort, the man’s hand reached for the remote console that controlled the crane. Gloved hand palming the joystick, Doctor Discotheque let out a low chuckle, before giving it an experimental pull. Immediately, the lift of the crane shakily lowered.

“H-Hey–!”

He played around with the controls, philandering around as if it was some kind of children’s toy.

“You– You little bitch!” you, though shaky from the mobility, yelled. “F-Fuck you and your sp–sparkly spandex!

Doctor Discotheque let out another low chuckle, before pressing a button. You weren't sure about the mechanics of a crane remote console, but it started shaking the lift from side to side. The crane must have been old, because the parts were moving so shakily. The lift was quite literally rocking in the sky, swinging you around slowly.

“One more word from you, and I’ll be releasing you,” Doctor Discotheque mused. “And by the way, it’s not spandex. It’s lycra.”

You were seriously considering shutting up. Your stomach did flips now that you looked down at the vast expanse of the city below you. The sound of cars rushing across the road, as well as the distressed crowd that was now gathering under the skyscraper, police cars with their loud sirens, and camera shutters did not calm you in the slightest. It was a miracle that your glasses were still intact at this point.

And still, Spider-Man was nowhere in sight.

Wait.

Spider-Man.

Your eyes flickered toward the villain.

There must be a reason that Doctor Discotheque kidnapped you. Other than the fact that he was, in fact, a supervillain, there must be another reason for his evildoing.

Why would someone want to kidnap a broke college student, unless there was something to gain from it?

There truly was only one thing notable about Doctor Discotheque, other than his horrible costume. And it was that he had major beef with Spider-Man. Unfortunately for him, Doctor Discotheque let it slip that he thought you and Spider-Man were dating. 

It was a perfect plan.

Use Spider-Man’s girlfriend against him.

The only issue was that Spider-Man had not yet arrived on the scene yet. Heck, no one even knew if he knew of the situation yet.

Doctor Discotheque wasn’t going to do anything to you. Not until Spider-Man made an appearance.

“Y’know, Doctor Disgusting,” you shouted. “You suck!”

Doctor Discotheque deadpanned. “Foolish woman! Did you not hear what I just said–”

“Drop me,” you demanded. You thrashed around, flailing your arms so that the rope fastening you to the lift shook. “Drop me, you fucking bitch! I dare you!”

Doctor Discotheque stilled. He said nothing, just simply grumbling something under his breath and dropping the remote control to the concrete ground.

You watched him, proud of yourself.

But there were bigger problems up ahead now.

Spider-Man was nowhere in sight. This maniac might actually do something to you if Spider-Man didn’t show up on time. With the size of this commotion– road blocks, traffic issues, a giant crowd pooling at the base of the skyscraper– it was no doubt that the spider-like hero should be on his way.

“Hey, fuckface!” 

A familiar confident and charming voice cut through the air suddenly.

Lo and behold, it was the great Spider-Man.

“Spider-Man-!” you blurted, relief washing over you.

Doctor Discotheque let out a laugh. That laugh became a cackle, before he was howling. Except, it wasn’t really laughing out of amusement, but him pushing air from his chest to create a sound. 

“So you’ve decided to show yourself, Spider-Man,” Doctor Discotheque rasped. He snatched the crane remote control off the ground, and fiddled with the controls just enough to shake you. You let out a small shriek. “One wrong move and this little girlfriend of yours will be dropped.”

Spider-Man clenched his fists.

“So choose wisely,” the villain furbished the remote with his fingers. “Or you'll be toppling to your death in no-time.”

Jay had to be quick with this. 

All eyes were on him, and you were genuinely endangered.

Doctor Discotheque’s main goal was and had always been to humiliate Spider-Man. Jay had no idea what types of things he had hidden up his sleeve, but if he was going far enough to endanger a civilian, it must be bad. 

Like his name would imply, Doctor Discotheque had the ability to generate sounds that transpired the ordinary human sonic level. A.K.A. Doctor Discotheque had a loud voice.

An ability like that would be extremely dangerous, considering that large sound waves are capable of killing people. Except, Jay had a crucial piece of information, thanks to the invaluable research of Wonnie: Doctor Discotheque’s body was not suited for his own ability.

While Doctor Discotheque was capable of pushing air from his diaphragm and vibrating his vocal cords, his own ears could not take it. Usually, those with superhuman abilities would have different bodily functions to accommodate the harm that the abilities would have. For example, those with fire abilities would have cooler and fire-resistant bodies in order to sustain the aptitude. Unfortunately, Doctor Discotheque did not have that.

That meant that while Doctor Discotheque could do basically anything with his voice, he wouldn’t, because that would bring physical harm to his own self, too.

The only issue: if defeated, Doctor Discotheque might take on a “if I die, I’ll take everyone with me” attitude.

Jay had to be strategic.

“If you don’t attack, Spider-Man,” Doctor Discotheque started. The villain sucked in a large breath, “I’ll destroy your eardrums!”

That last part was at least 90 decibels. Jay could tell by the way that Doctor Discotheque himself winced at the sound.

What a dumbass.

“I can’t believe I have to deal with you again, man.”

Jay shot a web to the water tanks behind Doctor Discotheque, thrusting him across the rooftop, which allowed him to extend his right leg in order to land a kick at the villain. The villain dodged his kick by stepping to the side. However, Jay’s lightning-fast reflexes saw that one coming, so he swerved his body to the right to attempt another kick. His elevated heel succeeded in scraping the crown of Doctor Discotheque’s head.

The villain stumbled backward, but continued to evade Jay. Shooting a web, the hero attempted to bring Doctor Discotheque to him, but he dodged it once again. Jay had to give him credit: he had pretty good reflexes.

Jay shot a web to the hedge the villain was next to, hoping to launch himself at him, but before he could, Doctor Discotheque landed a punch square on Jay’s nose.

“Ow! What the fuck, man?” Jay’s eyes watered at the impact. How embarrassing.

Jay continued his venture to wrap this guy in his webs, shooting multiple webs at once. A few of them landed, but Doctor Discotheque was able to dodge them.

“Come on, old man!” Jay grumbled. Finally, one of his webs effectively landed on the villain’s shoulder, allowing for Jay to grapple him toward him. Before Doctor Discotheque could react, the masked hero blasted him with a bunch of more webs, slathering him in those sticky white strings. 

The supervillain struggled against Spider-Man’s iron grip. Even with the tight webs binding him, Jay could feel him suck in a deep breath, an indicator that he was about to utilize that loud voice of his.

If Jay didn’t move now, his eardrums might actually get bursted.

Jay jumped away from Doctor Discotheque, except he kept his webs attached to him so that his previous binding work would not be rendered useless. Jay whipped his head around, eyeing your dangling figure.

“Cover your ears!” he shouted, before doing so himself. Doctor Discotheque let out a shrill screech, and although the sound was only large enough to send a vibration through Jay’s body, that was because Jay had the aid of superhuman abilities.

Everything else around them? Absolutely not.

The glass of surrounding buildings shattered, while the metal crane that was dangling you shook profusely. You screamed.

Shit, shit, shit.

While Jay was distracted, Doctor Discotheque squirmed free of the webs, crawling to the remote console he dropped to the ground earlier.

“Let’s play with your girlfriend,” the villain glowered. With that, he began tinkering with the controls of the console, shaking you around on the lift. This time, though, he was literally pressing all the buttons, giving you little time to anticipate what was coming next. The movement of the crane was unadulterated, so you shrieked in fear. 

“Are you gonna save her, Spider-Man?” Doctor Discotheque mocked.

Jay clenched his fists. It was a lot more important to save you before anything else. He could deal with this maniac later.

“Don’t you fucking dare, Spider-Man!” Much to his surprise, it was you yelling at him. “Don’t worry about me, just kick this lunatic’s ass!”

“How adorable!” Doctor Discotheque cooed. 

Jay wasn’t about to let a civilian, much less you, be in a position of severe danger. But Doctor Discotheque has been getting too confident and talking out of his ass too much.

Maybe he could do both.

If Jay could debilitate Doctor Discotheque, he could take the remote control. If he takes the remote control, he could easily save you.

When Jay started toward Doctor Discotheque, the villain let out a laugh. “You’re just going to ignore your little girlfriend like tha–”

“Shut– up!” Jay knocked him down with a kick to the cheek. 

When Doctor Discotheque was knocked to the ground, he dropped the remote control, too. However, the remote dropped face-down, so with the impact of its collision, it bursted and shattered into several pieces. The crane began to malfunction, waving around its lift erratically. The excessive movement made the ear-splitting sound of rust rubbing against itself. 

Not good. 

The head of the engineering department at the university always warned them about rusty construction tools. 

Oh, not good at all.

You screamed. Still pinning Doctor Discotheque’s hands to his sides, Jay grunted, snapping his head to you.

“Don- Don’t– Ah!-” you breathed. “Don’t worry about me!”

Jay clenched his jaw.

“I-I’m serious!” you squeezed your eyes shut. “I’m not sc-scared, or anything!”

No. That wasn’t true.

All those times that he carried you through the sky.

“Stop making fun of me, Spider-Man!” you lightly slapped his chest. “I’m just…– Eep!--” you squeezed his bicep again– “Scared of heights.”

The crane squeaked, as its spasms slowed. Except, its slowing down meant nothing. It only continued creaking. It was unstable, and by the looks of it, even Jay couldn’t guarantee that it wouldn’t snap off.

Doctor Discotheque threw his head back against the concrete ground, letting out another chortle. Before he could say anything, Jay raised his fist and punched him straight in the diaphragm. The villain groaned in pain, and before he could recover, Jay planted another punch in the abdomen, and another one square in the nose.

A punch in the diaphragm should debilitate him for just enough time to save you.

Jay swung toward the lift of the crane.

You were tied to it by the feet. The only way to get you to the roof was to operate the crane so that it was hanging over the building, or untie you. The former was impossible now, so the second option was the only option.

“I-I told you to–!” 

“[Name], you yell a lot.” Jay didn’t realize how out-of-character it was for Spider-Man to say that, but currently, he was plagued with urgency. He had to be serious.

You shut your mouth immediately.

“[Name], I’m going to untie you,” Jay instructed. “You are going to fall.”

“Wh-What?”

Jay was already untying the ropes. Which was oddly easy. 

Why were the ropes so loosely tied? 

He clenched his teeth.

He was going to destroy that maniac for putting you in harm’s way.

“When I untie your feet, you’re going to fall,” Jay asserted. When he heard your breath hitch, he sighed. His gaze on you softened. “Don’t worry, Pretty. I’ll catch you.”

There was one loop left to unknot. Your eyes widened as you felt your feet slowly slip.

“You ready?” Jay stared into your eyes. 

“Y-Yeah.”

He sensed the fear in your voice. “I got you, Baby.”

He untied the last knot. Immediately, you began falling down multiple stories. Your arms thrashed, and your eyes squeezed shut. You let out a loud, yet strained scream.

But then you stopped. Because you felt strong arms grip your waist.

“Spider-Man!” you cried, pressing your face into his neck, holding him tighter than you ever had before. Your eyes were watery with fear.

“What did I say, Angel?” You could hear the grin in his voice. “I got you.”

Jay swung the two of you up to the top of the skyscraper. He let you down at a roof-like structure at the very back of the roof.

“Stay here.”

“But you–”

“[Name], I need you to stay here,” Jay said, squeezing your arm. “Please.”

You sighed. “Fine.”

With that, he swung back to the front to fight Doctor Discotheque.

At that point, Doctor Discotheque was still coughing and heaving from the punch to the diaphragm, but was able to stand.

“I’m surprised you could still stand, you old geezer,” Jay mocked.

Now that you were safe, he regained his humor.

“Spider-Man, you may have beaten me three times, but not a fourth ti– AGH!”

Jay punched him. “Shut up!”

Then, Doctor Discotheque kicked Jay in the stomach. From there, they engaged in hand-to-hand combat. It was a shaky fight: Doctor Discotheque had decent strength, so his punches were indeed strong, but Jay had lightning reflexes that allowed him to dodge. Soon, Doctor Discotheque backed the hero up against the electricity pole. 

“Little punks like you–” Doctor Discotheque, finally, landed a successful punch to Jay’s cheek, eliciting a groan- “Need to know your place.”

Doctor Discotheque took a deep breath.

Fuck.

He was going to scream.

He couldn’t scream loud enough to kill or severely harm Jay because he would be inflicting that same pain to himself as well. But he could definitely debilitate him with a single scream.

Doctor Discotheque opened his mouth, his chest rising and falling to widen his vocal cords. 

Just as the villain was going to scream Jay deaf, he freed his hand from Doctor Discotheque’s grip. Jay punched the villain’s mouth. More specifically, he shoved his fist in his mouth.

Doctor Discotheque sunk his teeth into Jay’s fists, but he just ignored him. Instead, Jay pushed his fist deeper into his mouth, further lodging it in.

With the agility of a spider, he attached a web to the villain. With nimble, yet confident, fingers, Jay spurted webs to bind his hands and feet together. In between, he landed punch after punch and kick after kick at the man.

“Just” punch “go” punch “away” punch “already!”

The villain was now biting into Jay’s fist so hard now that he was sure the fabric was ripping. 

“Fuck!” Jay kicked him square in the abdomen, sending him flying across the rooftop. When he looked at his fist, it was bleeding with teeth marks. Whatever.

Jay approached Doctor Discotheque’s keeling figure. The villain coughed blood, hair frazzled with sweat and sticking to his forehead. The superhero stood over him.

Then, Doctor Discotheque started sobbing.

?!

“I… I did it all for my son,” the villain quivered, tears streaming down his cheeks. “My son… My beautiful son…”

Son.

Jay never had a father. The only person closest to a father was his uncle, who already died, leaving him to take care of his kid brother. 

“My– My so-son,” Doctor Discotheque sobbed. “He– He always wanted a c-cool dad.”

???

“I th-thought if I fought you… he would th-think his dad w-was cool!”

Jay took a deep breath. “And you can be a cool dad. If you just spent time with him instead of fighting me.”

“N-No,” Doctor Discotheque sniffled. “H-He’s obs–  obsessed with Spider-Ma-Man.”

Jay sighed. He crouched down beside the man. 

“Doctor Discotheque,” he began. “I didn’t have a father. I’d do anything to just spend time with him. Your son will love you ten times more if you were just there for him.”

“R-Really?” Doctor Discotheque looked up at him with watery eyes.

“Yes.”

There was a pulse of silence. Doctor Discotheque stared at Jay, before his fingers twitched. Before he could do anything, a loud clang! rang through the air.

“[Name]…!”

You, with a metal rod, wacked Doctor Discotheque in the back of his head, sending him forward.

“I don’t fucking care!” you spat at him. You were breathing heavily, before your eyes met Jay’s.

“[Name]... what are you–”

You dropped the metal rod. You grabbed the villain’s face, slapping him. 

“I don’t fucking care about you and your son!” Slap. “You wreak havoc on this city and you expect us to forgive you because you have a tragic sob story?!” Slap.“You almost killed me!” Slap.  “You’re wearing sparkly spandex!” Slap. “No wonder your son doesn’t think you’re cool!” Slap. “You bitch!”

“[Name], that’s enough…!”

The aftermath of the incident was nothing to sneeze at.

Your face, as well as Doctor Discotheque, was plastered all over the news. Speaking of which, Doctor Discotheque was revealed to be some middle-aged professor, and was taken into custody for a court hearing.

It had only been a few hours ago since Spider-Man dropped you home. Meanwhile, he said that he had some “business” to attend to. Probably interviews and reporters.

It was the middle of the afternoon by now. The apartment was completely silent. Wonnie was still at school. And… Jay. 

You bit your lip as you remembered what happened the night before. 

You felt your neck and cheeks heat up. You really kissed him, touched him, whispered lewd words into his ear– Oh my god, you had to apologize to him! 

You brought two fingers to your lip.

His lips were chapped and the lip-piercing pressed against your lip in a way that was almost painful, but for some reason, the thought just sent butterflies in your stomach. His hands were so big, holding onto you with a desperate grip.

You shoved your face into your hands, squeezing your eyes shut.

How embarrassing!

How were you going to face Jay Park? 

Why were you worried?

“Do you… have a crush on him then?” Spider-Man’s words echoed through your mind.

Did you?

It would make a great deal of sense. 

Why you were feeling this way, why you got so angry last night, why you’d  been thinking about him at night for the past five years. 

Your heart began speeding up at the thought of having a crush on Jay Park. Not just the absurdity of the idea, but because you felt so childish. You were an adult now. How could you have such a petulant crush?

But then again, Jay Park made you feel childish. Like you were some middle schooler, all immature and giggly.

Before you could dig yourself further into a hole, a tapping came from the window. Stalking over to the sill, you spotted a red-and-blue-clad hero. 

He was lowering himself upside-down in his iconic stance, hanging onto a single spider web.

“Spider-Man!” you exclaimed.

“Hey there, Angel,” the hero grinned behind the mask when you opened the window. He was about to climb through when the unexpected happened. “H-Hey, what are you–!”

You grasped his upside-down face. You tore down his mask just enough to reveal the bottom half of his face, and pressed your lips onto his.

It was a chaste kiss, not meant to be sexual. Simply innocent.

Except, it felt familiar.

It was a soft kiss, but you could feel the hero’s lips. They were chapped, and there was a cold piece of metal on his lip. Like a lip-piercing.

When you pulled away, you gazed at Spider-Man’s half-exposed face, which wore an awkward, boxy smile.

“That’s what you get for saving me all those times,” you breathed.

Spider-Man’s lips curved. “What are you, a fairytale princess?”

You grinned. “You saved me like I was one.”

“Just my duty, Gorgeous.”

You caressed Spider-Man’s skin. Just like you expected, he had a strong jaw and sharp nose. His cheeks were a honey-tan color, with a twinge of red. 

And most notably, his lips.

Chapped, pink, but plump.

And pierced.

Her thumb pressed onto the piercing. 

His breath hitched.

You've seen that lip-piercing before.

You've stared at a certain somebody’s lips for long enough to recognize it.

No. It can’t be.

You touched his face, tracing his features slowly. 

“Spider-Man,” you drew out your syllables. “Can you stand up normally? I want to check something.”

The hero silently complied, climbing through the window sill. When he stood in front of you, swiping a tongue over his pierced bottom lip, you swallowed down hard.

Please.

In one, quick movement, you pushed Spider-Man against the wall, sliding your hands up his chest. Your hands slithered to his toned arms, grappling onto his wrists to pin above his head.

Your heart was about to fall out of yourc hest. You were breathless, eyes trained onto the hero’s lips.

A pedicured hand came up to grasp his chin.

“Are you Park?” you asked in a near-whisper. “Please. Please tell me. Are you Jay Park?”

Spider-Man stilled in your hold. He sucked in a sharp breath, taking his bottom lip between his teeth.

“Please,” you whispered.

As you gazed at him with wide, pleading eyes, Spider-Man was able to free one of his hands. Slowly, he grasped the tight material of his mask. He pulled the fabric up and over his eyes, before freeing his entire head and face.

What was revealed?

Dark hair. Dark eyes. Tan skin. A sharp nose. And that goddamn lip piercing.

Jay Park.

You audibly gasped. Your hold on his one wrist weakened, dropping all the way when you brought both hands up to clasp your gaping mouth.

Jay looked at you with an ashamed expression, yet his eyes were locked onto yours. He parted his lips to say something, but no sound came out.

This entire time… it was him?

Your body moved on its own.

You grabbed his face, and smashed your lips against his.

At first, Jay was completely still. 

But after a few seconds, he let out a low grunt against your lips, slithering his arms around your waist. That earned a small squeal from you, giving him the opportunity to shove his tongue in your mouth. Your hands roamed, sliding up and down his chest before resting in his hair. When you pulled on his dark locks, he groaned softly, allowing you to push his tongue out and put yours into his mouth.

Jay gave your waist a warning squeeze, as if to say, “Don’t try that on me.” But you only smirked against his lips, sliding your hand up his head to grab a fistful of his hair and pulling it.

When you pulled away from each other, you were breathless, both flushed in the face with blown-out, desire-filled eyes. You stared into each other’s eyes for what felt like an eternity.

“You…” you blinked. Then, your face contorted. With a fist, you began hitting his chest. “It was you this whole time? It was… It was you who carried me home, who took me out, who saved me, who– who comforted me when I cried!

“Why didn’t you listen to me when I told you to not worry about me?!” you continued pounding his chest. “And why the fuck would you try to sympathize with that lunatic?! You could have been hurt– He might have pulled out a knife, or something! I was so worried that he’d pull a fast one and try to stab you, you stupid, stupid, stupid–!”

It was Jay’s turn to smash his lips against yours.

Almost immediately, you stopped all of your movement, melting into the kiss.

“You’re-” Jay mumbled against your lips- “You’re always such a fucking brat.”

He laced his fingers with hers, holding your hands tightly. "Always givin' me hell, you know that?"

He was rough, a lot more rough than you imagined, but it wasn't like you were opposed to it. You tried to say something, squeezing his hands. You got a few sounds out, but they were all muffled by his kissing.

“Shut up,” Jay breathed against your lips. “Just shut the fuck up and let me kiss you.”

You whined, causing him to smirk.

This kiss was much more heated than any previous ones you’ve had with him. And also much messier.

When you finally pulled away, your lips were swollen, connected by a single string of spit.

“Oh my god,” you mewled, gripping onto Jay’s bicep. “Fuck, please, Jay.”

Jay swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. You never called him by his name like this. “‘Please’ what, Angel?”

“I want you,” you looked up at him with wide and glassy eyes, the same ones that he’s seen in his guiltiest dreams. “Oh my god, please, I want you so bad, Jay.”

“Are you gonna yell and hit me like last time?” he teased, hands already sliding down to grip your hips.

You pressed a wet kiss to his jaw. “Only if you won’t leave me in the middle of a hallway drunk like last time.”

You both stared at each other for a few moments, with cocked brows and narrowed eyes, neither of you wanting to relent your pride. Then, at the same time, broke out into a fit of laughter.

“I have high expectations for you, Park.”

“I won’t disappoint you, you fuckin’ nerdo freak.”

FIN.

part 1 here

[kikitakite]

I saw your callout in the Gale tag for that one user (no comment on them, tho ty for the callout bc i'd seen them in the notes of my fics) and was curious if you could elaborate on some of the Mystra incidents you described towards the end of the post? I'm new to the lore of the setting and find it hard to research (which makes sense given its importance to dnd), so I've heard a lot of conflicting things about Mystra's portrayal in the wider series. No pressure, obviously!

No problem! And yea, I've seen her arguing in the posts of a few people I follow or just Gale-related posts I find interesting. Usually I don't get involved in stuff like this, but I noticed a constant pattern and then all the homophobic shit so I went off a little.

Unfortunately it's hard to find exact examples of the Mystra lore because certain modules aren't very popular or even free to access, but if you're interested the best way to learn about her is by reading the Elminster novels. There's twelve total, dating all the way back to 1994, and they detail Elminster's adventures. I'll be honest though, some of them are a hard read and written through the lens of a man who's admitted very creative, but also has a lot of problematic ideas.

In the first book Elminster is a child. His entire town gets wiped out by mages, thereby making him hostile toward magic. He sneaks into Mystra's temple to deface her statue one night, but she appears before him and basically gaslights him into learning magic and becoming her rare Chosen. He becomes a wizard and cleric basically overnight, until eventually he multiclasses into pretty much every class type in DnD. As you can imagine a lot of players aren't too fond of Elminster, as he's a well known self-insert of the author and pretty annoying to run into during campaigns. None of my dungeon masters like him anyway.

He also becomes one of Mystra's most loyal followers, but she fucks with him over and over, turning him into a woman to teach him a lesson and SLEEPING with him in that form, berating him when he struggles with the torture he endures when he gets stuck in the hells, making him reproduce without his knowledge and getting jealous when he gives his partners more attention. Because she's a very jealous goddess, which I think the game vaguely touches on but not really.

I wish I had the time to flip through all the novels and give exact citations but the best I can do is suggest them, because they're so eye opening. She's considered a neutral good goddess, but neutral gods often do terrible things for the sake of their domain. I think it needs to be noted that Mystra, as with all gods in the pantheon, only cares about her portfolio. She isn't wrong for that, but it doesn't mean she's blameless when she messes with people's lives. She's done a lot of good but she's also made horrible decisions, especially where her followers are concerned.

For example, Elminster having children he doesn't know about. He has a daughter named Narnra. Her conception was... pretty fucked up. Basically a song dragon named Ammaratha Cyndusk was an occasional lover of Elminster's (he has a lot of those because of course he does) and she wanted to bear his child, but since he's a Chosen of Mystra he can control his fertility. Magic birth control, basically. He didn't want a kid so Ammaratha went behind his back to learn a counterspell that would make him fertile during sex. The man she asked refused to teach her because...duh that's messed up, but then Mystra intervened and told him to teach her the spell because she wanted Elminster's "seed to spread". Ammaratha never told him and neither did Mystra. No matter what the reasons, that was NOT consensual on Elminster's part, and it happened two more times, resulting in two more daughters with different women. If I remember correctly Elminster did eventually find out waaaaay later when they were all adults, but it never amounted to anything.

The sisters I was taking about are the Seven Sisters, Mystra's "daughters". And I put "daughters" in quotations because Mystra possessed the body of a woman named Elué and impregnated her without her consent. She slept with the woman's husband (again, while possessing her body) and made them sire seven children. This of course lead to Elué's death because the constant flow of magic in her body was too much for her to handle. Her grieving husband broke after she died and eventually left, abandoning his daughters and earning Mystra's scorn...as if he was in the wrong. The sisters were then orphaned and raised by foster families.

That said, most of the awful things anyone can say about Mystra were the doings of her previous incarnations so ultimately it doesn't apply to the Mystra of BG3. In fact, this third Mystra is supposed to be a new and improved goddess who's nicer to her followers. So her portrayal in BG3 annoyed a lot of DnD fans. I should also point out that Mystra has two types of fans: ones who will defend everything she does, even when it's fucked up beyond all comprehension, and the ones who will tell you she's a true neutral goddess capable of good and bad. I'm the latter. There are plenty examples of Mystra sticking her neck out for innocents, but there's also examples of her doing the most horrendous shit imaginable.

A lot of veteran players, at least the ones I know, are upset with the portrayal of Mystra in BG3 because her plan to end the Absolute is, quite frankly, stupid. Your party is the best chance anyone has of ending the threat, but she asks Gale to nuke himself and possibly tens of thousands, which makes no sense because she could've just sent her mages/clerics to deal with the problem. And there was no guarantee the bomb would've worked anyway. She put all the responsibility on one man and it DEFINITELY comes off as vindictive. That isn't out if character for her but she's not SUPPOSED to be that bad anymore. For a lot of DnD players it felt like she was reverting back to her old habits.

I think there's also a part in the game where you can directly ask Gale why she doesn't just blip the Absolute out of existence and he says something like, "She could but Ao won't allow it." That was also really strange for a lot of veteran players to hear because Gale drops Ao's name like it's nothing. Most people (especially if they're new to the franchise) wouldn't know this but most people in Faerûn don't know who Ao is! Because he wiped people's memories of his existence! I suppose it does make sense for Gale to know that name, since Mystra probably explained the pantheon to him, but it's VERY unlikely tav would know it. So during that conversation all I could picture was tav tilting their head like, "Huh? Who? Whaaa?"

And on top of that......Ao absolutely WOULD allow it because the Absolute effects the Weave and every other god! It had the potential to ruin the balance of the universe, which makes Ao a very angry boy. Balance is one of the ONLY things he cares about. The Dead Three were stealing souls and worshippers, which gods needs to survive, and dying gods disrupts the balance. It's a whole circle of chaos. So the only conclusion left for me to extrapolate is this: Mystra just really, really wanted Gale to kill himself to prove his devotion to her. Which...isn't great. Bad look for her.

It's kind of like how Raphael thinks the Crown of Karsus is going to help him end the Blood War and take over the hells. DnD players laughed during his epilogue because...no it won't lol. He doesn't stand a chance even with the crown. He's arrogant and he's gonna get slapped by his daddy and all the other archdevils, the same way Gale gets slapped by Mystra if he ascends. Even the Absolute ending of the game wouldn't last long because the gods would go to war with the Dead Three, wipe them out and rebuild Faerûn, which has happened many times in past DnD campaigns. Mystra alone has torn worlds apart and glued them back together. The main crisis of BG3 is saving the world you live in or everybody dies. For the gods it's just a Tuesday. I mean look at how Withers owns the Dead Three with a wave of his hand at the end of the game. Mystra COULD'VE killed the Absolute, just as she could've removed the orb from Gale's chest the moment it happened. She just didn't WANT to. She wanted him to die. She wanted him to chastise himself. She wanted him to suffer and come crawling back to her as an obedient follower. She wanted him to learn a harsh and honestly unfair lesson, which is a terrible throwback to her previous incarnations.

[mrsbuckybarnes1917]

3: COMPANY

Previous chapter < MASTERLIST > Next chapter

Bucky wants his best friends to get to know his girlfriend but a little voice makes him worry that there may be more going on between you and Steve.

Word count: 2.5k

Warning: miscommunications and Bucky Barnes being a colossal idiot (theme of this whole story)

Steve and Bucky walked down the corridor towards the large living room with the massive television screen. Their arms laden with drinks and snacks for themselves, you and Priya. Bucky wanted his best friends to get to know his girlfriend better and you'd begrudgingly agreed to a movie night, comforted by the knowledge that Steve would be present as a buffer for awkward questions.

Steve was smiling softly, happy to be able to relax with the people he cared most about without being interrupted to save the world. His self imposed responsibilities weighed heavily on his mind. Distractions where he could be Steve and not Captain America were hard to find. One of the things he loved about you and Bucky was that you both were his voice of reason, between the two of you, you would argue different sides of a point, until he was happy with the decision he had made. This was why seeing the two of you as a team made him so happy.

You had made yourself comfortable on yours and Bucky's favorite couch. It was just big enough for you and the beefy super soldier and in your mind, you imagined yourself and Bucky being comfortable under a throw blanket while you watched the movie. Your day dream was shattered as Priya dropped into the seat beside you.

"Oh gosh, this is so comfortable! Such a cuddle couch." She elbowed your side gently. "Hey, you think Bucky and I could sit here for the movie?"

It took every inch of your self control to stop a scowl from marring your features. "Sorry to be all Sheldon about this, but this is kinda my spot."

"Oh, yeah, I get it." She didn't, looking at you like she was indulging one of her young patients who was throwing a tantrum. “Do you mind if I sit until Jamie and Steve get back?”

"Sure." You tried to keep the sarcasm to a minimum. You had to play nice, for Bucky's sake.

"Hey Cricket, can I ask you something?" Priya’s voice was slightly hesitant.

"Course. What is it?" You replied. But you had a strong feeling you weren’t going to like what she was going to ask you and steeled yourself for it.

"Do you and Jamie have any history of being more than… just friends?"

"No." You suppressed a sigh. You had expected an annoying comment, as opposed to something that would break your heart all over again. "No, just friends. Why’d you ask?" You felt suspicious of her line of questioning.

"Oh, I was just curious. I know you're not his type and all, so I wasn't very worried about it, but I figured there's always a possibility." She shrugged.

"Bucky and I have never been anything more than friends." You confirmed through gritted teeth, and it was killing you.

"Okay," Priya smiled happily. "That makes me feel better. I really like him, and I just wanted to make sure there weren't any lingering feelings between you two."

"I'm happy for you," you lied through a smile.

"Thanks, Cricket. I appreciate that. And I'm glad we had this conversation, it's always good to clear the air."

"Absolutely."

"Thanks for being so understanding. You're a great friend, I’m glad that James and I have you."

Steve and Bucky as they paused momentarily, not wanting to interrupt your conversation, but at the same time, curious about what you were saying. They both felt a little awkward for eavesdropping but they didn’t feel comfortable making their presence known. Steve glanced over at Bucky, wondering what his reaction would be, but Bucky’s face was bathed in darkness and impossible to read.

When Priya said she was glad to have you as a friend, Steve nudged him gently. "Come on," he jerked his head, urging Bucky to follow. He walked into the lounge and deposited the snacks on the table in front of you and Priya.

"Thanks, Steve!" you reached forwards to grab a bowl of popcorn, but Bucky was blocking you. You swatted his legs playfully. "Buck! What’re you doing?"

"Cricket, can you move over a bit so I can sit with Priya?" Bucky looked at you with wide eyes and pouty lips. How could you say no?

Reluctantly, you got off the couch, Bucky giving you a questioning frown as you did so. You shuffled over and settled in next to Steve, feeling a stab of disappointment that Bucky had chosen to sit with Priya instead of you.

"Did you ladies pick a movie?" Steve asked.

You shook your head, but Priya volunteered a suggestion in a heartbeat. "You've Got Mail!"

Steve pulled up the film from Tony’s endless supply of media and hit play. As the movie started, you tried to focus on the screen, but your eyes kept gazing over to Priya and Bucky and how his arm was draped cozily over her shoulder. Your mind kept wandering back to the conversation you just had with Priya. You couldn’t help but wish that there had been more between you and your best friend. What made her think that you weren’t his type? You bristled at the thought. Bucky had never expressed his preferences to a woman’s appearance. Had he mentioned something to her?

Steve noticed your distraction and leaned over to whisper in your ear. "Are you okay?"

You nodded, trying to push aside your feelings of jealousy and insecurity. "I’m fine," you whispered back. "Just a little tired."

Steve gave you a knowing look, but didn’t press the issue. Instead he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, offering you comfort and support. As the movie played on, you found yourself leaning into Steve’s side, feeling safe and protected in his presence. You couldn’t help but wonder what could have been if things had been different between you and Bucky.

As you and Steve turned back to the movie, Priya leaned towards Bucky and whispered to him conspiratorially. "I think Cricket and Steve make such a cute couple, don't you think? They looked so cozy on their Coney Island date!"

Bucky looked down at her with surprise. It wasn’t as though he hadn’t feared that you and Steve might be more than friends, but it shocked him that other people considered it. As long as he was the only one to think it, he could have lived in denial, but having someone else voice it with such confidence made his skin crawl.

"Um, I don't know. They seem to get along well as friends."

"Oh come on, Jamie. I can see the way they look at each other. We should totally set them up! I mean look how he has his arm around her!" 

Bucky hummed with hesitation. "I don't think that's a good idea, Priya."

"Why not? They would be perfect together!"

"I just...I don't think it's the right time for them to start dating." Bucky answered, not avoiding eye contact, his eyes glued to Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan.

Priya was starting to sense that something was off. "Jamie, is there something you're not telling me?"

"Look, Steve doesn’t really talk to people about this, but he had a girl, back in the 40s, Peggy. He isn’t over her. It wouldn’t be fair to either of them to enter a relationship when Steve still has feelings for Peggy." Bucky winced internally, hating himself for using Steve’s past to cover for himself.

"Wow, I had no idea," Priya said softly, her eyes widening in surprise. "That must be really tough for him."

Bucky nodded, feeling a pang of guilt for using Steve’s past as an excuse. "Yeah, it’s been hard for him. He’s never really gotten over her."

Priya looked thoughtful for a moment before turning back to Bucky. "Well, I’m glad you told me. I wouldn’t want to cause any unnecessary drama. They're lucky to have you looking out for them."

Bucky gave her a terse smile, grateful that she understood. "No problem. I just want what’s best for both of them."

As the movie came to an end, you and Steve exchanged a look, both of you feeling a sense of contentment and comfort in each other’s presence. Despite the awkwardness and tension that had filled the room earlier, you were grateful for the friendship and support that you had in each other. Unfortunately for the two of you, your closeness did nothing to assuage the envy that burned deep inside Bucky.

As everyone got up to leave, Priya turned to you and Steve with a smile. "Thanks for the movie night, guys. I had a great time."

You and Steve both nodded, returning her smile. "Anytime," you said, feeling a sense of relief that the night had gone smoothly.

As you and Steve walked out of the living room together, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of gratitude for having him by your side. Maybe things weren’t meant to be with Bucky, but you knew that you had a true friend in Steve, someone who would always be there for you no matter what.

On the other hand, Bucky went to bed that night with Priya’s words burned on the back of his brain. Why did she think that there might have been something between him and you? She had worsened his fears about you and Steve. Would his oldest friend really betray his trust that way? Surely you would have mentioned that to him, wouldn’t you? The tiny voice in his head that sounded just like you, asked him why he would assume such a thing, since he had hidden his relationship for so long. 

*

Your voice of conscience in his mind did nothing to mitigate his turbulent thoughts. In fact they swirled around his brain until he found himself confronting you about them. This was becoming too common an occurrence. He blurted out the words while he found you training in the gym.

"You went to Coney Island with Steve." He tried to sound nonchalant as he spotted you with your weights.

You grunted your response, trying to stand up with the heavy weight balanced across your shoulders. Eyes screwed shut with the effort of pushing your knees apart to push yourself upright. You panted slightly, trying to recover your composure, but Bucky wasn’t ready to give up on his point.

"Why didn’t you tell me you were going?"

"Oh, I’m sorry," you attempted a shrug before going back into a squat. "It was Steve’s idea and honestly, I didn’t think it was a big deal since you were busy with Priya."

"It is a big deal! We promised we'd go together."

Your face dropped slightly as you stood up, remembering the promise you’d made almost a year ago. Things had been so chaotic and you’d forgotten about it. You put the barbell back on the rack before replying. "I know, and I was really looking forward to it." There was a sadness in your tone that you couldn’t hide. "But when you started dating Priya, I thought things had changed. I didn’t think you’d care."

"That doesn’t mean we can’t still hang out. You’re my best friend, too." Bucky leaned against the rack, as you busied yourself with unloading the bar.

"I know, and I’m sorry." You hid your face as you answered. "I just felt left out when you didn’t tell me about Priya."

"I’m sorry, I know I should’ve told you. But seeing you at Coney Island with Steve really hurt."

"Wait," you spun around with surprise. "You saw me at Coney Island?"

"Yeah…" Bucky’s anger abated slightly as he realized what he was saying to you.

You huffed. "You were there?"

Bucky had the decency to look ashamed.

"And you’re getting on my case? I mean Steve took me there as a surprise to cheer me up after I got sick. I didn’t decide to go there without you. And it’s not like Steve knew about our promise. What were you doing there, Bucky?"

Bucky sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I was there with Priya. We were on a date."

You felt a pang of jealousy and hurt, but you pushed it down but the aggression in your tone was unmistakable. "I see. Well, I’m sorry if I upset you by being there with Steve. But I'd like to point out that you didn't seem to have any issues going with Priya."

Bucky looked at you, his expression softening. "I’m sorry, Cricket. I should’ve told you about Priya - about Coney Island, about dating her. I didn’t want to hurt you. I just…"

You nodded, feeling a mix of emotions swirling inside you. "It’s okay, Bucky. Just…next time, can you please just be honest with me?"

"Yeah," Bucky nodded. "and hey, you'd tell me if you were, right? As in dating… someone."

"Yeah, I'll keep you apprised." You rolled your eyes and shook your head with a small laugh.

"Even if it was Steve?"

“Why do you keep asking me that? Are you trying to set me up with Steve? Because I don't have those kinds of feelings for him.”

“You don’t? Because Priya said-”

"Bucky, why don't you ask me about me instead of your girlfriend?" The irritation you'd felt about his indignation earlier rose inside you again, enough that you decided to walk away from it.

He caught up to you outside the gym, heart pounding in his chest. "Hey, Cricket," he called out, his voice filled with sincerity. "I’m sorry for how I acted back there. I was wrong, and I shouldn’t have let my jealousy get the best of me. Can we talk?"

You turned to face him, your expression guarded but curious. "What do you want to talk about, Bucky?"

Bucky took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts. "I want to apologize for not being upfront with you. I value our friendship, and I don’t want to lose that because of my own insecurities. I’m sorry for hurting you… and I want to make things right."

You studied him for a moment, your eyes searching his handsome face for sincerity. The way he looked back at you softened your resolve and after a moment, you nodded. “I appreciate your apology, Bucky. Let’s move past this and focus on our friendship.”

Bucky nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips, feeling a weight lift off his shoulders as he heard your words. "Of course. And hey, maybe we can still go to Coney Island together sometime. Just the two of us."

You smiled back, feeling a sense of relief wash over you. "I’d like that."

Bucky fell in step beside you, as you walked away from the gym, the tension between you slowly dissipating. He knew he had a lot of work to do to rebuild the trust between you, but he was willing to put in the effort. He was grateful for your forgiveness and determined to show you that he was a true friend, even if he couldn't have anything more.

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[thatscarletflycatcher]

The problem with discussions about Henry Crawford is that there are two different questions being asked at the same time: 1) Can Fanny reform Henry? and 2) Can Henry reform?

Austen answers negatively to the first one, but I'd argue she's very ambivalent in her answer to the second.

Austen is not in the habit of "punishing" her villains; none of them are struck by accidents of fortune or anything the like, but we commonly perceive the downgrade between what they could have had and what they end up having. Edward Ferrars is an infinitely preferrable husband to Robert Ferrars, but Lucy Steele never seems to become aware of that fact. Isabella tries to get Captain Tilney over James Morland. Mr. Elliot is not crying by the corners over the fact that he lost Anne Elliot. Even Willoughby's regret is not about Marianne's actual goodness, but his personal convenience. Austen's "villains" as a rule are morally stupid people.

When Aristotle says that no one can be good who is stupid, he doesn't have in mind things like being good at Math or being well read or quick-witted; he's thinking of a certain intuition, clear-sightedness about what is good, what contributes to human flourishing, and this seems to be a strong component of what Austen calls sense. Sense is almost convertible (if not completely) with prudence, and prudence is a rather intuitive virtue, as it regulates the when, the how, the how much, etc of the other moral virtues. (and there goes my first thesis topic that I never did!).

In that way it is interesting that only 4 characters are said to possess sense in Mansfield Park: Edmund, Fanny, Henry, and Tom (and Tom doesn't even fully count, because his is expressed negatively: instead of having sense, he doesn't lack it). Here are the Henry instances:

"He did not want them to die of love; but with sense and temper which ought to have made him judge and feel better, he allowed himself great latitude on such points." "Henry Crawford had too much sense not to feel the worth of good principles in a wife, though he was too little accustomed to serious reflection to know them by their proper name; but when he talked of her having such a steadiness and regularity of conduct, such a high notion of honour, and such an observance of decorum as might warrant any man in the fullest dependence on her faith and integrity, he expressed what was inspired by the knowledge of her being well principled and religious." "That punishment, the public punishment of disgrace, should in a just measure attend his share of the offence is, we know, not one of the barriers which society gives to virtue. In this world the penalty is less equal than could be wished; but without presuming to look forward to a juster appointment hereafter, we may fairly consider a man of sense, like Henry Crawford, to be providing for himself no small portion of vexation and regret: vexation that must rise sometimes to self-reproach, and regret to wretchedness, in having so requited hospitality, so injured family peace, so forfeited his best, most estimable, and endeared acquaintance, and so lost the woman whom he had rationally as well as passionately loved."

(I'm not counting the one time Edmund calls him a man of sense, and the one time Sir Thomas does the same, for obvious contextual reasons).

It's not only interesting that he is the only rake to be called a man of sense by the narrator (Mrs. Smith calling Mr. Elliot a man of sense in Persuasion is clearly not meant to be taken straight), but that it is always specifically tied to moral perceptiveness; he was morally perceptive enough to know he shouldn't have played the way he did, and he chose to ignore it. He perceives Fanny's moral worth, and it is the core reason why he wants to marry her.* He also perceives William's moral worth as something both good and desirable:

"To Henry Crawford they gave a different feeling. He longed to have been at sea, and seen and done and suffered as much. His heart was warmed, his fancy fired, and he felt the highest respect for a lad who, before he was twenty, had gone through such bodily hardships and given such proofs of mind. The glory of heroism, of usefulness, of exertion, of endurance, made his own habits of selfish indulgence appear in shameful contrast; and he wished he had been a William Price, distinguishing himself and working his way to fortune and consequence with so much self-respect and happy ardour, instead of what he was!"

Both here and at the end of the novel, Henry's moral perceptiveness leads to remorse for his own moral wrongdoings. Compare this to Willoughby's regret over Marianne:

"Willoughby could not hear of her marriage without a pang; and his punishment was soon afterwards complete in the voluntary forgiveness of Mrs. Smith, who, by stating his marriage with a woman of character, as the source of her clemency, gave him reason for believing that had he behaved with honour towards Marianne, he might at once have been happy and rich. That his repentance of misconduct, which thus brought its own punishment, was sincere, need not be doubted;—nor that he long thought of Colonel Brandon with envy, and of Marianne with regret. But that he was for ever inconsolable, that he fled from society, or contracted an habitual gloom of temper, or died of a broken heart, must not be depended on—for he did neither. He lived to exert, and frequently to enjoy himself. His wife was not always out of humour, nor his home always uncomfortable; and in his breed of horses and dogs, and in sporting of every kind, he found no inconsiderable degree of domestic felicity."

This sense/moral perceptiveness of Henry Crawford, and his experiencing remorse for his own wrongdoings sets him apart from the other Austen rakes. He's also not a drinker or a gambler; he does take at least minimal care of Everingham ("Everingham could not do without him in the beginning of September. He went for a fortnight") and did some modifications to it as soon as he got it. The same way Darcy's character is revealed as we see Pemberley, so the inflexion point of Henry's redemption attempt is his trying to become a better master of his estate:

For her approbation, the particular reason of his going into Norfolk at all, at this unusual time of year, was given. It had been real business, relative to the renewal of a lease in which the welfare of a large and—he believed—industrious family was at stake. He had suspected his agent of some underhand dealing; of meaning to bias him against the deserving; and he had determined to go himself, and thoroughly investigate the merits of the case. He had gone, had done even more good than he had foreseen, had been useful to more than his first plan had comprehended, and was now able to congratulate himself upon it, and to feel that in performing a duty, he had secured agreeable recollections for his own mind. He had introduced himself to some tenants whom he had never seen before; he had begun making acquaintance with cottages whose very existence, though on his own estate, had been hitherto unknown to him. This was aimed, and well aimed, at Fanny. It was pleasing to hear him speak so properly; here he had been acting as he ought to do. To be the friend of the poor and the oppressed! Nothing could be more grateful to her; and she was on the point of giving him an approving look, when it was all frightened off by his adding a something too pointed of his hoping soon to have an assistant, a friend, a guide in every plan of utility or charity for Everingham: a somebody that would make Everingham and all about it a dearer object than it had ever been yet. She turned away, and wished he would not say such things. She was willing to allow he might have more good qualities than she had been wont to suppose. She began to feel the possibility of his turning out well at last; but he was and must ever be completely unsuited to her, and ought not to think of her.

I have half an idea of going into Norfolk again soon. I am not satisfied about Maddison. I am sure he still means to impose on me if possible, and get a cousin of his own into a certain mill, which I design for somebody else. I must come to an understanding with him. I must make him know that I will not be tricked on the south side of Everingham, any more than on the north: that I will be master of my own property. I was not explicit enough with him before. The mischief such a man does on an estate, both as to the credit of his employer and the welfare of the poor, is inconceivable. I have a great mind to go back into Norfolk directly, and put everything at once on such a footing as cannot be afterwards swerved from. Maddison is a clever fellow; I do not wish to displace him, provided he does not try to displace me; but it would be simple to be duped by a man who has no right of creditor to dupe me, and worse than simple to let him give me a hard-hearted, griping fellow for a tenant, instead of an honest man, to whom I have given half a promise already. Would it not be worse than simple? Shall I go? Do you advise it?” “I advise! You know very well what is right.” “Yes. When you give me your opinion, I always know what is right. Your judgment is my rule of right.” “Oh, no! do not say so. We have all a better guide in ourselves, if we would attend to it, than any other person can be.

This is even more hammered in by the narrator: "Had he done as he intended, and as he knew he ought, by going down to Everingham after his return from Portsmouth, he might have been deciding his own happy destiny."

All these elements seem to point towards his being redeemable; he almost managed it! If only he'd gone to Everingham instead of London, catastrophic failure would have been averted! And yet at the same time we are told this:

Henry Crawford, ruined by early independence and bad domestic example, indulged in the freaks of a cold-blooded vanity a little too long. Once it had, by an opening undesigned and unmerited, led him into the way of happiness. Could he have been satisfied with the conquest of one amiable woman’s affections, could he have found sufficient exultation in overcoming the reluctance, in working himself into the esteem and tenderness of Fanny Price, there would have been every probability of success and felicity for him. His affection had already done something. Her influence over him had already given him some influence over her. Would he have deserved more, there can be no doubt that more would have been obtained, especially when that marriage had taken place, which would have given him the assistance of her conscience in subduing her first inclination, and brought them very often together. Would he have persevered, and uprightly, Fanny must have been his reward, and a reward very voluntarily bestowed, within a reasonable period from Edmund’s marrying Mary.

Ruined by early independence and bad domestic example. Mansfield Park is in a way a rather pessimist novel: it is a novel about education, and once your education has "set", your character is fixed, and your fate determined. Much of Maria and Julia's disgrace was also directly caused by their upbringing in a household where all importance was given to superficial qualities, and very little effective affection was shared; one can compare the restrained calm of Mansfield as a reflection of Sir Thomas' own unwillingness to see reality and give himself some discomfort in making others comfortable, with the bustle of the Musgrove household, and connect the dots to what makes the relationship between sisters Maria and Julia so different from the one between Louisa and Henrietta in similar situations.

In the end, it's a bit of a Schröedinger's cat situation. Can Henry reform? Yes, says Austen, he has the qualities needed for moral improvement, but no, his upbringing ruined him, and his character is fixed.

While this idea is the strongest in MP, it is present one way or another in all Austen's novels. Characters reforming is usually more about one specific quality or moral tone not being fine tuned than proper metanoia. Darcy was taught to do right, and did right; what he needed was to add proper humility and kindness to his practice. There is an exception, though, the one thing Charlotte Brontë and Jane Austen agree upon: a close brush with death is the best recipe for moral cure in the otherwise incurable.

Maybe the key is to wish Henry a good pneumonia, or a strong horsefall-induced concussion.

_____________

*On a side note, it's interesting that before he proposes, he considers how attached Fanny is to Mansfield, as undeserving as he thinks the Bertrams to be of her affection, and even draws a plan that contemplates giving her pleasure that way too: "I will not take her from Northamptonshire. I shall let Everingham, and rent a place in this neighbourhood; perhaps Stanwix Lodge."

[water-to-drink]

Isekai Bartender!Reader Pt 2

(Characters): Diona (platonic), Kaveh, & Al haitham

(Tags/ Warnings): Gn!reader, mentions of alcohol, headcanon format, (lmk if I missed anything)

(Word Count): 850

(A/n): Decided to make a part 2 of the original post and I hope my favoritism isn’t showing too much

First part

Diona

𐃯 She hates you with a passion, well she hates anyone involved in the alcohol industry

𐃯 Her hatred towards you changes when you refuse to serve any more alcohol to someone she obviously can tell is way past buzzed

𐃯 No matter how much the boozer argued that he can have one more drink, you stuck to your guns

𐃯 She soon learns that all of your patrons leave not as inebriated compared to other bartenders by the time the bar closes

𐃯 Poor girl is so confused, how can you serve people alcohol and yet refuse to serve them past a certain point?

𐃯 Diona has had enough of this internal conflict and thus decides to go to your bar and demand answers

“Diona! You want me to whip you up a mocktail or are you good with just plain juice?”

𐃯 You can imagine the young bartender’s astonishment, when you explain the concept of virgin drinks. Along with you saying it’s your duty to not serve obviously drunk people

𐃯 Maybe her old approach to destroying the wine industry was wrong (it had the opposite effect and brought more people to her bar) maybe if she makes nonalcoholic drinks taste better then the alcoholic ones, people will now see how evil alcohol is

Congrats you now have an apprentice!

𐃯 Now that Diona is your apprentice she’ll demand to know more about bartending in your world, especially these “virgin drinks and mocktails.”

𐃯 With the knowledge you so foolishly gave the young bartender, her goal of destroying the very bane of her existence will come to fruition!!

Kaveh

𐃯 He’s heard rumors of a new bartender who makes drinks that are out of his world, technically it is

𐃯 Being a man who enjoys alcohol, he needed to see these “otherworldly” drinks for himself

𐃯 Once he makes it to the bar, he was greeted with your brilliant smile

“Hi, what would you like to drink this evening?”

“Well, what would you recommend?”

𐃯 You went through what are his preferred taste in drinks and after you got enough information you started to make his drink

𐃯 Kaveh watched curiously as you poured the ingredients into the glass before finishing the drink off with a lime garnish (pretend they have limes in Teyvat for a moment)

𐃯 Needless to say he was blown away by the taste and not to mention how you elegantly made the drink

𐃯 After that Kaveh regularly went to you to make his drinks whenever he entered the tavern, he prefers you to make his drinks and won’t have any other bartender make his drink. If you’re busy with another patron he’ll wait until you’re done

𐃯 You caught him making little doodles on napkins and on closer inspection you saw that the doodles were of you making drinks. He was a bit flustered when you asked if you keep the drawings

𐃯 He offered to make more detailed drawings if you just give him enough time

𐃯 He loves it when you dress up his drinks, using the petals of a padisarah as a garnish just makes him not want to drink it!

𐃯 The way you present your drinks just gives him the urge to draw up some designs either for an upcoming project or a potential new drink

𐃯 Speaking of new drinks, Kaveh is your professional taste tester for any new drinks you come up with

Alhaitham

𐃯 Just like Kaveh, Al haitham heard talks about you and wanted to see for himself

𐃯 He ordered his usual and began asking you about your world, at this point you’re used to people coming up to you curious about your home but the way Al haitham approached you felt more like a police interrogation

𐃯 After the first few visits you’ve gotten used to him and his constant questioning, you even began to learn about his life

𐃯 From his preferences in alcohol and to his constant squabbles with his roommate, but you do most of the talking

𐃯 Al haitham says that he likes hearing you explain the drinks, but in actuality he loves the look of joy you put on when you tell him the science and history behind the drinks you’re making

𐃯 He would pay attention to what you’re saying but you look so cute when your excitedly explain the drinks to him, it’s a bit distracting. But he doesn’t have to worry because you’re willing to explain it to him again however many times he needs

𐃯 The scribe would even try various drinks, but his favorite part is while you’re making the drink you explain the different cultures that the various drinks came from

𐃯 He would pick up various culinary books and give you suggestions on what ingredients would go well together

𐃯 The both of you do try out these recipes, some are hit or miss but if Al haitham has to drink a couple of awful tasting drinks to spend time with you them it’s a logical decision in his mind

[the-s1lly-corner]

Various crps x streamer reader

Except the admin doesnt watch streamers often so his knowledge is limited

Characters: ben Drowned, ticci toby, laughing jack

Notes: reader is GN, Ben's part is platonic

Cws: edit

Laughing Jack

He spams the chat.. he doesn't mean to hes just very excited to see you (you're literally in the other room)

Lots of typos from him btw, his fingers arent good for phones or other devices

similar to toby he gets into verbal matches with anyone who is being rude or weird in the chat, will verbally obliterate them

if you play games you offer to let him join you... he is... bad at video games... again, his hands arent built friendly for most devices- very large and the claws dont help at all

fights so hard not to pop into frame to give your viewers a scare- if they do ever see him it starts this whole conspiracy theory thing...

uh... have fun with the boost in views from it, i guess?

Ticci Toby

Has probably gotten into arguments with people being weird or rude to you, though obviously he comes from a good place

Tends to fuck with the person rather than actually arguing back, though

likes to sit and watch your streams when he has some breathing room with his job as a proxy, gives him a way to check in on you in a way when hes away

leaves messages in your chat to let you know what hes going to be home so you dont have to worry

gets giddy when he sees you notice his messages

saves some clips to watch for later, a lot of them being out of context

Ben Drowned

Game stream, obviously

sometimes interferes with your streams, less likely to do it if you stream for money though... hes a bit of a jerk but hes not going to mess with your livelyhood

sometimes joins your games if its multiplayer, viewers think hes your little brother or something that sometimes hops on

circling back to interfering i can see him either messing with the game by glitching or crashing it, but i can see him messing with the stream itself... would try to make it creepy by flashing random stuff on screen or playing scary sounds

average trolling, as the kids say or whatever

spams sound effects in the stream

[david-talks-sw]

hey david! Do you have any George quotes regarding the final Vader vs Obi wan fight? Like did obi wan deliberately throw that fight and let vader kill him or did vader win the duel and obi wan did the Force ghost thing as a last resort?

Here's the quotes I could find that are relevant to the subject:

"A particular case is the confrontation between Obi-Wan and Darth Vader. You know there's something, some relationship they have to each other, 'cause they talk about meeting again ‘and now I'm going to get you’ and all this kind of stuff."

"So there's some kind of old battle going on that we don't know anything about that works amazingly well considering that all it is, is ultimately this one scene between him and Tarkin where he says, “He's here. He's come for me. And it's our destinies to meet up again. And I'm gonna handle this myself. I have to."

"This confrontation with Obi-Wan and Vader— it works just as a confrontation between the good guy and the bad guy. I mean, he’s— Obi-Wan's, at this point, the strongest good guy. He’s the one that has the most knowledge— the father figure that has taken on Luke. Then you have the bad father figure who is the evil father."

"And the subtext of this, which is that this is the culmination of a larger issue… has never really played, I think, for people. It's really just the confrontation between bad and good. Then the surprise at the end of this, is that: Vader doesn't kill him… but that he's able to join the Force, and by being one with the Force, influence things in a more powerful way than he can just being a Jedi." - A New Hope, Commentary Track, Special Edition DVD, 2004

"When he loses Ben, [Luke] freaks out. He’s depressed and all the things that you would be. But Ben has put that idea in him that things happen naturally and there’s also this other thing that’s never explained, which is that he allowed himself to be killed. He didn’t really die. He disappeared. There’s more to this than just a death. Later on in the movie, Luke hears Ben say, “Use the Force!” It mitigates that loss a little bit, because he knows Ben’s somewhere and that something’s going on." - The Star Wars Archives: 1977-1983, 2018

So there you have it.

In a destined confrontation between good and evil, good triumphs not by defeating evil but by ascending and growing beyond it.

So it feels to me that it's a "when in Rome" kind of decision on Obi-Wan's part, wherein he realizes he won't win this fight, and so he decides to make his end meaningful, so that he can show Luke that death is not the end of the journey... he's joining the Force.

Now, if we're talking power-scaling...

... you could argue that Ben might have put up more of a fight, had it been necessary.

George acknowledges that Ben's an old man when explaining the more dynamic fights in the Prequels... but back in the early days, he ranked him as more powerful than Vader/equal to the Emperor.

"Maybe we should set up some kind of levels of achievement. Ben can say that Luke is now a level 2 and Vader is a 4; ‘‘I was a 6 and the Emperor is a 6, and he’s on his way to becoming a 10, which will be a force so powerful in the universe that nothing can stop him. You must stop the Emperor before he achieves the level 10.’’" - Story converence, 1977, as transcribed in The Making of The Empire Strikes Back, 2010

"[Vader] ended up losing his arms and a leg and became partly a robot. So a lot of his ability to use the Force, a lot of his powers, are curbed at this point, because, as a living form, there’s not that much of him left. So his ability to be twice as good as the Emperor disappeared, and now he’s maybe 20 percent less than the Emperor. So that isn’t what the Emperor had in mind." - Vanity Fair, 2005

Now, the first one is an old quote from the development of Empire Strikes Back, when the story was very different; it's take it or leave it, if you ask me. Power-scaling is invented to justify storytelling, so if the story changes, it's not guaranteed the power-scale remains.

But if you're going by "everything Lucas said is canon!" rules then you could make the argument that, in terms of power...

If Ben = Emperor and Emperor > Vader then Ben > Vader.

And thus can argue that Ben might've beaten Vader if this confrontation was/turned into more of a Force-based contest than a physical one.

[jimin-bangtan]

HOW DID I FIRST NOTICE "JIKOOK"?🤔

Jimin & Jung Kook

On my Tumblr profile, I have stated that I am an OT7-loving, Jimin-biased, JiKook-observing fan. People familiar with KPop know that many fans commonly use a standard naming convention, where they combine parts of 2 or more names in order to identify the people being discussed. The term JiKook stands for Jimin (JM) and Jung Kook's (JK) pairing. I had not planned to post on this topic, but the surprise filming of, and the coming release of, the "Are You Sure?" travel series, starring Jimin & Jung Kook, inspired my decision.

Regardless of the unusual fandom arguments about Jimin and Jung Kook's interactions, there are a few descriptions about them that cannot be denied. For example, they are both from Busan. They both debuted in the same KPop band (BTS). They are the only 2 members who are in both the vocal and dance lines. They are friends, and they are close. I will not give attention to any denial of those descriptors whatsoever. I am convinced that the amount of footage & information provided by the members and the company settles any disagreements about items like those, without question. Any other label, name, or category you put on their relationship is up to personal interpretation until or unless they ever decide to directly define it for themselves. I have my own interpretation based on what I have gathered, but it is up to each person to determine their own view in light of the lack of confirmation.  And we all don't have to agree - or argue about it.

Are there other close relationships within BTS? Of course.  But something drew my attention toward this pair specifically. In spite of the introduction above, the purpose of this post came about when one day I realized I had never identified for myself what initially caused me to see, then become intrigued by, JiKook’s bond in particular. So I thought back and tried to remember the moment that captured my attention enough to watch them more closely. After thinking for a bit, I realized it happened during one of the first nonperformance events I ever saw. 

I have explained in My BTS Experience posts that my sister introduced me to BTS but through performances mostly.  We watched many performances for a good length of time whenever we were together, but I didn’t venture out to view them on my own at that time.   At this point of observation, Jimin was already the member I leaned toward and tended to observe more often than the others. However, I really liked all of them and felt the group was interesting and exceptionally talented.

One day my sister unusually pulled up a BTS nonperformance event that had just occurred. It was the Festa 2022 dinner or what I like to call the Shock & Awe Dinner. I had never seen a Festa, so my sister explained that it was an annual event that occurred every June at the time of their anniversary in order to celebrate & reflect on the past, present, and future. By this point, I knew each of the guys' names and ages as well as a little of their stories and roles within the group. My sister had only told me they were a very close group, and they were all good friends. From what I had seen up to that point in performances, that bore out to be true.  

On this day the guys were eating while in conversation.  True to form, they reminisced about the past, considered the present, but most significantly revealed the future. As it turned out, they were headed into a hiatus due to having to (choosing to?) enlist in the military for their mandatory service - except the audience didn’t know that reason yet and were stunned by the revelation of a hiatus.

The “Shock & Awe” came from the surprise announcement as well as the emotional tone of the event. While they ate, they explained that they would be taking a break to explore solo projects and life itself but also promised to come back together with gained experience and knowledge [See my BTS Solo Chapter series posts]. In addition to the shared information, there was an undercurrent of emotions, as if there were many unspoken sentiments. The members cried and made somewhat cryptic comments. It was very emotional and genuine. It drew me in, and I was now rather curious about the group - beyond their performances - and about what was going on.

So when did I notice JiKook? Well, during the dinner (Link set to 5:00 mark), as the group was still eating and talking about their current activities that had yet to be announced or released, Suga brought up Jimin working on his solo album. Suga said he had heard one of JMs songs. JHope (real name Hoseok) mentioned he also had heard his song. [Strangely, neither of them said it was good or they liked it. Note: JMs album ended up being a huge success. Re: Jimin bias 😉]  While JM quickly clarified it was not the same song, JK - the youngest of the group - abruptly asked JM why he hadn’t played the songs for him yet. JM responded in playful defense that he could play his songs for everyone. JK stated, “I’m so upset!” in sort of a loud sing-song tone. RM added fuel to the fire and declared that JHope was always number 1 to JM. You could tell RM was trying to get JKs goat [tease him]. But why? JM put his hand to his head and leaned back briefly as if in a moment of anguish with a smile and a shake of his head “no”. JHope even shook his head no and waved off RMs comment to assure that statement was untrue. It is well known that JHope and Jimin, the long-term roommates, are very close. Their unproblematic rooming situation was even mentioned during that meal. RM continued, “We’re all 2nd to JHope.” JK again shouted, “I’m so upset!”  JM explained aloud that JHope happened to be at the office and that was why he had heard the song. JK exclaimed, “So upset!” {By now my brow was wrinkled in amusement.} Strangely, JK was smiling a little and even gave a little chuckle. JM explained he had invited everyone to come see him work. Jk again, “So upset!” 🤭 He still wore a small smile. Suga offered an explanation that JM gets embarrassed when showing his work. JK then stated that JM should apologize “Go on! Say you’re sorry.” which JM immediately did with a chuckle but somewhat serious! Overall, I was like, “What?” 😳 And this was within the first 10 minutes of the meal!  

Pictures from moments in Festa 2022 dinner (Click & expand to read dialogue.)

That seemed like an odd exchange based on how those few members had interacted. I wondered why the youngest was so “upset” about not hearing the songs when others had not mentioned they had or had not heard them either. I also wondered why the youngest felt he was obliged to have heard JMs songs and why he was demanding an apology from his elder and moreover why this elder accepted the demand and actually immediately apologized to the younger. What obligation did these 2 have toward each other? There also seemed to be an unexplained, playful reason for the exchange.  Was it scolding or teasing or both? But also from a younger member toward an older person in hierarchical (age conscious) South Korea? This definitely rang a bell for me. 🤔

Another less conspicuous, JiKook-specific event happened soon after (set to 16:50 mark).  I only noticed it after rewatching the dinner a few times. (Yes, I was so fascinated that I watched the entire dinner multiple times back to back. Little did I know that this was foretelling for my future as an eventual, devoted BTS fan.) The delay in recognizing this JiKook situation was because the subtle exchange did not occur in the same frame. It occurred while the group was discussing their new separate residences after having lived together for so long.  When JKs new home came up, JM and JK conspicuously made eye contact for what seemed to be about the topic of conversation. JK seemed amused, but I couldn’t quite read JMs expression. I only remember him later wondering aloud about how much of this footage would be able to be aired. (Click & expand to read dialogue.)

The photos above are from a slide in my personal slideshow that I created to understand all the JiKook information I eventually viewed out of order. The two pictures at the bottom were enlarged and put side by side, but they are not manipulated to show something that didn’t happen. They are showing what actually was happening at the same time but in separate frames. Watch the actual, official footage and see (Link is set to the 16:50 mark). The pictures were included in this way to reveal their actions in one space, so you can see they were looking at each other while the other members spoke about JKs house and his multiple mattresses.😆 JM even did a slight twitch of his eyebrow with the eye contact.  The pictures right above that happened in reverse order, but I switched them so you could see the body language occurring simultaneously as this conversation played out. This is why it took me a while to notice the exchange. This too made me think, “What is happening with these two?”

And that’s how I first noticed JiKook.  Then down the JiKook rabbit hole I went…🙂

Feel free to share your JiKook moment too, and watch "Are You Sure?" travel series on Disney+, starting August 8th.

[vamptarot]

What Is Tarot?

— an educational post

— ⭑.ᐟ I am aware many people have made posts like this before, however I still felt like creating my own take on it. What inspired me was a post where someone stated that tarot is fictional. Which is incredibly incorrect. Being misinformed is of course, fine, but they said it with such utmost arrogance and confidence that it annoyed me a little. If you are misinformed, not even educated on tarot as a whole, what gives you the right to be a tarot reader? You cannot guide people if you, yourself are wrong and have incorrect information and assumptions. That is what I would have liked to tell them, but unfortunately due to my then circumstances I did not. I also would like to follow the word of God, and He says to act with love, not hatred. So, instead of calling them out and possibly causing an unnecessary argument, I have decided to educate those who might be curious or confused about what tarot actually is as a whole. It’s your choice if you read this or not. I also won’t go into themes of religion, this will strictly be focused on tarot. I just wanted to share what’s on my mind. not proof read.

what is tarot?

Actually, my dearest, tarot was created in the 1430s - 1450s and was first called tarocchi. It’s a game similar to bridge.

They were created in Northern Italy, Milan. Although at the time it was a game, it was still considered a luxury. The cards were hand painted for wealthy people, not necessarily due to them finding joy in it, but rather to reflect their status. It was a symbol of being wealthy.

Although nowadays the standard of a tarot deck is 78 cards it started off with 56 cards, from which the fool was the odd one out, a wild card. - If you have a hard time understanding, think of the joker card from solitaire. -

It was only used as a form of divination at the beginning of the 18th century, aka the 1700s.

Now, there are several reasons whys this has happened, but I will try my best to explain it to you in simple terms. - Although I won’t be able to go into every detail as these topics are very complex and have a rich history behind them, so please keep that in mind. -

In the early 1700s French occultists made claims about their meaning and history. They were confident in their skills, abilities and knowledge. Due to them grabbing people’s attention this led to people making custom cards for the usage of cartomancy.

At these times Romani and Sinti people were heavily discriminated against. They weren’t allowed to settle, work, buy a house and were banned from most public spaces including ones where one can buy food and such. All because they originated from India. So, as a means to keep alive they turned to earning money with divination, creating opportunities for themselves in order to live.

Another reason for tarot in a form of divination becoming popular is due to conservative Christian’s spreading the misinformation of it being related to Kabbalah, the Jewish mystical tradition. Of course, that is not true, never was and never will be. However, they are said to have some parallels. That is as far as it goes though.

Now, you could be thinking to yourself, ‘if it was a game, then it’s not a real divination.’ You are wrong! Let me explain to you why!

Remember how I mentioned that originally it had 56 cards and was named tarocchi? It also originated in the 15th century. The tarot you know of today began in the 18th century, got popular in the 19th century. There is roughly about 300 years between the two events and tarot has evolved for 100 years. So one can argue they are completely different things. Even if they are not, that’s alright.

Objects created for non divination usage can still be used for divination despite the creator’s intent. I will present you with a few examples of this fact.

Some people use their passed on pet’s bones as a form of osteomancy. You throw em, if they touch it’s a yes, if they don’t it’s a no. Sounds pretty messed up, right? For some people at least, can’t guarantee everyone thinks the same. Regardless, that was a living being, a beloved pet. Yet, you can use it’s bones in order to practice spirituality.

If you watch youtube pick a cards this will be easier to understand, regardless, charms can be used as a form of divination. You draw different categories on a paper, throw charms at them, whatever it falls on will have a meaning to your question. Money charms on ‘future spouse’? They might as well be wealthy, or at least good with their money.

Or, if that’s not good enough think about witchcraft. You think every single little thing used for spells, jars, hexes and so on was created for the sole purpose of witchcraft? It wasn’t. Yet it works because it’s intentional, because the person doing them has talent for it, because they were gifted.

how do readers read tarot cards?

I will be honest with you, not all readers are gifted with being able to do so, but they sure believe they do. - Am I saying this out of pettiness? Perhaps, let me be. -

So, if you feel like something is off such as beating around the bush, being too nice, being too mean and so on please trust your gut. Not telling you to be mean to people or accuse them unprovoked, that’s something an @sshole does, and I know you are not one. - Watch out for AI readings though, they suck. -

Moving on, I would like to say that every single tarot reader reads their cards differently. Some only do by visuals, some only does so by meaning, some do by both!

Alongside this, every reader shuffles differently. Some let the cards fall out, some take whatever is on top, some take whatever is standing out of the deck, some let them fall and then organise them neatly.

There is many ways to do this. I personally let them fall out and consider both visuals and meanings simply because I believe that is the right thing to do. - One time, during a love reading they fell out in a heart. I thought that’s cute. - At the end of the day, it doesn’t matter much. I have had several friends with different methods than me give me really good and accurate readings. - Just be catious of people who spread it out and then pick the cards out themselves. -

The most important part is being gifted with claircognizance, or in other words having hella good intuition. - or “6th sense”, whatever you wanna call it. - I believe every reliable and accurate reader is gifted with this, regardless of them being aware or not. You can’t read tarot if you don’t understand what spirit is trying to tell you, let that be your own guides or anyone else’s. Perhaps even your tarot deck.

Often times though, this is not the only thing readers rely on. For instance, I have clairaudience, clairvoyance and clairtypity. I can hear, see and feel what you would during whatever situation I read for you. This is not unique to me at all, every reader has at least one of these, and usually several. I even saw people with clairgustance and clairalience! They can taste and smell what you would! Isn’t that awesome?~ I personally think it’s fascinating, it’s not something that I have ever experienced. It’s cool that there are people out there who can do this.

So, tarot readers read your situation with the help of your spirit guides and their own spiritual gifts that they carry within themselves. As for habits and methods, it varies from person to person.

That is a reason why so many different tarot decks exist! Different people are called to different things. - Plus it’s cool -

how do tarot readings work?

This is the main reason why this post was made.. let’s get into it.

You already know how readers guide you, so I will tell you how do the readings themselves work. What else are they based on. Honestly, the best way I will be able to tell this to you is with examples, so that’s what I will do. Maybe someone else can tell you in a much more detailed and specific manner, but I am not them.

Tarot always reads your current energy. You can look into the past with it, but regardless it reads your current state of mind, thoughts, views, feelings and behaviours.

If you read a pick a card or personal reading that is based on the future - ex.; future spouse - then it will still read on your current energy.

For example let’s say you ask ‘when will I meet my future spouse?’ but you stay inside all day, then it will obviously be a few years or so. However, if the next day you decide to go out more or just put yourself out there in the world more and actually commit to it this can reduce to months.

If it’s a reading on your past then the cards will pick up on what still impacts you, whether you are aware of it or not. Let’s say you ask about your first kiss, how will it be like? Your cards could say that it won’t be as romantic as you think because this and that situation still impacts you.

I sincerely hope that you get the point, as I did my best to explain it.

Yet, there is still a question, ‘if someone is talented, why did that one reading turn out inaccurate?’ well because things change my dear.

If you were to ask me now about the appearance of your future spouse I could say they have brown hair and be correct, but they could go ahead and dye it red 15 minutes after I said that.

Things change constantly all the time and there is nothing we can do about it. That’s just life. It’s hard to hear, it’s hard to swallow, but it’s something we have to accept at some point in time. We can control some things, but not everything.

Change is inevitable.

There is good sides of it, and there is bad. You just gotta live and let others do the same.

Now, for pick a cards it’s slightly different. Maybe, genuinely, something is just not meant for you and you are just meant to ignore that. Maybe it’s for the blond teen in Canada who is asking about that one cute boy in her class. If you read a pick a card reading that is accurate but there is that one thing that doesn’t make sense, consider that means something to someone else. It’s not a personal reading.

That is why disclaimers like ‘take it with a grain of salt’ and ‘leave what doesn’t resonate’ exist. Yes, some people take advantage of it and that’s bad, but they were created with a good reason.

end note.

That is all I wanted to say, I believe. Although I made this post to get something bothersome off my mind I sincerely wish that someone out there has found it useful. My goal was truly to educate so if you know who the OP of the claim was just ignore them. Hating on people for enjoyment is not only immature but is going to have a negative effect on your body, mind and soul. Which I would not like. Please take care of yourselves! Thank you for reading.

[nebbys-personal-nebula]

the biggest, most copium agent 4 theory from this clown of an agent four enjoyer

apologies for the wait on this! i wanted to unlock all of the dev diaries to make sure i could squeeze out every last bit of lore...

anyways SIDE ORDER SPOILERS INCLUDING POSTGAME

so let's start with the common knowledge. most people know by this point that agent 4 has a palette. it's one of the first you get in the game, after pearl and marina's. to the surprise of nobody, it is a splattershot...

according to what marina says about the memverse, palettes are a portion of a person's soul dragged into the memverse. so agent 4's soul got dragged in here somehow. how did this happen, and why? there are a few possibilities...

marina mentions in her eighth dev diary that she needs someone to handle system security. she writes: "maybe i can ask that person cuttlefish introduced me to for help there." this is still pretty vague, but we know from smollusk's note on agent 4's palette that it is definitely agent 4. quote:

"THIS is who mawina wanted in charge of memverse security? this unfwappable, free-spirited so-and-so? i would never abide it!"

the question is: if agent 4 was intended to be security for the memverse, then where are they? this leads us to the parallel canon boss!

note that figure in the center. even though all descriptions for this boss describe it as "a lot like eight", it is clearly an inkling with its pointed ears and hair.

the hairstyle is significant, too. all art of this boss, including its icon, display it with the "haircut" style. why does this matter? because official art of agent 4 also uses this style:

on top of that, people have reported that if you have splatoon 2 save data on your switch, the boss will use whatever hairstyle your inkling uses in that game (with that inkling, of course, being agent 4). unfortunately, i forgot to take a screenshot of my save, but maybe someone could reblog this and confirm?

another thing to note about that agent 4-looking robot in the center is that they're wielding the order shot, which is the same weapon you get from agent 4's palette.

so what exactly am i getting at with all this? let's read a little more of smollusk's notes on agent 4...

"buut...no weason such stwength shouldn't be used to pwotect a world of order. an order defense force is MUCH cooler than a new squidbeak splatoon anyway!"

this phrasing is particularly interesting to me because it implies smollusk wants to, or already has utilized agent 4's strength in some way. additionally, smollusk regards fans of chaos in a very similar way. for almost all of them, he argues they must be "punished". examples:

"she must be PUNISHED!" - callie's palette

"her chaotic lies must be PUNISHED!" - shiver's palette

"for the sake of order, they all must be PUNISHED!" - frye's palette

"it annoys me, so he must be PUNISHED!" - big man's palette

"he must be PUNISHED!" - sheldon's palette

"i sentence him to PUNISHMENT!" - dj octavio's palette

almost all of these characters are on the side of "chaos". callie and dj octavio were on the chaos side of the final fest, while shiver, frye, and big man rep the splatlands, basically the land of chaos. no idea what smollusk's beef is with sheldon though that guy was neutral LOL

on the other hand, smollusk is notably softer with characters on the side of "order", like marie, murch, and marina (obviously). he still critiques them, but he doesn't sentence them to "punishment".

agent 4 was on the side of chaos in the final fest. so why didn't smollusk sentence them to "punishment"?

perhaps it's because smollusk is already making use of them...by using their soul to control the parallel canon boss!

think about it! the bosses of the tower are basically security, right? they keep you from reaching the top! since smollusk knows from marina that agent 4 was meant to be security, it could have pulled in their soul to fulfill that job. that's why agent 4's palette is there, and that's why we don't physically see them in the dlc! because they're grayscaled in the outside world!

…it is also definitely possible that the boss is just INSPIRED by agent 4, taken from marina's memories, or something like that. but i like this theory because it explains why agent 4's soul ended up in the memverse.

one other thing - i think the popular opinion is that the parallel canon boss are "robots", due to the way they move, their eyes glowing, the filter on their voice, etc...this is probably true, but have you ever wondered if the boss is actually a real inkling (a digital…real…inkling? you get the idea) if it was just a robot like the others, why would it specifically have ears and hair? not only that, but you can get the parallel mask from the priz shop:

which you wear on your face. what if this is the real agent four, wearing this parallel mask? their gray coloring could be because they're grayscaled! after all, we never actually see a representation of grayscaling in-game. the name implies that they'd actually turn gray in some way, maybe in the color of their tentacles. but this could be the most dramatic extent of it!

this is definitely a stretch, but you can consider it food for the die-hard agent 4 angsters out there. love you guys <3

feel free to reblog if you have thoughts, add-ons or even counterpoints! i find this all really interesting

[politemenacephd]

Arachnophilia: (Part Thirty-two)

Drider!Miguel O'Hara x Reader (+18)

Chapter Masterlist 🕷️

Content: Time to cry.

Both you and Mig were hesitant to leave the closet. Despite the abysmally horny scene you’d both made in the lobby in the throes of Mig’s prey-driven rut, now that you were both a little more sober, the thought of facing your colleagues was less than enticing. You didn’t want the little whispered concerns about whether you were okay, and you certainly didn’t want the snickers about Miguel’s size.

And besides, he was ever so warm. You loved the soft fuzz of his legs as they brushed your cheeks, leaving a glow on your skin. You loved the heat of his torso when he hugged you, and the little sigh he did as he rested his chin on the crown of your head.

But, you couldn’t exactly stay in there forever.

You creaked the door open just an inch and peeped your head around the corner, allowing just your eyes to appear. Mig did the exact same, slowly sliding his head around the door just above your own, like curious prairie dogs.

To your relief it seemed that the party was already in full swing. There was music playing, people laughing, cheap plastic pumpkins cackling, and huge groups of spiders all hurrying about in full costume.

Nobody would notice you. But, would they notice the room?

You glanced back over your shoulder at the mess of webs you’d left behind.The sticky stings were dripping with some kind of obscene liquid. Whether it was saliva or something else, though… well, of that you weren’t sure. Your eyes met, and in near unison you agreed:

‘They’ll just think its decoration.’

You spread your leg forward as if to leave, only to then duck out of sight once more as a gaggle of spiders rushed past, squishing yourself behind the door with Miguel awkwardly pressed up against your chest. You eyed him and your little mess up for the second time.

‘Is this… Is this a health hazard, Mig, do you think?’

‘Why are you asking me that, arañita?’

‘You’re the super genius!’

‘I’m not a doctor.’

‘A genetical physicist is better than doctor!’

‘Ay, arañita, be careful who you say that to…’

‘No, just- come on. I trust your judgment. You will ease my guilty conscience.'

‘… I mean we have never gotten sick from it.’

‘A very good point, Mr. O’Hara. A very good point indeed. In that case, I am sold. Let’s just leave it.’

Once the noise immediately outside the little closet door had passed, you allowed yourself to slip out and join the fray. Mig followed close behind.

Your hands instinctively interlocked as you headed towards the main party. It was a little nerve-wracking to be around people knowing the state of your body. You could feel the little web plug still sitting snuggly inside you, which would undoubtedly stay there until later that evening when Mig would finally and reluctantly pull it out, only to most likely stuff you again.

You were very, very, VERY full, and it was unbearably distracting.

As you took your first few steps into the crowd you glanced up at Mig. You looked at him with the expectation that you’d see the same concern on his face, that shared fear of being found out, but to your surprise, Mig looked the exact opposite. His eyes were glinting with a smug, primal sheen that you could only describe as possessive pride. He was relishing the knowledge that he’d stuffed you up and now got to parade you around while filled with his seed, his web knot, even if he put up a shy front before all the other spiders.

You huffed and gently elbowed his leg, causing him to stumble.

‘Mm! Arañita? Are you—’

Mig glanced down in shock at your unexpected nudge, but the moment he saw your expression he knew what you were thinking. He at least had the sense to break into a bashful blush as he shook himself out.

‘… I will not apologize for my instincts’ he grumbled.

‘Mig—’

‘I will not! I can’t help it. It’s in my nature to feel pride about such things.’

‘Mig, come on—’

‘Nature! It is my nature! I cannot argue with nature, arañita!’

You tried to pout, you really did, but as you stared up at his red cheeks and those big red eyes that even now betrayed a deep level of possessive adoration, you couldn’t help but break into a smile yourself. You giggled and tried to cover your mouth while Mig grunted.

‘What? Why are you now laughing?’

‘Oh, nothing. Nothing.’

‘What is so funny?’

‘Nothing!’

You decided to tease him a little more, and broke into a slight jog so that he was forced to scurry after you across the floor.

‘Ah- arañita?’ he chirped as you sped up. You saw his legs shuffling faster and picked up the pace, breaking into a run.

‘Mmm, come on. Faster’ you purred.

Mig purred back as he obediently followed. ‘Faster?’

‘Come on. You wanna know why I’m laughing, you gotta catch up’ you giggled.

Mig bristled with joy as he started to speed up alongside you. It pleased something in his primal brain to be chasing you, pursuing you. He moved his legs faster, clambering over fake pumpkins and spiders passing by as he tried to keep up with your pace.

Neither of you even paid attention to the other hoards of spiders who all jumped aside as Mig barrelled through. All you could think about was how fun it was to tease him, and how fun it would be when he caught you. In those moments, it was only you and him.

‘Arañita!’

Mig breathlessly called little nickname as he scurried through the crowd, his eyes fixed on the top of your head. He kept having to duck beneath plastic spiders hanging from the ceiling, though even at his most careful he took a number of pumpkin garlands to the face. Soon he was draped in paper decorations like a giant Halloween statue.

You finally skipped to a halt in front of the big open craft table, a movement so sharp that Mig barely had time to course-correct his own lumbering body. He skidded on the slippery tiled floor and bumped right into your back, pushing your stuffed belly into the table with a slight ‘oomph’.

A handful of people looked over with a mixture of disgust and morbid curiosity, but you ignored them. You were too busy giggling.

‘Jesus, Mig- oof, my god.’ You grunted as Mig withdrew from you, his hands outstretched to cup your shoulders as he ensured you were alright.

‘Arañita, you stopped so suddenly. Are you okay—’

‘I forgot how big you are sometimes’ you groaned, cutting off his little interjection. Mig snorted.

‘Excuse me? That seems untrue, mi amor.’

You tilted your head back and your brow tilted with it, shooting him a slightly confused expression. ‘What?’

‘That you’d forget I am big’ he repeated back. Immediately you rolled your eyes again. ‘Ohhh, okay. Okay. Really? A double entendre?’

‘A what?’

‘Your dick, Mig. You’re talking about your dick, right?’ you whispered back.

You were too busy giggling at Mig’s wide eyes and gormless expression to care about the spider people standing within listening distance, all of whom were now frozen in horror. He huffed and tried to play it off, glancing anywhere except your face.

‘I- I did not, necessarily mean that, arañita’ he insisted. Your lips curled into a smile so wide it hurt. His enormous legs were scuttling and shifting from side to side, something he only did when he was doing a terrible job of lying.

‘Oh, Mig. It’s not like you to be so coy’ you teased. You made a point of tickling the spot between his foreleg and his abdomen, knowing it would make him skitter and dance. His little tufty paws hopping back and forth always brought you joy.

‘Oye! Not there, mi tesoro’ he hissed back. He attempted to grasp and hold you still with his front paws but you just tickled those as well, noting the way his scarred, muscular body twitched and tensed as you did. Oh, to make that terrifying beast of a man quiver. It was pure joy.

He wrestled with you in the most childish form of PDA until he finally had you clutched to his chest. He held you there, one hand on your head and both forelegs wrapped around your chest, and he purred as he felt you squirm and laugh. His exasperation quickly turned back into a worn but gentle smile pulling across his chiseled, weather-beaten face.

‘Mi tesoro- ay, Dios Mio. You are in a state tonight, aren’t you?’

‘It’s a party, my love. Can I not enjoy myself?’

His smile deepened. You watched those little lines appear by his eyes as the corner of his lips tilted upward, the lines you could now count off by heart. His fangs flashed white in the spooky lighting.

‘I would love nothing more, arañita’ he murmured back. ‘I promise, I would love nothing more.’

He gave you another firm squeeze before letting you go, but his clawed hands remained on the small of your back. It was just a light touch. Not enough to herd you, but just enough to let you know he was there. It was enough to let you know he loved you.

When you turned back around all the other spiders had left. It seemed your little sickly romantic display had put them off their food.

You shrugged it off and tried not to focus on it too much, mostly for Mig’s sake. Instead, you focused on the food.

‘Ooo, they went all out.’

You picked at a few spider-themed cupcakes while Mig peered over your head. You could feel his chin on the crown of your head, nestling into your hair.

‘Mm… I remember these, I think. From before I changed’ Mig murmured to himself. He picked up a cupcake between the claws of his thumb and forefinger, coyly raising it to his face. You grabbed one for yourself and hopped up so that you were seated on the table's edge.

‘How’s it look?’ you asked, taking a bite of your own. Mig turned it a full 360 degrees barely an inch from his eyes, then took a cautious lick.

‘Mm… I’m, unsure if my stomach can adjust to this’ he grunted. ‘I’m so used to raw meat…’

‘What?’ you snorted. ‘You still have a human stomach, right?’

‘Yes… But it will pass down to my spider half’ he noted. He took another lick and visibly bristled at the sudden, overwhelming taste of butter and sugar on his tongue. You watched every hair on his abdomen stand up at once.

‘Ach! That is- overwhelming’ he hissed. You tried and failed to stifle a giggle as he bared his fangs at the little dessert.

‘Alright, alright. I’ll ask if there’s any raw venison around’ you teased, and with your free hand you grabbed the cupcake from him so that you had two.

‘No! No, I can… I will not be, defeated by this, sugary nonsense’ Mig insisted. He eyed up the cupcakes like they were about to bite off his finger, tepidly tapping back and forth as he worked up the courage to take it back once more, but as he dithered on his decision you got an idea.

‘Okay. Okay, come here. Let’s share’ you offered. When Mig raised both brows you peeled the wrapper off of the cake and placed half of it between your lips, leaving the other half hanging out for him to take. You leaned up, coaxing him down with those soft eyes you knew he couldn’t resist.

Mig almost blushed. His little abdomen wriggled with excitement, his paws tapping, and slowly he lowered his legs until you were both at the same height.

You felt his breath, his nose, the little bump of his forehead. He parted his lips, moving forward and back as he tried to find the right angle, and then he closed on the other half of the cake.

Your lips touched, and you savored it for just a moment before messily pulling apart.

Crumbs covered your lap as the middle of the cake collapsed, and you rushed to swallow between fits of giggles. Miguel was so flustered he swallowed his half in one go, forcing him to cough and thump his bare chest. That only made you giggle more.

‘Oh my god, Mig—’

‘Ah- ah. I-I don’t think I even tasted a bit of that’ he wheezed. You laughed so hard that your belly started to hurt.

‘God damn it! Alright, alright, let’s try another one—’

‘Hey! You two!’

A sharp voice drifted over the ambient spooky music, and for just a second you tore your eyes away from Mig to search for the culprit.

To your surprise, it was Jess. Miguel’s second-hand elite was moving with exorbitant speed and grace towards you and Mig, and her eyes were fixed on you in particular. You panicked and rushed to brush the crumbs off of your suit.

‘Jess! Hey, what—’

‘Where’s Miguel?’

You paused.

‘Uh, Mig? He—’

‘No, Miguel’ Jess stipulated. She looked weirdly distracted as her eyes darted around the room. ‘You know, our leader? Head of the society, the guy who should be here?’

‘Oh, uh… I-I’m not, sure’ you replied. ‘He—’

‘He is in his office’ Mig interrupted. You could feel his enormous torso leaning in over your shoulder so he could look Jess in the eye, and you could also see the way she stiffened at his presence. You bit back the urge to scowl.

‘His, office?’ Jess replied.

‘Yes. He ah, he offered to stay up late working on our project. The uh- the cross-universe serum, ma’am’ he added. ‘I offered to stay with him, but he said I should… enjoy myself, down here. With my mate.’

Jess took only a moment to dissect Mig’s response before immediately scoffing. ‘Uhuh. Uhuh. Wow, very interesting. VERY interesting.’

Her dry tone didn’t exactly land well with Mig, who instinctively took it at face value. He purred at the notion that he had, indeed, told Jess some interesting news, which only made you bristle more. You couldn’t stand the way people would talk to Mig, even if it was unintentional.

‘What’s the issue?’ you asked.

‘Oh, nothing. Just, it’s a very good story for him, isn’t it?’ Jess added sarcastically. ‘He’s being all altruistic all of a sudden, so he doesn’t have to attend the party.’

She spun in a circle and glared up at the entrance to his lab as if Miguel could somehow see her through all those dense walls. At this point Mig had finally caught on that his response hadn’t been taken as well as he assumed it would be, so he quickly shuffled forward to speak more clearly.

‘He did insist’ Mig said. ‘I offered to remain with him, but he insisted he continue working. We are very close to finding a solution, after all.’

Jess grumbled. She seemed perturbed that Mig was suddenly on Miguel’s side.

‘Ahuh. Alright. Guess I’m the honorary leader then, again, as always’ Jess said. ‘He calls me for backup when he gets his ass handed to him, and when everyone votes to throw a party I’m the one watching over it like you’re my hundreds and hundreds of spider kids—’

‘I apologize’ Mig suddenly blurted, interrupting her complaint in such an abrupt manner that both she and you jumped. Jess cocked her brow at the tentative-looking spider.

‘You- what?’

‘You seem…

Jess blinked. She blinked, and she gaped, and then she sighed. ‘My god… I forgot what you were like. Look, I’m not mad at you. I’m just- your uh, variant, is kind of a pain in the ass sometimes. Okay?’

Mig purred, his face unphased. ‘… Yes. I, believe I understand’ he purred back.

‘I’m sure you do’ Jess grumbled, and before you could even have a real conversation with her she turned and began to walk away.

‘I’m gonna go find Miguel in his office then. God damn antisocial little—’

Her mumbling faded into the background as she pushed through the crowd, leaving just you, Mig, and the ambient spooky music in the air.

As she hurried off you noticed Mig’s eyes following her. He had a blank expression as he watched her leave, but his eyes seemed instinctively driven upward to the huge gaping door that you knew led to Miguel’s office. You saw him shuffling in thought.

You knew he was probably thinking about going back himself. He looked antsy, shuffling his paws and his abdomen like a little saltshaker. You knew he was pining to finish that damn serum.

But you’d gone too long without just enjoying his presence for a while, and you were loathed to give him up now. Besides, Miguel was meant to be working on this project to make up for all the time he’d spent trying to pry you apart. You deserved to spend some one-on-one time with Mig now.

You reached out and tenderly tugged at his fur, urging him to meet your gaze.

‘Come on, my love’ you said gently. ‘Let’s go relax.’

Mig reluctantly dragged his eyes away from the office at the sound of your voice. It drew his head down until your eyes met, and he huffed at the sight of your smile. Your face was perfectly framed by the cheap Halloween lights, your lips turned up into a goofy grin that dimpled your cheeks.

He just wanted you to be his. He couldn’t stand another day without having you in his universe, in his world.

But… Perhaps, he could just enjoy you for a while. Just a while.

‘Okay, arañita’ he purred, and he returned your smile with one of his own. You adored the way his weathered, chiseled face shifted to accommodate his full lips tilting upward, the little lines by his eyes and the flash of his fangs. He never half smiled. He would always give you a full, wide, fang-filled grin when he saw you, and you wouldn’t change it for the world.

‘Good boy’ you whispered, before patting his flank and heading back into the fray. ‘Come on handsome. Let’s do some good ol’ Halloween fun.’

With Mig’s hand gripped tight in your own, you dragged him into the depths of the party to see what Miguel had allowed them to get away with.

It seems he’d allowed them to get away with a lot.

The training station with the pop-out targets had been turned into a makeshift haunted house. They’d put up fake holographic haybales to hide the pop-outs, creating a labyrinth of twists and turns with pop-up villains around the bend of each corner. The lights were so dim that spiders kept falling into themselves.

You dragged Mig in with you. He didn’t quite understand that the fear was supposed to be fun, however, and every time something popped up and caused you to squeak with shock he would instinctively pounce on it like a wild beast, crushing and tearing the flimsy holographic cut-out to pieces. By the time you reached the end the poor thing was sparking and fizzling, now nothing more than a boring hay maze filled with decapitated doc oc figures spewing gibberish one-liners.

You hurried away and hoped that anyone going in after you didn’t realize who had destroyed it. Either way, it was certainly fun.

On the higher levels, they’d set up a fake trick-or-treating scenario, with spiders lounging in different offices so others could show up, knock on their doors, and beg for candy while showing off your outfits. You were pretty excited to show off your moth costume, especially with Mig at your side, but every time you knocked on a door the response was almost always the same. They’d open it with a cheery laugh, expecting to see one of their fellows in costume, only to blanch at the sight of Mig at your back. They never even gave you the chance to speak. They’d just throw candy at your feet and slam the door, leaving you to awkwardly scoop it back up.

At least twice you’d knock and receive on response, only to realize that the spiders were peering at you from behind the curtained window. The moment you’d lock eyes the curtain would fall, hiding their cowering faces like mice from a cat. In those instances, it was Mig who had to drag you away.

It was a little disheartening, but you refused to let it bother you too much. You went through the entire hall, knocking on every door, and then led Mig to a balcony overlooking the main lobby below so you could swing your feet and share your haul.

You basked in the quiet time together. You’d throw candy into his mouth only to get it stuck in his fur, and then you’d horrify him by getting it out with your teeth. You’d test him on sour candy to see how much he could manage, and giggle at the way he writhed and rustled at the overstimulation.

Once you’d calmed down a little you made your way towards the games corner, which was a little more fun. There was a re-creation of a classic arcade, ones that in Miguel’s timeline were almost extinct, and you tried your hand at those with Mig. He was god awful at video games. His hands were huge and undexterous, barely capable of holding either the panel controls or the guns, but he liked seeing you win, so he just pretended to be trying.

There was a room hosting a screening of old, spooky horror films in black and white at the far end of the building, but Mig was too big to even fit through the door, so you sat in the doorway and described the film to him in horrifying detail. You may have exaggerated a few things.

When someone complained you were letting in too much light you used your savings to buy up the entire popcorn stand and ran off with it bulked onto Mig’s back like a horse, followed by a trail of irritated, hungry film viewers.

The moon was at its peak by the time you began to slow down. You’d been absolute menaces in just about every activity the night offered, and you’d been left with a flushed face and a mild tummy ache. Still, you weren’t perturbed. You were extremely content with Miguel’s hand gripped in your own, and so was he.

Mig hadn’t felt this good since he turned. In fact… The more he thought about it, he hadn’t felt this good ever. He was such a punk teenager that he could never allow himself to be happy, and Alchemax was a slog. Dana had loved him, sure, but looking back, it felt… superficial. It felt, childish.

He was so immature with you, by all accounts. The rabid sex, the possessiveness, the menace energy, and the constant breaking of rules. And yet… He felt older with you. He felt, settled. It was like he was clawing back the decade of life he lost out on in the woods alone, and you never once complained.

He was in love. He was a giddy, stupid fool in love, and that made it so much more real.

‘You having fun, my love?’

Mig paused in his contented daydreaming to glance down. You were peering up at him with those soft eyes, your face glowing as you smiled. He smiled back.

‘Yes. Of course, mi tesoro. Why do you ask?’

‘Your butt’s wiggling.’

Mig’s smile faltered for a second. He spun around and discovered that, just as you’d said, his abdomen was rustling with glee. It was an involuntary reflex he’d never learned to control. He turned back with a rather flushed expression, but that embarrassment wasn’t allowed to fester for long. You threw yourself against his side and squeezed him, burying right into his fur.

‘Oh, you goof. God, it feels so good to see you happy.’

Your voice almost cracked as you spoke the words directly into his soft down. Mig was left speechless.

Happy. Yes, he was happy. Truly happy.

‘Do we have anything else left to try?’ Mig asked. You pouted and turned a full 360 degrees in a circle, pondering that same question. You could see the holographic hay maze, the food stand, the apples and the—

‘OH!’

You grasped Mig’s hand and pulled, attempting to drag him towards the far side of the lobby.

‘DANCE!’

Mig remained rooted to the spot, totally unphased by your attempt to shift him. You had his hand in yours and you were tugging, your feet slipping on the fine marble flooring, but he didn’t move a single inch.

‘Mi tesoro…’

As Mig spoke he lightly tugged, and immediately you were lifted off the floor and into the air. He raised you by your hand as if you weighed nothing before dropping you into his arms.

‘What? What’s up?’ you asked while settling down. You could see the avoidance in his expression, the way he darted his eyes and shrugged.

‘I don’t… Know if I can dance, here’ he replied slowly.

‘You love dancing though! What? Is it—’

You paused and darted your own eyes. People were still staring.

All day, they’d been staring. All day.

The staring, the whispers, the judgment. You couldn’t stand it a second longer. The idea that even now, when he had every right to just exist, Mig was still afraid of being squashed like a bug, it was too much. You finally felt your bristling, broiling irritation at their gawking eyes spill over.

‘No! Come on!’

You squirmed like a hyperactive puppy in his grip until he was forced to let you go, and without saying a thing you grabbed his hands and began guiding him again. Mig sighed.

‘Tesoro—’

‘Come on! We’re gonna dance!’

‘Arañita—’

‘Baby! Baby. Just- okay, listen to me.’

You tugged one more time before pausing, but you kept both of his hands tightly gripped within your own. You felt every bump, every calloused ridge, every fine hair on his knuckles, and every sharp claw protruding from the ends of his fingertips. He returned your stare.

‘I want you to be happy’ you insisted.

‘I… Arañita, I am happy, I just—’ Mig choked on his words when he saw the group staring at him from across the lobby. You pinched his hand to draw him back.

‘They don’t matter’ you whispered. ‘They don’t. And I’ll sit here until you’re ready, but… You love dancing. I know you do. It makes you happy. So let’s do it, Mig.’

The great, terrifying spider stared down at you in a state of absolute stillness.

For a moment, you worried you’d perhaps upset him.

You hadn’t though. Instead, it was the opposite. He was staying utterly still so that he didn’t break, so that he didn’t fall into a rustling, tapping, mewling mess. That enormous, terrifying, muscular beast of a man felt his heart nearly triple over so hard it hurt.

He did love dancing. And you knew that. And you didn’t care who stared.

He pursed his lips to avoid letting out any, ‘unmasculine’ noises, which you immediately noticed. Your eyes widened and your lips parted in an attempt to ask, ‘Mig are you crying?’, but the words never came.

Because before they could be spoken, the air was filled with a soft, dull, tap.

Mig tapped his huge paw, and then the next, and then the next. He moved closer to you as he did.

Tap, tap, tap.

You knew people were staring. You felt their eyes glowing in the dim light, like bats in a cave, straining to watch this odd display. They would always be staring, and you knew that now.

But right now, it was just you. It was just him.

Your smile widened until it hurt your cheeks, and you began to tap right back.

You moved with him towards the hall, letting the music fill your ears. Louder, louder, pulsing under your feet. His tapping got faster, and he began to match the rhythm.

Never once did he let go of your hand. Never once did he let go of you. You were all he could see, dancing and swaying and moving with all the grace of an impromptu, drunken rave with a partner three times your size. Miguel was graceful, precise, just like the spider he was, but your clumsiness only endeared him more.

Round and round you went under the golden glow of the lights above. You moved until you were dizzy, you spun and crossed your feet until your ankles hurt.

Mig got so excited that he whisked you off of your feet. He raised you to his chest and reared his body high, raising his front four legs as if throwing you up into the heavens. You squealed with joy and instinctively grasped his face, and he gazed at you with all the revelry of a dying man staring at an angel.

In that moment, time seemed to stop. Your mouth widened into the widest smile, ready to burst into a fit of pure, unspoiled laughter.

But your laughter never reached him.

That sweet, beautiful sound was cut short by a dull rumbling from further up the building. It was not explosive, nor was it even particularly loud, but it was deafening. It seemed to drown out every other sound in existence.

Mig stared at you, and in unison, your smiles began to fade.

You didn’t want to move. You didn’t want to turn your head. You could see the hair on Mig’s abdomen slowly rising to stand on end, the sign of his animalistic instincts kicking in, and in turn, you felt the hair on your nape rising with the goosebumps running up your skin.

Something in your subconscious could feel what was about to happen far before your other senses ever felt it. Call it a spider-sense, call it a sixth sense, or call it dumb intuition. Whatever it was, you knew.

You knew.

The explosion followed soon after.

A horrifying whistle filled the HQ, echoing through each corridor before punctuating in a violent burst. A flash of fire erupted from one of the higher chambers in the higher HQ, and its debris scattered across the open-plan beams in a raining cascade.

‘ARAÑITA!’

Mig’s instinct was to grasp you to his chest. You were nowhere near the fire and yet it was all he could think to do. His forelegs and human arms reached out and snatched you, drawing you close to his body as he turned his back on the sound, as if he could somehow swallow all of the potential damage with his own form.

But no damage came. As the society gasped and cried and even screamed, you barely heard it, because your ear was pressed too close to Mig’s chest. All you heard was his heartbeat, thudding hard and fast against the side of your head.

It took you a moment for the shock to die down, but the moment it did you began wrestling your way out of Mig’s grasp to assess the damage. You were still a hero, after all. Mig kept his hands close to your waist as you scurried over him and gazed out over the ground to assess the damage.

Luckily nobody seemed to be hurt. Their spider senses had kicked in with enough time to jump aside, and the debris was only a few smoldering lumps.

Instinctively your eyes went up, following the trail of destruction to its source. A single, open hole in the side of the wall, a gaping maw now spewing black smoke from within.

Mig’s eyes followed your own, and immediately he froze. Your blood ran cold.

‘No, no, no—’

You both knew where the fire was coming from. The smoke curled in the air like a snake, slithering out from the entrance to Miguel’s office.

It felt like your heart exploded.

‘Miguel…’

You moved reflexively. You were a spider, after all, and your instinct was always to protect, but this wasn’t just anyone. In that moment, despite all your animosities and the strangeness of your relationship, you felt fear. You felt pain. You felt terror that Miguel was hurt, or even worse, gone.

You prepped your web-shooters and rushed into action, but Mig wouldn’t let you move. He caught you by the nape right as you moved to swing and dragged you back to the floor kicking and yelling.

‘Mig! He—’

‘I know!’

Mig spat you out onto the floor with all the tenderness his panic would allow him to muster. His head was darting so fast it hurt, spinning between you and the smoke as he scuttled on the spot.

‘MIG! He was in there—’

‘I KNOW! I am going, you stay here!’ Mig insisted, his voice rising into a firm bark.

‘Mig, what are you doing!?’ you cried.

‘You stay here! It could be dangerous!’

‘I-If it’s dangerous then I should GO, why should you go?! I don’t want you to get hurt—’

‘I have to go, arañita!’

‘Mig—!’

‘HE’S ME!’

That was all Mig could say before he barrelled his way through the crowd, leaving you behind in the dust. He didn’t bother to look at who he pushed aside, nor who he trampled on his way.

He knew in his heart Miguel was alive. He felt down to the core of his soul that he would have felt it if Miguel died. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t injured. It didn’t mean he couldn’t still die, and so he pushed his body to the brink of its physical capability to climb that impossible architecture, because he refused to know what it felt like. He refused to feel his other self die like this.

When he reached the corridor entrance the other spiders were all trying to evacuate. They blocked his body like a tidal wave, a sea of tiny bodies pressing on his legs and threatening to buckle them in their panic. He had to physically force his way through them, using the strength in his upper arms to help propel the smaller spiders to the exit.

‘GO, GO!’

‘Mig?!’

He glanced up and squinted in the darkness, but he could only see the faint outline of someone moving towards him. Luckily, he remembered that voice.

‘Jessica?!’

‘Fuck- FUCK! Something blew in there!’ she cried back as she hurried towards his voice. ‘I left him in the middle of some- fucking- I don’t know what he was doing, but then the air just hit me—’

‘It’s okay. Go back down, I’ll find him.’

‘You- what?!’

Jess paused and spun right as she reached the exit, only to lose Mig into the dark, curling smoke. She screamed after him to no avail.

‘WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!’

‘MIGUEL!’

Mig’s first call elicited nothing. He heard someone yelling at him from back out in the main lobby, but he refused to acknowledge it. He was solely focused on the thick of the smoke and the body he knew was contained within it.

‘MIGUEL?!!’

His second cry echoed as he stumbled forward, blindly grasping at the walls for guidance. The smoke grew thicker as Mig descended toward the main lab. As a larger beast than any other in the society he could just about handle the intake into his lungs, but not for long. He knew he had to be fast.

He blindly clambered deeper, stumbling over fallen debris and smoldering electronics. With one hand over his mouth, he screamed again.

‘MIGUEL!’

Through the crackling of the fire, a response finally came.

‘GET OUT!’

Mig felt his chest lighten. That was him. That was Miguel.

‘I’m coming through! Can you move?’

‘GET! OUT!’

Mig paid no mind to the repeated cry. He could tell Miguel’s voice was hoarse and slightly muffled, implying he was trapped beneath something. He continued forward until his clawed hands finally grasped the rim of his laboratory door.

It was a mess. It looked like a shockwave of some kind of flown out and destabilized a lot of the beams above, and it had sent the floating desk plummeting into the ground. The broken electronics must have caused the fire and the smoke. He could see them flickering and burning in the corners. 

‘MIGUEL! I AM HERE, TELL ME WHERE YOU ARE!’

‘Argh- STUPID, BASTARD, BUG—’

Miguel's last angry cry thankfully drew Mig’s eye straight to him. He was just visible through the debris. His body was crushed under several pieces of rebar, with only his upper torso visible through the swirling grey. Thankfully he didn’t seem to have been pierced by any of them. He had his head down in an attempt to avoid breathing in the smoke, which meant he likely couldn’t get out on his own.

Mig wasted no time scuttling across the floor towards him.

‘Miguel!’

With almost painful ease Mig grasped the rebar and eased it upward, filling the room with the spine-tingling scraping of metal on metal. Miguel gritted his teeth and dragged himself out like a cat, digging his claws into the floor before wrenching himself forward as far as he could. The moment his rear and thighs were free Mig dropped the rebar and yanked him by the nape the rest of the way.

‘ARGH!’

The two men collapsed on the verge of the exit, panting and coughing from the strain. Miguel’s suit was torn and sparking around his hips and thighs, the hologram seemingly torn in huge strips across his skin, but he was otherwise alive.

‘It… I-I don’t know what happened’ Miguel gasped.

‘Was it a test?!’

‘A-Argh… I-I was just, trying to run the tests, and it—’

Miguel broke down mid-explanation, sinking into another coughing fit.

‘What? It what?’ Mig snapped. ‘Where is the serum?’

‘I… I saw… I saw…’

Miguel heaved his chest as he forced the words out. ‘I-I thought I saw… A-An anomaly…’

‘A what?!’ Mig cried. He raised his head to try and make anything out, but he could see only one thing through the heavy smoke: The lab desk, the holograms, and their work still precariously balanced on its surface.

The desk where they worked had thrown a lot of the testing equipment to the floor when it collapsed, shattering it in the process. The antidote for Micaela was still safely held inside a holographic cube cage, which was designed to withstand gravity by keeping the contents inside stable at all times.

But the serum for you…

The serum had been taken out for its test, and the container had shattered. Half of it was smeared across the desk, dripping to the floor, shuddering with unstable energy as it morphed and fluctuated like liquid silver. The other half of it was still in the container, which by some miracle was propped up by a single textbook.

He could salvage it still. There was enough to salvage their experiment, he knew it.

He went to move, to save it, only to freeze once more. His eyes were drawn upward by a low, shuddered creak.

Debris. Heavy, creaking debris, slowly inching downward from where the presumed explosion had dislodged it.

Mig felt his whole body go cold.

‘I-I panicked’ Miguel wheezed. ‘I… I-I shut it down mid-test, it just- the fuses blew—’

‘No, no, no’ Mig whispered. ‘No, no—’

The debris was moving. That precarious, hanging debris was now swinging from side to side, like an axe preparing for the block. It creaked with an almost eerie, otherworldy groan.

Mig’s pupils dilated as he stared that debris down.

It wasn’t going to hit him. He knew that. But it would hit what was beneath it.

His eyes lowered and fixated on the table beneath the debris’ path.

One on side, the serum that would allow you to live in his universe. On the other, the serum to heal Gabriel’s daughter.

The debris began to groan as it inched ever lower. He felt his blood run cold.

No, no, no, NO, NO.

He had time. He had time to grab both. He had time. He had TIME.

Mig began to scurry towards the table, his spider legs struggling to move over the uneven terrain.

No, no, No, No, I have TIME! I HAVE TIME!

The debris inched lower. A wire strained and screeched as it struggled to hold its own weight. Metal poles and broken concrete littered the floor, impeding his movement like the hands of fate.

I CAN GRAB BOTH! JUST GO! I CAN GRAB BOTH!

A wire snapped. The debris sank deeper.

He moved faster, physically clawing on all fours to reach the table. He could see and feel nothing else in that moment but the dangling claws of fate above.

NO! NO, NO, NO—

And then, it snapped.

In that moment, there was only a second. There was no time to choose, no time to think. It was only instinct that could guide him. There was only something higher, something deep inside him that knew to act on pure adrenaline alone, that could make the decision that it did.

Mig threw himself at the table.

In one second, he’d grasped in.

In two seconds, he’d rolled out the other side.

In two and a half seconds, the debris had hit the table.

In a violent clatter the table burst and his body hit the floor with a deafening crunch. He could feel the concrete beneath cracking from the impact. He rolled twice before collapsing onto his back, his huge abdominal legs folded in for safety, and his hands clutched tight to his chest.

Between his tightly bound fingers, a tiny little glow was emanating.

He’d made it just in time, but only to grasp the antidote for Micaela.

Mig’s hands were shaking as he clutched it to his chest. He was wheezing, coughing painfully from the strain of the smoke, but he couldn’t even think about his own lungs in that moment, because his heart hurt more.

He was in shock. He was frozen.

It took Miguel physically screaming to draw him out of his own stupor.

‘MIG! GET OUT OF HERE YOU IDIOT, NOW!’

Mig was numb as he raised his head. He couldn’t hear anything beyond a muffled cry. It felt like he was underwater, with everything moving painfully slow. He shuddered as he pushed himself up onto his knees.

‘I… N-No, no…’

‘MIG, RUN!’

He blinked at the sight of Miguel clawing towards him. He blinked, and he turned, and he saw it.

A tiny, unstable black dot, one that seemed to spark and burst like a solar flare. It was slowly formulating out of the fallen debris, moving upward from the spot where the serum had been.

He frowned, unable to even comprehend what he was seeing.

‘… W-What, is that…?’

He clutched Micaela’s antidote and squinted at the growing dot. It looked… unnatural. Like a physical hole in reality, like a dead pixel on a camera brought to life. He blinked, and he could have sworn it’d gotten bigger.

Growing. Morphing. Eating.

A universal anomaly. A disruption. A glitch.

Miguel was beyond rational thought at this point. His eyes were so wide they’d gone bloodshot, his fangs extended to a painful degree. He was eyeing up that black, glitching spot like it was a demon straight from hell, like it was a ghost coming back to haunt him. He was in a living nightmare, and all he could see was red. He had to fight to stay lucid, to not slip back into the screams of a little girl he couldn’t save.

He screamed again.

‘MIG PLEASE! GET OUT OF HERE!’

Mig stumbled to his feet all while staring at the growing anomaly. It was tainting everything in its path. It would touch a piece of debris and cause it to shudder, glitching in and out of existence before finally being consumed by the darkness. He moved around it in a circle, like prey pacing around a predator, until he felt Miguel grab his arm.

‘GO, NOW!’

The sharp pinch of Miguel’s claws finally triggered Mig’s instincts, and he turned and fled. Miguel fled behind him, all while screaming on his phone to get a stabilizer in there now.

The two variants burst out of the entrance to Miguel’s office and out of the smoke-filled hallway in a flurry of coughs and wheezes, only to be met by a gaggle of terrified spiders. Their voices created a deafening hum around them, one that was impossible to drown out. You were at the front of the crowd when the two burst forth from the smoke, and without even thinking you rushed immediately to Mig’s side.

‘MIG! Jesus, christ you—oh my god, you’re okay!’

Your wailing did not move Mig to comfort you. In fact, your voice didn’t even seem to reach him. He stumbled blindly until his forehead hit the nearest wall, all while you watched in stupefied horror.

‘Mig?!’

You followed him closely but your hands hovered, unsure of whether to touch him or not. You’d never seen him so shell-shocked.

‘Mig? Baby, hey- hey, look at me sweetheart, I’m here—’

Your voice was just dead noise in his ears. Mig couldn’t hear anything but ringing, and he could see nothing but that little black void slowly growing on the floor. A black hole, an endless sucking abyss, the dark iris of an eye sent by the cosmos to mock him.

You continued to tug at Mig’s fur as he gripped the wall, pleading for him to look at you, but you turned when you heard Miguel wheezing. He’d staggered out into the fray in an attempt to appear in control, and was waving away the spider nurses with one hand while ringing up Lyla with the other.

‘Lyla, get the… G-Get the team in, now. We need… We need emergency, anomaly control’ he panted.

‘Miguel?’ you squeaked. He shot you a quick, red-eyed stare before turning away, unable to hide the agony your face caused him. The confusion in your eyes, the fear, the fact that you didn’t know what had been done, it made his chest so tight that it hurt.

‘Lyla! I said… I said, we need emergency anomaly control, now! No—’

‘You…’

Miguel froze when he heard that violent, echoing hiss, as did you.

Mig turned on Miguel with vicious eyes. Out of seemingly nowhere his soft, frightened face had been twisted with a deep, paranoid rage, a feeling of hopelessness that could find no outlet but despair.

‘YOU—YOU DID THIS!’

He launched himself at Miguel, the two tousling as they collapsed onto the hard floor. A horrified cry rang out through the other spiders but they were far too afraid to intervene, not when the saw the splash of scarlet erupt from Mig's claws. For a moment you were also too shocked and confused to even intervene, but when you saw Mig physically slash Miguel’s chest you darted forward to try and drag them apart.

‘MIG- STOP, SH- MIG!’ 

You screamed to get his attention, but he wasn't listening. He pinned Miguel down and try to claw at his face. 

‘YOU! YOU DID THIS ON PURPOSE, DIDN’T YOU!’ he wailed. 

No matter how hard you pulled at Mig’s fur he refused. Miguel choked and gasped, his claws scraping at Mig’s face in an attempt to snap him from this emotional trance.

‘I DIDN’T- DO, THIS—’ Miguel wheezed.

‘YOU DID THIS! YOU BLEW IT UP, DIDN’T YOU!’ Mig screamed. ‘YOU COULDN’T STAND- ME- BEING HAPPY, YOU COULDN’T!’

‘I DIDN’T, DO THIS, YOU IDIOT—’

‘I’LL KILL YOU!’

‘MIG!!’

In a moment of panic, you bit Mig’s finger. You sank your teeth into the skin with just enough force to create an impression, but nowhere near strong enough to cause damage. You just wanted him to stop. You just wanted him to stop. And somehow, he did. The sudden jolt of pain broke through Mig's concentration, though it did nothing to stop the red mist coating his senses. He squirmed and spun and shook his hand on instinct, throwing your body to the floor. It was the sound of your pained squeak that broke the spell fully.

‘Arañita?!’

He looked down and finally saw you there, clutching your hand, and his eyes flashed. He saw Dana, clumped and bloody on the floor. He saw the anomaly growing. He saw all the dreams he’d had where he’d hurt you, where he’d broken you, where he’d given in to his instincts and eaten you whole.

‘Arañita, n-no, no—’

He collapsed and reached out with shaking hands, too afraid to touch you. It was you who had to take his hand, showing him that he wouldn’t hurt you again, though you couldn’t hide the disappointment and hurt in your eyes at what he’d done. You knew it was an accident, and you hadn't been hurt badly, but that didn't make it okay. However, in that moment, your discomfort only furthered his panic. 

'N-No... No, no, mi tesoro, I'm so sorry.' 

‘M-Mig, just… Just calm, down, we can talk—’

‘I’m sorry’ Mig wailed. ‘I-I’m sorry, I didn’t- I-I didn't see you, I-I can’t—’

‘Shh, hey—’

‘I don’t want to hurt you’ Mig sobbed. ‘I-I don’t, I don’t, I—’

He turned and saw the hundreds of spiders staring at you all, their eyes a blurry sea of judgment. It was like staring at some eldritch monster with a thousand eyes, all of them peering right into his soul. He couldn’t stand it.

‘I-I don’t want to hurt you’ he sobbed. ‘I-I love you, arañita, I-I love you—’

‘I love you Mig’ you replied, and this time your own voice broke. ‘G-God damn it, just- listen, please—’

‘I-I’m sorry, arañita—’

‘I know, I know—

‘I’m sorry!’

In the middle of Mig’s breakdown, Miguel finally pushed himself to his feet. Once again he pushed away the nurses and first-aid professionals trying to tend to his new wounds. Instead, he turned on Mig, his eyes narrowed and glowering.

You happened to see him staring, which drew Mig’s eyes to the same spot. All three of you stared at each other.

Miguel could have snapped at him. That’s what the old Miguel would have done. Snapped at him, blaming him for all of this mess, right before turning and fleeing the scene.

But he didn’t.

Miguel stormed forward and grabbed Mig by the head. He pressed their foreheads together, holding them nose to nose, and he shared in that despair.

‘I swear, I didn’t do this, but I- I’m sorry’ he forced out. ‘I’m sorry. I know. I know, and I am sorry.’

As unflattering as it was to admit, Miguel could only truly relate to his counterpart when he saw his own suffering inside him. Even before his attempt to reconcile for his own hypocrisy, this had held true. He’d saved him from the Dana accident for a reason. He knew what it meant to feel as if they were doomed, to fight so hard for a life where they could just be happy only to be told by the very universe itself that it could never be.

When he saw the pain he tried so hard to hide reflected in Mig’s eyes, his eyes, it broke him. He could deny it no longer.

‘I’m sorry’ Miguel whispered, his voice cracking ever so slightly from its usual cold, husky tone. ‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry.’

Mig couldn’t take it. He broke, his body heaving a single, dry sob of despair, too exhausted to even wail. His lips parted but no sound came out.

‘I’m sorry’ Miguel repeated. He sounded miserable. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘S-Stop it. Stop saying that’ Mig wheezed.

‘I’m sorry, Mig.’

‘We have to- we- we can try again.’ Mig swallowed down the lump in his throat and tried his best to speak. ‘We just have to try again. It’s okay. T-The instability, the explosion, I think it set off the anomaly, but it’s not… It’s okay. We just need to be careful. It’ll be okay. We can try again.’

Miguel didn’t reflect Mig’s optimism. Instead, he looked drained. He looked broken.

‘… We can’t, do that, Mig.’

‘Why?! We nearly had it, we—’

‘Mig.’

‘No! NO, We nearly had it—’

‘Mig, please—’

‘NO! NO, NO—’

‘Mig…’

As Miguel held his gaze, Mig saw again that deep, haunting well at the pit of his iris. The darkness that went down, down, to a memory that had been burned into his eyes forever. The memory of just one, little, black hole, swelling until it consumed an entire universe.

A million people’s blood on his hands, and the ghostly stain of a little girl cradled in his arms.

Miguel hadn’t even realized that his hands were outstretched. He looked down, slowly, and realized he was frozen in the same position he’d taken on that day, when she vanished from his grip. When he’d cradled her so hard he thought he could somehow will her back to life.

‘I… There was an anomaly’ Miguel repeated slowly, almost as if in a dream. Mig felt his body caving in. He buckled like a horse, sinking and melting beneath the weight of what he knew was to come. ‘When it broke… You saw it, Mig…’

‘We have to- we have to try’ Mig repeated desperately.

‘There was an anomaly, Mig’ Miguel said, and the coldness of his tone drew even Mig to pause.

‘There was an anomaly, when it broke. That was exactly what I feared. We are meddling with things far beyond ourselves, far beyond the natural order, do you understand?’

‘No, no… It, just…’

‘Mig.’

The spider hybrid froze, his claws outstretched in a pleading manner. He looked broken.

‘Mig, I can’t allow this’ Miguel hissed, speaking in tones that only you and Mig could hear. ‘I can’t. I saw what messing with the canon like this does, and I will never see it again. I-I would rather die. Do you understand?’

Mig swallowed hard, only to find his throat had closed up. ‘… Please… Miguel—’

‘I saw this before.’

This time Miguel whispered, and he leaned in against Mig’s ear so that you couldn’t hear him. ‘I did this before. I messed with the universal stability, the webs. I tried to force myself into a universe I was never meant to be in. I-I did it for a family. I did it so I could be happy. And I watched that anomaly grow, and consume, and eat up my baby until she was nothing.’

Mig felt like ice water was going down his spine, trickling over the sharp bone beneath his skin and chilling him to the core. It was the most unpleasant, agonizing sensation he’d ever felt. He could almost see it; the little girl, the screams, the vanishing.

‘I. Would rather. Die’ Miguel repeated in slow, sharp terms, making his stance clear with not a drop of uncertainty. ‘I would rather throw myself, into that anomaly, than see anyone else ruined by it. I can’t. Mig, I can’t. I can’t see any more lives lost.’

Mig wanted to say something. He wanted to say anything.

But what did he say?

When he looked at Miguel, he knew there was no changing his mind. He had no serum left to test, no serum left to double-check. He’d saved Micaela’s antidote instead, because deep down, they were Spider-Man for a reason. Miguel O’Hara was a miserable creature, who loved far, far too much.

And he would suffer for that, forever. And so would you.

‘T-There’s… There’s nothing we can do?’

You finally stepped in and croaked out that question to Miguel, almost as if in shock. Miguel sombrely nodded.

‘I’ll do whatever I can, with the other elites’ Miguel murmured. ‘I might be able to get an agreement to sanction the relationship, even without the serum. The test still doesn’t prove that being together will cause any complications, just… Just that a combining of universal DNA might. So, no serum, and… And no children.’

‘But, we can still be together?’ you whispered. Miguel refused to nod, which caused your gut to twist.

‘… I’ll do what I can’ he murmured. ‘I will push the process as far as it can go. I promise.’

Mig nodded, but he looked numb as he did so. He didn’t even move when you crept back up to take his hand. He squeezed your fingers, clutching your delicate wrist so hard he could have snapped it, but he didn’t look at you.

Even when you whispered, even when your heart broke and your eyes grew wet in the face of his coldness, he didn’t look at you.

He couldn’t.

He couldn’t face the loss.

That beautiful life was gone.

[steve-needs-a-hug]

Halbrand as a pseudo-Jesus figure & Annatar as a pseudo-Christ

There's something eerily compelling about what the Rings of Power has done with these two guises of Sauron and how he's able to inspire trust, faith, and devotion in Galadriel and Celebrimbor. In the show, Sauron believes himself to be the one who needs to save or redeem Middle-Earth. The effectiveness in his manipulation of these characters involuntarily reminds me of the exploitative and manipulative nature of Evangelical Christianity and how powerfully it markets itself as the one way to solve people's deepest existential problems. So I thought about some parallels between Sauron's two main guises or personas in the show, and how Jesus and/or Christ is popularly depicted or understood (especially in Evangelical spaces). To me this helps illustrate why RoP!Sauron's deception is so effective, while exposing some unsettling issues I have with Evangelicalism.

Halbrand as a pseudo-Jesus

Halbrand was presented to Galadriel (as well as us the audience) as a scruffy, humble, ordinary man. Although more glamorous depictions of Jesus were common in Catholic art, the recent Evangelical trend has been to portray a humanized down-to-Earth Jesus (e.g., in The Chosen series, Jesus sweats, cries, gets hungry and tired and frustrated). Scripture allegedly described Jesus as humble and unexceptional in appearance and growing up through adversity and suffering (Isaiah 53). Halbrand is (ostensibly) a smith's aide, Jesus was a carpenter - both trades involving working and crafting with one's hands. It's then "revealed" that Halbrand comes from a lost royal lineage and Galadriel hails him as the King who can save his people from enslavement to an evil overlord - Jesus came from the line of the legendary King David and was hailed as King of Jews, expected to rescue his people from the Roman Empire's oppression.

Halbrand's surface-level resemblance to Aragorn, heir to the throne of Gondor, can't be ignored either (this is partly why I found the character of Halbrand so insufferable in s1, he seemed like an Aragorn knockoff to me!). It's also been argued that Aragorn is a Jesus-like figure, though he turns out to be one of the most legendary fantasy heroes rather than one of the most notorious supervillains (Sauron).

Galadriel grows to trust Halbrand and view him as her friend and possibly the only person who truly understands her. Celebrimbor also develops a close friendship with Halbrand as they work together. Evangelicalism emphasizes a "personal relationship" with Jesus as your very own friend (some even lean towards a lover) who knows everything about you and helps you with your problems and gets you what you want. Jesus' disciples were also close personal friends with him while possessing little understanding of his true divine nature.

Annatar as a pseudo-Christ

Now this is where things get a lot more interesting. In 2x02, Halbrand reveals his "true nature" to Celebrimbor in an awe-inspiring display. This goosebumps-inducing moment is akin to a religious experience for Celebrimbor, who instinctively bows in reverence to this angelic figure. Christ has also been depicted and described as arriving with the clouds (Revelation 1:7), and I'm sure the religious symbolism of this scene was not lost on many viewers. Even though Annatar seems to be a powerful emissary of the divine, he still tells Celebrimbor that they are to be equal partners in their work to save Middle-Earth. An important tenet of Christianity is that Christ desires to partner with humanity to accomplish His works. This all sounds well and good to Celebrimbor, but Sauron's ultimate mode of "saving" Middle-Earth is to enslave all its peoples and creatures to his will.

Annatar is known in Tolkien's lore as the Lord of Gifts (in the episode he describes himself to Celebrimbor as "a sharer of gifts"). His gift is the knowledge of the way of Middle-Earth's salvation. Evangelical devotionals and sermons frequently refer to salvation of the soul as a "free gift" Christ offers to humanity. (I can go on about how this phrase is a redundant tautology - oops, there's another one - but that's a whole other discussion.) I will suffice to say that the term "free gift" reads like a salesperson's marketing pitch and it bothers me. Evangelicalism as a whole feels like a colonial mission converted into a giant media marketing operation - its glossy veneer of concert-like megachurch services, prepacked apologetics, and friendly approachability often conceal sinister things (exploitation, corruption, discrimination, abuse, the list goes on).

Sauron chose to prey on two vulnerable people with potential for influence - Galadriel and Celebrimbor, both feeling isolated and slighted by their people and striving for a deeply personal and important goal that feels just out of their reach. However, he didn't force himself on them. They chose to let him in, and as a result he took advantage of their trust. In Christianity, God is described as someone Who stands at the door and knocks, and for those who choose to open the door to Him, He will come in and share a meal with them as friends (Revelation 3:20). This is more or less exactly what Celebrimbor did in 2x02 when he allowed Halbrand in, gave him food and wine, and called him his friend. This was the most eerie parallel to me, inspired by some great analyses I've read about how Sauron is depicted in the show thus far.

In season 1 Sauron as Halbrand laid his strategy bare to Galadriel - give your opponent the means of mastering their greatest fear, so you can master them. I can't help but feel that this is what organized religion does - providing the sense of assurance, safety, and emotional comfort that people desperately need, in exchange for gaining control over their life choices and even their thought patterns through rules, dogma, and pressures of social conformity. Shaping minds and bending wills sounds pretty Sauron-like to me. [Disclaimer: This is not meant to be a dunk on religion as a whole, just a reflection as I work through unlearning and critically inspecting beliefs I grew up with.]

[lifeless-discodancer]

You know how sometimes in DE fics when Kim transfers to precint 41 he and Harry don't get partnered together but instead Kim gets parnered with Judit and Harry stays with Jean?

Something i've never seen before is Judit becoming Harry's partner and Jean becoming Kim's wich like i get it, it sounds like the worst possible outcome but i think it would be so funny to read because on one hand we have Judit who has been working at C wing for only two months and who, based purely on the small amount of knowledge we have about her personality, is probably the epitome of the boring cop archetype, getting paired with Harry who will not leave her rest or leave her alone and will probably drag her into a bunch of weird shit and stereo investigations; and on the other, funnier hand we have Kim who above all appreciates a professional work relationship and who is also the number one champion of the holding grudges contest, and Jean who is honestly a huge asshole, incapable of forming any relationship that isn't codependent and who already left a weird (bad) impression on Kim by not doing his job for days and subjecting him and two other people to watch his public break up with Harry (also he came second in the holding grudges contest).

So this leaves us with:

Judit in the same position as the little girl who gets sat next to the loudest boy in class with the hope that she will be a good influence on him, except that she's not a little girl she's an adult cop with kids of her own that keeps getting asked to babysit other adult cops probably because she's the only woman in the unit. And i'm not saying this in a "Judit is the team mom" sense but in a "her workplace is so fucking misogynist" one. [Actually, now that i think about it this could be a good opportunity to explore the sexual harasment she experienced at the hands of her last partner, as well as her experience and the expectations her superiors and coworkers have of her, and the ones she has of herself, because she's the only woman in a male dominated workplace and (and a female cop on top of it (notice the emphasis on cop)) that she can't really fulfill because of the kind of person she is (a very normal, passive and tired kind of person). Also i think Harry would work nicely as parallel to her last partner. Where's the fic about it?]

Kim and Jean who already started on the wrong foot back in Martinaise even if none of them knew it at the moment. For them i can only imagine the most passive agresive partnership to ever exist but probably at the start of it they were doing their best to keep things civil. Jean was trying because, even if he thinks Kim is "bewitched by the shitkid", he's working with a decorated police lieutenant and, at least in his own mind, he's a very professional officer and he has to leave a good impression of himself and the C wing (he's definitely not doing that); Kim was trying because at first he didn't have much of an opinion on Jean (he swears) and, since he was complaining so much about Harry's work he thought Jean would at least have a good work ethic and be professional, also he too wanted to leave a good impression on his new coworkers. Of course the niceties went to shit the second one of them opened their mouth to say something that wasn't completely work related (it was like a game of chicken for days, weeks maybe, who will be the first to set fire to this perfectly normal, totally no filled with masked mutual annoyance, work partnership (it was Jean)). After that they argue like a couple of old ladies, and sometimes Kim thinks "maybe Jean is not that bad" but then Jean says something rude, or ableist, or homophobic or just something about Harry that Kim can't agree with, and then he dislikes him again, other times Jean thinks "maybe the lieutenant and i are finally understanding eachother" but then Kim will start lecturing him about something with the most condescending tone, or he'll drive his car like he's being followed by a missile, or give him a nasty side eye when he sees him taking drugs or even worst, he'll defend the shitkid when he's "rightfully" mad with him, and then he dislikes him again. This keeps for the entire duration of their partnership.

Harry is probably just a bit bummed out because he and Kim won't be partners anymore but he will try his best to not say that to Judit (he's a feminist after all), still he has to recover quickly from the disappointment since he has some real shit to worry about now (Shit like: I have to pay rent to my landlord?!!? How do i get into my bank account? Do i even have a bank account? Wait, who's my landlord? And other questions you would probably have too if you ever got amnesia that severe). He complains to Judit about not having Kim as a partner and Judit is rightfully offended but doesn't say anything (poor woman give her a break). He spends the entire duration of that partnership dragging Judit around Jamrock in side quests while she tries, unsuccessfully, to get him back on their current cases (he does not listen to her because he's a shit feminist), still he comes around to finish the original cases eventually (Harry apologizes a lot for not listening to her, Judit tells him it's fine because she's honestly so tired and it's so awkward(if she goes home to find even more work she's going to implode)). I think that with some time they would figure out how to work together, more or less, and they would have a pretty stable partnership.

Idk how to end this. I just thought it would be a fun idea and suddenly i blacked out and woke up with a small esay in front of me. I hope you enjoyed this.