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leirastar · 2 months ago

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new world | chapter 3

Pairing: Ot8 Ateez x reader AU: fantasy AU | stranger -> mates Summary: A tragic accident left you unable to use your wings and, with that, claimed your father's life, leaving you in the care of your noble uncle. In Hala, a house of eight kingdoms, each boasting its own wonders, you never imagined that amidst the pain, you would also fall—this time, in love. Word Count: 2.3k | 10 minutes A/n: SUPRISE!!! 2 CHAPTER IN A DAY😊 a treat since i passed all my exam with flying colors!!! IN ALL HONESTY! chapter 2 and 3 are one chapter but it seems like a lot of word SOO, i divided into 2! Another good news!! i will try my best to upload every week while im in winter break. I finished drafting chapter 8 and i loved it just the angst and EVERYTHING! Warning: Mentions of emotional distress, ominous foreboding, potential stalking, unsettling sensations of being watched, subtle tension, and implied danger.

The next morning, the lingering weight of unease clung to you like a shadow. You pulled your dark maroon robe from its hook by the door, wrapping it snugly around your shoulders. The fabric was heavy but comforting, lined with faint embroidery at the edges—a pattern of trailing leaves your mother had stitched long ago.

Grabbing your basket from the small table and tucking it under your arm, you paused by the shelf near the door, reaching for a small, leather pouch. Inside were a handful of Aurians—small, hexagonal coins of bronze and silver that served as the currency in Hala. Each one bore a delicate engraving of a sun on one side and a feather on the other. You ran your thumb over the edge of the pouch before tying it securely to your belt.

Stepping outside, you made your way to the barn adjacent to your cottage. The faint smell of hay and earth greeted you as you pushed the wooden door open, the creak echoing in the quiet morning. Inside, the familiar warmth of Branwen—your sturdy chestnut mare—was enough to bring a faint smile to your lips.

“Morning, girl,” you said softly, reaching out to stroke her neck. Branwen huffed in response, her ears flicking toward you as though in greeting.

You moved with practiced ease, gathering her bridle and saddle from the hooks near the wall. “We’ve got a long ride today, Branwen. Market day again.”

She seemed to understand, stomping lightly against the ground as you began to saddle her. You took your time, murmuring small reassurances as you worked, your fingers moving deftly despite the thoughts that lingered at the edges of your mind. Once everything was secure, you tucked a folded blanket into your basket—just in case—and looped the reins around your hand.

“Let’s go, girl.”

Leading Branwen outside, you took a deep breath of the cool morning air, heavy with the scent of damp earth and lingering rain. The sky was soft and pale, the sunlight barely breaking through the thin mist that clung to the trees. You swung yourself up into the saddle, adjusting your cloak so the maroon fabric draped comfortably around your legs.

With a soft nudge to Branwen’s side, you set off down the dirt path. The rhythmic sound of her hooves against the ground steadied you, grounding your thoughts as the looming dread of the Goretheron Bloom sat quietly in the back of your mind.

The road was quiet this early. Birds chirped faintly from the branches above, and the only company you had was the occasional rustle of leaves as a breeze whispered through the trees. Branwen carried you with her usual calm steadiness, her steps unhurried yet purposeful. The faint mist of rain from the night before clung to the ground, carrying with it the sharp, earthy smell of wet soil.

By the time the forest gave way to open fields and the distant hum of the village reached your ears, you felt your shoulders begin to relax.

The closest village was a brisk twenty-minute ride away, its streets already alive with color and noise. Merchants had set up their stalls, their voices ringing out across the square. The smells of fresh bread, roasted meats, and bundles of herbs wafted through the air, mingling with the chatter of townsfolk bartering for their morning supplies.

It was a comforting scene, a stark contrast to the dark silence of your cottage the night before. For a moment, you allowed yourself to breathe, guiding Branwen toward the edge of the market square.

You dismounted and looped the reins loosely around a wooden post before weaving through the growing crowd. The noise was soothing in its own way—a reminder of life, bustling and loud, utterly normal.

You stopped first at a vendor you always visited—a tidy little stall brimming with bundles of dried herbs, baked goods, and small jars of preserves. The owner, Joonie, greeted you with a warm smile as she wiped her hands on her apron.

“Y/N! Right on time, as always,” she said, her tone familiar and teasing. “Come to clear me out of all my feverfew and woodruff again?”

You grinned faintly, setting your basket on the edge of the table. “You know me too well, Joonie. It’s not often I find feverfew as fresh as yours. And perhaps a little of those sweet rolls while I’m here.”

“You keep me in business, girl. Between your herbs and those healing teas you make, the whole village’s aches and fevers disappear in no time.”

You nodded appreciatively. Feverfew, known for soothing headaches and calming inflammation, was a useful herb—one you’d often stocked for your uncle and his patients when he visited. Caius, despite its abundance of rare blooms, rarely saw such practical, temperate plants outside of shipments.

Joonie returned with a small paper bundle of fresh sweet rolls, setting it into your basket along with the carefully wrapped feverfew. Then, with a sly smile, she leaned over the table, resting her chin on her hand.

“Now tell me, Y/N,” she said, a mischievous gleam in her eyes. “Is there a reason you’re always after feverfew? Someone special suffering a headache you’re not telling me about?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Joonie, it’s for medicine.”

She waved a hand, unfazed by your flat tone. “Oh, I know, but Jay’s still asking about you, you know. Says he hasn’t heard your answer yet.”

You sighed, feeling the familiar heat creep up your neck. “Joonie, you know I’m busy enough without—”

She winked, slipping an extra sweet roll into your basket. “You say that now, but mark my words, one of these days someone’s going to snatch you up. Maybe you’ll even share some feverfew tea while you’re at it.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head as you tucked the herbs and food securely into your basket. “I’ll be sure to let you know when that happens.”

Joonie grinned, handing you the wrapped herbs as you placed a few Aurians—the silver hexagonal coins—into her outstretched hand.

“Take care, Y/N!” she called after you.

“You too, Joonie!” you replied over your shoulder, her laughter still ringing faintly in your ears as you made your way deeper into the market.

You stopped briefly at a small, cluttered stall tucked between two busier vendors. Its tables were draped in deep green cloth, every inch covered with trinkets, small jars, and curious wares that glinted faintly in the morning sun. It wasn’t the sort of place you typically visited, but something about it drew your attention.

The merchant, an older woman with a kindly face and bright eyes, offered you a warm smile. “Looking for anything in particular, dear?”

You shook your head, absentmindedly brushing your fingers over small carved pendants and polished stones. “Just browsing.”

As your gaze wandered, it caught on something tucked near the back of the table—a small, silver sun-shaped medallion with an intricate engraving. The rays of the sun stretched outward, almost like feathers, and in the center was a delicate stone of faint amber.

You picked it up carefully, the weight of it solid in your palm. The craftsmanship was fine, but the edges were worn enough to suggest age, as though it had been passed through many hands. It reminded you of something your uncle might appreciate—simple yet meaningful, its design carrying an air of quiet authority.

“That’s a fine piece,” the merchant said, leaning forward slightly. “It’s said to be lucky—crafted long ago by an artisan in Charadyn.”

You smiled faintly. “Lucky, you say?”

“For those who carry burdens,” she replied with a wink. “A little light to guide their way.”

It was a silly notion, perhaps, but you tucked the medallion into your basket anyway, already imagining how your uncle’s expression might soften when you handed it to him.

“How much?” you asked, reaching for your coin pouch.

“Two silvers will do,” she replied with a nod.

You exchanged the coins—two Aurians, their feathered engravings glinting softly in the sunlight—and carefully wrapped the medallion in a cloth before placing it in your basket.

“Thank you,” you said softly, and the merchant’s smile deepened.

As you moved back into the flow of the market, the sound of bustling vendors and townsfolk surrounded you once more. You adjusted the basket under your arm, its weight now holding something more meaningful than a simple purchase.

But as you rounded another row of stalls, a sudden prickling sensation crept along the back of your neck.

Someone was watching you.

You slowed slightly, glancing casually over your shoulder. The crowd bustled as usual, but a shadow seemed to flit just outside your vision. You turned back, your steps quickening as you navigated a path between the stalls, ducking into a quieter alley that led toward the fabric vendors.

The sound of footsteps—light but deliberate—quickened behind you.

Your heart skipped a beat as you clutched the edge of your cloak, fingers instinctively drifting toward the small knife tucked into your belt. “Who’s there?” you called, your voice steadier than you felt.

The footsteps halted abruptly.

You spun around just in time to see a familiar face skidding to a stop, hands raised in mock surrender.

“Whoa, easy!”

You blinked, startled. “Yujin?”

Your friend grinned sheepishly, brushing a stray strand of hair back as she caught her breath. “Why do you look like you’ve seen a ghost? I called your name twice, you know.”

Relief flooded through you as you exhaled sharply, dropping your hand from your knife. “You scared me half to death, Yujin.”

She smirked, crossing her arms. “Scared you? You’re the one stalking around like you’re running from something.”

You shot her a flat look. “I thought someone was following me.”

“Someone was, Y/N. Me.” She laughed softly, the sound light and teasing as she gestured for you to follow her back toward the market. “I was looking for you. Mama’s been asking about you all morning—she wanted to say thank you for the medicine.”

You shook your head, smiling despite yourself. Yujin’s mother had been one of your more difficult patients, her recovery slow but steady.

“How is she feeling?” you asked as the two of you walked side by side, the tension from earlier slowly melting away.

“Better. You really do work miracles,” Yujin replied, nudging your arm playfully. “She says she hasn’t slept that well in years.”

You smiled softly. “That’s good to hear. I’ll stop by and check on her before I leave.”

The rest of the morning passed in pleasant company. You followed Yujin back to her family’s stall, where her mother greeted you warmly with hands that no longer shook as they once had. You checked her pulse, answered her lingering questions, and waved off the basket of fresh bread she tried to force into your hands as thanks.

By the time you returned to Branwen, the weight on your chest had eased slightly. The morning mist had lifted, leaving the air sharp and clear, but the unease from earlier still lingered faintly in the back of your mind. As the village faded into the distance, you couldn’t help but glance over your shoulder once more, half expecting to see a shadow flitting at the edge of the trees.

The feeling of being watched had vanished, but it didn’t stop the occasional prickle along the back of your neck.

“Just tired,” you muttered softly to yourself, patting Branwen’s neck reassuringly. The mare let out a steady breath in response, as though she agreed.

By the time you arrived at the cottage, the sun hung high in the sky, casting long beams of light through the canopy above. You slid off Branwen’s back, her coat warm beneath your hand as you led her toward the barn.

“There you go, girl,” you murmured, loosening her bridle and brushing down her chestnut coat with practiced ease. “You’ve earned a rest.”

Branwen huffed softly, nudging your shoulder as you hung up the saddle and left her with a fresh bucket of water and hay.

Satisfied, you turned toward the house, your boots softly crunching against the grass as you crossed the small yard. The quiet of the cottage greeted you as you pushed the door open, a familiar warmth wrapping around you like a well-worn blanket.

You set your basket down near the table and pulled off your maroon cloak, draping it neatly over the back of a chair. The hum of the day’s ride still buzzed faintly in your bones, and for the first time in hours, the weight in your chest seemed to ease entirely.

But then you heard it.

A soft rustling sound—feathers shifting, deliberate and near.

You froze, your hand still resting on the back of the chair. The sound came again, faint but unmistakable, from just behind you.

You turned sharply, heart hammering in your chest.

Standing in the doorway, partially silhouetted by the light filtering in from outside, was a familiar figure.

“Yunho.”

His name slipped from your lips before you could stop yourself.

He stood tall, his indigo cloak fluttering faintly as though he’d only just landed. Loose strands of his dark hair fell across his forehead, but his golden-brown eyes were clear and sharp, fixed squarely on you. His wings—large and striking—rested partially folded at his back, the faint edges of his feathers catching the light.

Then, before your eyes, his wings began to retract. It was seamless—elegant—as though the feathers folded into themselves, vanishing beneath his skin until there was no trace of them left. The movement was quiet, almost unnatural, and yet undeniably beautiful in its fluidity.

He tilted his head slightly, his mouth curving into the faintest of smirks.

“Am I intruding, my lady?”

The words hung in the air, carrying just enough teasing to soften the tension that had coiled in your chest. But beneath it, his tone still held that same quiet, measured weight, as though he were testing your reaction.

You exhaled, the surprise melting into something you couldn’t quite name. “You’re back.”

The corner of his mouth quirked further, though his gaze remained steady. “I told you I would return.”

Masterlist

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tarnishedtwill · 2 months ago

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Nevarran Culture

Nevarran Surnames – It is remarked briefly in a codex that most Nevarran surnames are three syllables. This seems to be true with the majority we are exposed to in game: Pentaghast, Van Markham, Hezenkoss, Volkarin, Anaxas & Tanhausen to name a few examples. However we do see an exception with the Blackthorne’s and Forsythia families. Blackthorne’s notably adopted their surname from the land that was gifted to them, and Forsythia which [has four syllables] doesn’t seem to have any information alluding to them not being originally from Nevarra.

Nevarran Features – From looking at a handful of known Nevarran characters [Emmrich, Cassandra, Myrna, & Tessa] It seems that generally speaking, most Nevarrans tend to have dark hair, often black, as well as brown to green eyes. [Hazel seems quite recurring.] This of course is not always the case, but it seems to be quite prevalent. Likewise it seems that olive complexions seem to be quite common in the region.

[Death Watch] Beetles –The imagery of beetles can be found amidst Nevarran motifs. Fitting in amongst the geometric shapes well. Perhaps thats where the fascination first rose. Hard in Hightown mentions the use of encrusted wings being used decoratively by the Nevarrans. Boxes of Beetles can be found in the Black Emporium [DAII] with the following Codex [Crate of Live Death Watch Beetles] The Death Watch Beetle is thought to fortell death, and thusly has become prized. Sometimes families go as far as keeping one caged in their homes as good luck. Insect symbols are also used throughout the Grand Necropolis, necromancers state they, “Honor the work of the humblest creatures in our funerary rites.” While this may be true looking at longstanding traditions in Nevarra including oftentimes vegetarianism, the codex goes on to provide a more clear idea on beetles. It states that Nevarran found a kind of beetle that consumes flesh of the dead [i.e. a carrion beetle] This leaves behind only the skeleton, insects like this are probably valuable in the grand necropolis to expedite decay processes and keep things ‘cleanly’. Emmrich notes [codex: ‘on beetles’] that the Watchers have bred ‘fascinating variations’ of the beetles, I find it so interesting that they rely on nature for this process instead of using magic as part of ritual. It’s unclear if these are specifically the death watch beetles mentioned in Hard in Hightown, but it is interesting to see the beetle motif surface in so many ways within Nevarran culture. [I also personally find several of the Mourn Watch insignias to look like stylized beetles.]

Hexagons– Alright, so I would adore anyone who may have additional insight, but now with the nearly completely decoded Nevarran script I feel comfortable to make this assertion, but the Hexagon has some type of cultural significance to Nevarran culture, it features not only in things like architecture and clothing [even the chains on Emmrich's outfit are hexagonal links] but also things like, every mourn watch symbol I have run across fits into a hexagonal outer silhouette not to mention the script of the Nevarran language’s alphabet fits neatly into a hex-base as well. I am trying to dig for design notes on this, but I don’t have access to the artbook. If anyone knows more I’d love the insight.

Cuisine – With the evidence provided by a menu in Rivain, referring to ordering a dish meatless as Nevarran, and several dialogue and text mentions of Emmrich not eating meat [though cheese seems fine]. It can be assumed its pretty common practice in Nevarra to be vegetarian. This makes sense if you look at their cultural reverence for dead and the importance of the body in their burial rites, probably paints eating the bodies of creatures in a different light. To us what is simply meat, is probably seen as mild desicration. Emmrich even goes as far to state: each Watcher must decide what they wll and won't take a life for. Though it is probably common for Nevarrans to think this way and partake in vegitarian based diets, I also would argue this could be in part class based as well. We know that Emmrich grew up in a poor family, and his father was a butcher. A butcher in Nevarra. This implies that despite the pervasiveness of things like no meat options being referred to as 'Nevarran', and there being cultural significance to how they percieve meat and death, people in Nevarra are still in fact eating meat with enough demand that a butcher was a feasable occupation. This also could imply perhaps meat is seen as a lower-class consumable, and being able to sustain a vegitarian diet with more diverse ingredients a privilege. Known dishes include: Blood Orange Salad, Flatbread [similar to a pita], and Hazlenut Torte. Nevarrans also take great pride in aesthetic presentation and plating of food, often displaying it quite beautifully and with care.

Grave Mist– With the appearance of a churning cloud within a bottle, Grave Mist is magically infused vapors. It is captured near tombs where spirits dwell, and has some type of intoxicating nature to it. We don’t know if its more along the lines of inebriation or hallucination, but Emmrich notes that while he personally doesn’t partake, he hears it’s effects are quite invigorating.

Duchess's Games- Held at the Anaxas estate in the Summertime, in which scholars from Cumberland test their wit against those of the Free Marches in debates. [often times over philosophy and rhetoric], usually taking place over tea with the Duchess Ravria Anaxas.

Hunt Balls- Nevarran high society awakens each Winter, while other areas of Thedas brace for the cold. Winter is historically speaking one of the best times to conduct dragon hunts, as the cold weather causes them to be sluggish and stick closer to their hordes. As a society that celebrates the hunt of these magnificent beasts ‘Hunt Balls’ gained prominence quite early in their history. A chance for these nobles and ‘heroes’ to show off their mighty kills. Traditionally the great halls would be decorated with rather gruesome displays of the slain dragon, perhaps is heart or head the focal point. Now, with the scarcity of dragons to hunt, the balls have become more of a cultural metaphor. A display of passion amidst the cold winter, symbolizing the thrill of the chase, couples dress in armor and flowing red cloth and dance with fervor and passion to symbolize the hunt.

Additional note on Winter in Nevarra, the Minanter river is known to completely freeze over. It is a common site to see people skating along its surface, with vendors set up along the banks selling hot spiced teas, and roasted nuts.

Wintersend – A wide spread Andrastian holiday, originally called “Urthalis” [named after the draconic Old God of beauty Urthemiel], and since has been transformed in to a celebration of the Maker. It signifies for most throughout Thedas, the end of Winter and beginning of Spring. In Nevarra it begins a series of contexts and tournaments primarily focused on archery and tests of arms. Also note, Emmrich’s mom apparently made a Hazlenut Torte every Windersend.

Nevarran Statues/ Ancestral Pageants – While the finest statues and displays of pageantry happen in the Castrum Draconis, it is said that Nevarran statues honoring it’s heroes and ancestors extend out from the city, to the streets of even the meanest villages and even in to the gilded streets of Cumberland. Each autumn, residents of Nevarra city hold lavish pageants to honor these ancestors. Families are known to drape statues in colorful cloths often in their house colors, and lanterns are lit along the streets to illuminate them. Actors [paid in copper coins, which is specifically noted and an odd detail] are hired to recreate and perform stories and exploits of the heroes. The nobility are often known to compete over the best displays, notably the Pentaghasts and Van Markhams. It is to be noted that the Mortalitasi of the Grand Necropolis are also known to perform autumn rites at this time, ‘according to rumor’, it’s unknown if theirs are open to the public. I unfortunately have not run across a name for this festival/pageant.

Nevarran Spirit Philosophy- This is one of the main reasons that the Nevarran people choose to entomb and mummify their dead versus cremation, which is the more common form of ritual throughout Thedas. The idea is that once dead, a persons soul passes into the fade. This causes a spirit to then be displaced into the world, if mummified remains are nearby this gives the spirit a safe place to reside without risk of corrupting/turning. It’s a concept of balance, some scholars argue wether or not death is a 1:1 transaction across the fade. Emmrich states [codex: The Great Passage] that spirits have difficulty grasping the concept of quantities let alone numbers. Also that, no one knows a way to effectively tally both spirits in the fade, and people in the world, to ever entirel prove or disprove this theory. Nevertheless this is the concept at the heart of most Mortalitasi ideology, it is woven into the very folklore of Nevarra. The higher dead may be a melding of a spirit with the memories of the soul who came before– or even able to retain their souls.

Grave Dowry- It’s mentioned when asked why Emmrich wears so much gold that it is considered a custom called grave dowry. This is reinforced by the fact that if Mourn Watch Rook selects gold as their favourite color (conditional), the dialogue continues as Emmrich asks them if they have started their collection of grave gold yet. To which Rook responds they ‘have to decide which pieces are good enough for eternity’. If Rook is not a watcher and chooses gold, Emmrich replies by saying, ‘The Watchers wear grave gold in acknowledgement of our own deaths.’ [This implies that gold and opulence worn by members of the Mortalitasi is ritual. Its seen as something with foresight to have in death. This is very much so akin to grave good practices seen throughout the ancient world: think Mycenae, Egypt, or even Bulgaria <see Varna Necropolis>] Another codex [Aurum Profundis] mentions a passage from Prelate Vestalus Pentaghast remarking, “Gold is the eternal metal, and the sun beneath our vaults. It was first worked by our ancestors in tribute to the dead, and only Nevarra appriciates it’s sacred nner nature. Silver will tarnish, copper corrode and iron rust. Gold endures as our dead endure, and will ever adorn the inhabitants of the Necropolis.” I find that this quote perfectly captures the ideology and watcher sensibilities towards gold and the concept of dowry. It however is unclear if this is an ideology throughout Nevarra or just a tithe within the Mortalitasi.

This is my first post of several. I have been taking close notes deep diving Nevarra, the Mortalitasi, and the Grand Necropolis. I will be organizing them on my page under the tag Nevarran lore, If missed any key details or got anything wrong please by all means let me know, I want to make this as good as possible and would be happy to correct. Both for a resource for fic writers but also knowledge for my fellow lore nerds. More will be posted soon as feel sections become complete or mostly complete.

Update Edits:

Added information about Hexagons & the Nevarran Language.

Removed a section of lore on Recruitment as I found the citation to be unbacked and probably fanon.

Insight on why Butchers would be in Nevarra.

#dragon age #dragon age veilguard #emmrich volkarin #emmrook #emmrich x rook #veilguard #nevarra #mortalitasi #mourn watch #thedas #veilguard spoilers #da4 #datv #nevarran lore

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luvjunie · 1 year ago

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— Unforgettable ( 4 )

part one • part two • part three • part four • part five

pairing: e-1610!miles x fem!reader

contains: angst/conflict (y’all knew it was comin), language, miles being a dunce, gwen and her awkwardness

summary: a bump in with a certain boy at the bodega threatens to ruin your previously perfect afternoon until he offers to fix it. you assumed things would end there, and then you ran into him again. wc: 3,284

a/n: i held onto this for so long my apologies i had to find time to actually sit down and edit it fr fr 😭 i read this a gazillion times to the point i can recite it from memory so if you see any typos or grammar errors no you don’t. recap of part three is in small italics

prev | next

He wanted this. He wanted you.

But any chance for another sensical thought was interrupted when the impossible happened. ‘Impossible’ being the multi-layered hexagonal portal that suddenly opened up on his ceiling, and the blonde-haired, gap-toothed girl he thought he'd never see again, appearing with it. Bright and beaming down at him with a heart-halting grin, Miles felt his stomach drop as soon as she spoke.

"Miles!"

Shit.

. . .

Love tears down your walls and leaves you vulnerable in all aspects. The skin you didn't know you wore as a shield to protect you from the unexpected is shed in one swift layer because you don’t care what the unexpected is anymore. All the space that was left for worrying about what’s to come has been stolen to make room for the one who makes your heart flutter faster than you can blink.

Love is waking up in the morning, and before you’ve even wiped the lingering dream from your eyes, you find yourself rolling over in hopes of discovering a text from your favorite person—a blur of letters you’re barely able to make out, but it causes a smile to stretch across your face nonetheless.

It’s what has your thoughts drifting from your conscious at least five times a day, chin tucked in hand, eyes dreamy with the image of him playing over and over again in your mind, face melted into the stupidest grin you’ve ever been able to manifest. It leaves you yearning for him in ways you never imagined before, wanting to see into the places of his soul he’s hidden from the world and even the ones he loves most.

So if that’s love, what’s this feeling that you have now?

What follows closely behind love is the ugly shadow that trails on its heels like a sinking suspicion you can’t shake; the one that’s never acknowledged because things are just too good for you to be worried about all the cons that come with the pros. That biting feeling that often goes undetected until it’s discovered at the most inconvenient of times.

That feeling, the one you couldn’t put a name to before?

Foolish is how you felt right about now.

As you stood in the middle of a lively party for Miles’ father, who was soon to be police captain. It was bustling with excitement, people laughing and chopping it up in every corner, like you should’ve been right about now.

You’d been greeted by almost all of them upon arrival and even managed to run into Miles’ parents, but for some reason, you still had yet to say hello to the one who actually invited you. And you’d been made aware of the reason why when you’d looked up to find him laughing with a girl you’d never seen before, and she definitely wasn’t a cousin. You knew that because you’d met all of them by now in the time you’d spent searching for him.

Miles’ hands were animatedly flying through the air as he explained something to the girl that you couldn’t make out from this far away, and his eyes were lit up in a way you’d never seen them before. Slowly but surely, even though your mind tried to stop the thought from breaking through, you started to wonder if last night meant as much as you thought it did.

The mini-pep talk you’d given yourself to instill courage was immediately deemed insignificant the moment your feet pushed you to start on your way over to them, but still, you tried to ignore the deepening pit in your stomach. You usually prided yourself on being someone who never jumped to conclusions without having an inkling to stand on, but Miles was great at making things you never even knew about yourself come to the surface. Was this one of them?

Your stomach was bubbling with nerves; a sensation of anxiety washing over you. She was the complete opposite of your image, and it made you feel self-conscious about everything, as if you hadn't fallen in love with your reflection in the mirror just before you'd left home. You began to think about how fuzzy your braids were, how you should’ve taken them down last week and redid them like you’d planned instead of ditching that very plan to hang out with Miles instead.

Was your outfit appropriate enough for a family gathering? Maybe you should’ve worn something simpler. Did he like that little snort you always did when you laughed, or did he find it annoying like the last guy did? Maybe you should fix that.

All these questions did a terrible job of hiding what you were truly worried about.

Miles was so involved in his conversation that he didn’t take notice of you walking over. It must’ve slipped his mind that he told you to meet him here and that he would introduce you to his family. Instead, you were left to fend for yourself until his parents caught sight of you being handed a baby even they didn’t know the name of.

And by the stupidly shocked look he sported as you popped up in front of the both of them, it seemed as if he’d forgotten that he invited you in the first place.

As a reflex, you dipped your hands into the pockets of his coat and forged the nicest smile you could muster as your eyes wandered over to the girl.

“Hey Miles, who's this?”

“Oh! Uh, Y/n, this is Gwen-“ the girl suddenly shot him a look you couldn’t decipher, eyes widened in warning, and Miles instantly froze.

The hell was that?

“Gw-Gwaaanda...” he continued shakily after correcting himself, brows raised toward her in silent question. He then motioned back and forth between the two of you. “Gwanda, this is Y/n. My, uh… My…” Miles trailed off, your lips parted in anticipation, and it looked as if he’d suddenly lost his train of thought.

"Your?" You cocked your head at him the slightest, expectant eyes urging him to continue.

“My friend.”

Gwen stared at him incredulously. His oversized jacket stuck out like a sore thumb on you, but a physical hint wasn’t needed. She was able to guess who you were to him the moment you stepped out onto the roof. Or who you were supposed to be.

“Your friend?” Your brows furrowed when you repeated what he’d said in disbelief. You couldn't even tell if the look he’d given you was one of pity, or remorse.

“Wow,” you breathed a lifeless laugh, lashes fluttering to keep the tears at bay with a small nod. You’d never felt so embarrassed. Your throat had that burning sensation that was all too familiar—the one that feels as if your chest is caving in on itself with the weight of disappointment. Heartbreak, you think, is what they call it. You’ve never experienced it before, but you assumed this is what it must feel like.

Gwen shifted from one foot to the other, her hand awkwardly clasped onto her opposing arm while her wide blue eyes darted between the two of you. The shift in energy was palpable, like there was a visible force pushing the both of you apart.

It was her, she realized.

She’s the force.

She suddenly cleared her throat.

“Is anyone else like, really cold right now?” Gwen's hand nervously gestured towards the air with a stale chuckle. “Cause, boy, it is definitely chilly today!”

“Here,” Your throat pushed down the godforsaken lump that was forming as you forcefully tugged Miles’ coat off your body as if it burned your skin.

“Have Miles’ jacket. I don’t need it anymore, anyway.” Thrusting the bundled green puffer into her loose hold, you ignored the graze of disbelieving eyes burning into the side of your head and adjusted your shirt as if you could somehow make it conduct more warmth. Fuck, it was chilly today.

Gwen, Gwanda, or whatever the hell her name just gaped at you.

“I—“

Miles extended a hand to you in a meaningless attempt. “Y/n stop, it’s yours-“

“It’s not. Never was.”

You weren’t talking about the jacket.

You were gone faster than you came—faster than you’d even fallen for him, which was surprising, to say the least. Ducking your body under the railing and jumping down onto the deck, you pointedly ignored the stairs descending from it. If there had been a faster route than the one you took to haul ass out of there, you would’ve snatched it in seconds.

In just a minute, everything had crumbled right in front of him, and Miles stood there and let it happen.

Gwen recognized the look in your eyes; it’d been the same one Miles had given her last year when he confessed to her and she told him they couldn’t be together. Not because she didn’t want to, but because the circumstances just wouldn’t allow it.

As if things weren’t bad enough already, Gwen spoke cautiously, lips rolled inwards and Miles’ jacket loosely clutched in her hands.

“I don’t know if it’s just me, but I think she was expecting you to put another word in front of 'friend'."

“Shit.”

His feet were moving before he even realized he was chasing after you. He narrowly dodged the sea of bodies blocking him from getting to you, his eyes scanning the roof in hopes of spotting the top of your head.

“Miles, wait!” His aunt called out to him. “Your mom is about to cut the cake! Where are you going?”

Miles hastily shouted a response to her with a hand cupped around his mouth, his feet moving backwards to keep up with his pace.

“Back in a sec!”

You pushed through the crowd with your head ducked, sincere apologies muffled to those you bumped into, and a few unwelcome tears rolling over the apple of your cheek as you did so.

“Sweetie, wait! You don’t want cake?”

Without making eye contact, you gave a rushed wave goodbye and a thank you to Rio and Jeff, whisking past the pair. That probably didn’t help your case, but what just happened between you and her son could probably be inferred, because you weren’t wearing his jacket like you were just a moment ago, and Miles’ previously giddy conversation looked as if it’d come to a screeching halt as she noticed that the painfully awkward girl she’d met earlier was standing by herself now.

Rio’s shoulders dropped with a knowing sigh as she watched you retreat.

“Ay, I told you that Gwanda girl was bad news, Jeff!” She grumbled with pursed lips, expression painted with disappointment to match her folded arms.

Your temporary wallowing had turned to rage in mere moments, made known in the way your hands shoved the door to the stairwell open with way more force than needed.

“Wait!” He slid his way through the doorway before it could close, managing to step in front of you before you could reach the stairs.

“Was yesterday and everything before then just a joke to you?” You stared daggers into his eyes after you’d whipped around, your gaze flitting between the both of them to find an answer faster than he could verbally give. “Because apparently, when you’re around whoever that is you forget about everything else.”

“What—No! Of course not." Miles quickly shook his head. Somehow, trouble always seemed to find him when Gwen was around. “She’s just a friend. I just, I haven’t seen her in a while—“

“Isn’t that what you called me back there? A friend?” You scoffed, arms crossing as if they could possibly shield your heart from taking any more damage. You knew you weren't giving him much of a chance to give an explanation, but right about now you felt as if he didn't deserve the chance. “Do you make out with all your friends on the roof or was I some sort of exception?”

“Y/n,” His shoulders dropped at that, and you almost found yourself feeling bad for saying such a thing. “I don’t know why I said that. I just—I froze up, and I’m sorry. But you’re more than that to me, I swear.”

“It sure doesn’t seem like it.” The saliva that was starting to pool in your mouth was aggravating you, but somehow at the same time your throat was incredibly dry. So dry that it had you struggling to make your voice into something more than whisper when he took a step forward, and when you took one back.

“Don’t.“ you said, shaking your head, and Miles grimaced slightly at the subtle crack in your voice. “Do you know how long I waited for you? How stupid I looked wandering around until I found you when I don’t know anyone but your parents? You invited me!”

You couldn’t wrap your head around it. Just last night, he’d made you feel as if you were the only girl in the entire world, but now it seemed like the world had gotten a whole lot bigger.

Whether you wanted to know the answer or not, you had to ask. So with a shaky inhale, you readied yourself for the worst, and so did he.

“Is she somebody to you?”

You watched as he swallowed, hard. Adam’s apple bobbing like his mind was for the truth. Gwen was just a friend. Now, at least. Telling you what you clearly already knew wouldn’t make you feel any better, but lying about it would only make things worse.

Miles bit at his cheek when his gaze drifted off to the side. You felt your heart sink at what came next.

“It… It was a long time ago. But I don’t feel that way anymore.”

Your eyes began to dampen again as they held contact with his for a pain-stricken moment, but a dejected once-over from head to toe and a repulsed frown was all you could spare him.

It felt as if the silence between you was much longer than a few seconds. With his chest rising and falling, Miles' throat was filled with words he knew you wouldn't believe. After what just happened, how would you? There was nothing he could say to rectify how badly he’d just embarrassed you and he knew that. And by the look of betrayal on your face and how your shoulder bumped his arm when you shoved past him, it seemed you wouldn’t even give him the chance.

Miles watched you descend down the stairs, his jaw clenched and his heart cramping with it.

What did he just do?

—

Maybe telling his parents what happened hadn’t been the best idea after all. But after calling you three times and leaving a voice message after each dreaded beep, just to find out at his third attempt that you’d disabled your voicemail box, he truly didn’t know what else to do.

And honestly, it’s not like he really had a choice when it came to telling them. After a couple awkward minutes of standing with a jacket that so obviously did not belong to her, Gwen cautiously returned it to his parents and hurriedly made her exit, which only left them with more questions than they had before.

They realized it was serious when Miles never came back in for a slice of cake.

Tres Leches! Miles never missed out on tres leches.

Rio was more than concerned when she knocked on his door and carefully cracked it open after no response to find her son face down in his pillow, curtains closed and his room in disarray.

She took a seat next to his curled-up form, face tinged with worry. “What happened, papa? Why’d she leave?”

Jeff settled for standing near the foot of his bed. “Yeah, son. She looked a little upset.”

Miles heaved out a sigh as he pulled his body into a seated position, hands running over his face as if they’d erase the memory from his mind. “I kinda… Like—When it came to introducing her to Gwanda, I… hesitated? I guess?” Miles mumbled, his voice raising a slight octave with the last word, as if he were just as confused as they were. Somehow, saying what happened out loud made him realize just how badly he’d messed up.

“Wooo, that’s bad.” Jeff sucked a breath in through his teeth and chuckled quietly, rocking from heel to toe at his son’s confession.

Rio rolled her eyes at her husband who wasn’t much of any help at all when it came to things like this. She lifted her chin attentively at Miles to let him know that she was genuinely listening.

“Well, you introduced her eventually…Right?“

“Yeah,” Miles confirmed, only to wince afterwards. “…As a friend.”

Rio’s mouth dropped. “Miles!”

“I know! I just— I froze! I don’t know why.” His head dropped into his hands in shame, elbows perched on bent knees.

“Alright, son. You gotta help me out here.” Jeff sighed. “So you’re telling me that the young lady who’s in our house almost every week, who we’ve been referring to as your girlfriend when she knocks on the door, isn’t your girlfriend?”

“I— She is, or… she was— isn’t? Anymore?” Something like an agitated groan mixed with a huff left Miles’ lips as he tried speaking again.

“She was going to be. I was gonna ask her up there which is why I invited her, but then Gwen just— showed up out of nowhere last night, and then I kinda sorta invited her too—“

“Last night? You had a girl in here?” Rio arched a brow.

“Who’s Gwen?” Jeff voiced his confusion quietly, eyes glancing to the side.

“Fuck, not Gwen, I meant Gwanda—“

Rio raised not one, but two disbelieving brows as Miles frantically shook his head.

“Damnit, I didn’t mean to say fuck—“ His eyes snapped up to see his parents’ faces painted with pure and utter shock at his choice of words. Again.

“Shit, wait! I—Oh God.” Miles let his head fall back into his hands as he groaned, tufts of hair clenched between his fingers. “Just help me, please.” He whined.

“Yup, that’s all you, honey.” Jeff nodded at Rio and patted his thighs with his hands that were starting to grow clammy, as if he’d actually done something useful before he discreetly slipped out the door.

Rio couldn’t stand to see her son so distraught, so she made the difficult decision to hear him out instead of addressing the string of curses he’d sent their way, or whatever happened ‘last night’.

“Respira, mijo,” She barely had to pull him into her, his body fell into her embrace the moment her hand graced his shoulder. “I thought you really liked this girl... I even invited her for Thanksgiving!” Rio gently rubbed up and down his arm, comforting him in the way she knew how.

“I do!” he insisted. “A lot… I’m just an idiot who messed things up, and now she probably hates me.”

She pulled him away by his shoulders, looking into his eyes intently to make sure she got her point across.

“Listen to me. You are not an idiot, papa. A little slow to understand sometimes, yes—“ Miles rolled his head to the side in annoyance, but she gently brought his face back to her with a hand on his cheek.

“But—you always get there because you’re smart. And I know that, because your father and I raised you to be.” Miles almost managed a smile when Rio softly pinched his cheek. “That also means you’re smart enough to know that you’ve hurt someone you care about.”

“But… What if I can’t fix it?” Miles' voice was heavy with uncertainty. “Then what do I do?”

“Well, that’s life, papa. Not everything is something you can fix, but you won’t know unless you try.” Her hands fixed the crooked hemline of the cotton thermal beneath his jersey, gently smoothing out the wrinkles with flattened fingers.

“It’s a leap of faith, Miles. That’s all.”

. . .

a/n: tres leches was a total self insert that shit is fire

taglist: @burymeinside @secret-ssociety @whatamidoing89 @urmotherswhor3 @valovesyou @inlovewithfictionalppl @edgyficuselastica @motherwanda @mybfmiles @axeoverblade @miumiulicious @sukisprettyface @gwennesy @simpnotapimp @kanvis @cleo-dearts @retirement-home @lunaramune @silas-222 @citrusequalsfrogs @itsberrydreemurstuff @spritecranverry @mewhenimanangel @wisteriaflowersss @chadychadyy2k @sakura-onesan @coffeeandtealol @junipurr101 @bakugouswaif @luvdenisposts @aleluvsuu @wonylxv @attractivepie @cry1ngmyey3sout @silas-222 @idkkk343

masterlist

#junie’s works ᥫ᭡#across the spiderverse #miles morales x reader #across the spiderverse fanfiction #miles morales fanfiction #miles morales x black reader #miles morales x fem!reader #earth 1610 miles x you #earth 1610 miles x reader #earth 1610 miles morales x reader #miles morales x you #miles morales fic #1610 miles x reader

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squareallworthy · 8 months ago

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Reverse unpopular opinion ask meme: Irregular polygons

Irregular polygons are awesome. You can do so much more with them, in so many areas, but I'm going to limit myself to talking about just two of them: tiling and triangle centers.

(Did you think I was going to be all snobby toward my irregular friends and give them only grudging approval? Heck no, I love those guys! And so by the rules of the meme I get to infodump about the things I love, so this may be long but you asked for it.)

Let's first talk about covering the plane with copies of a single shape -- a monohedral tiling. And for now, let's restrict ourselves to periodic tilings. All triangles and all non-self-intersecting quadrilaterals tile the plane periodically, so that's not very interesting. All you have to do is place one polygon and then make copies by rotating 180 degrees around the midpoints of the sides.

With five sides, things become more complicated, because regular pentagons don't tile by themselves, but there are fifteen ways an irregular pentagon can periodically tile the plane. Here are four of them that were discovered in 1976 and 1977 by Marjorie Rice, an amateur mathematician.

There are three types of monohedral periodic convex hexagonal tilings.

For polygons with seven or more sides, there are no monohedral periodic tilings using a convex prototile , but there are periodic tilings for nonconvex polygons of any size. Some of them are quite famous.

Most of Escher's work in his Regular Division of the Plane series uses shapes with curves as well as straight sides, so they don't show polygon tilings, strictly, but the patterns do point toward complex tilings that are visually pleasing.

Irregulars can tile aperiodically, too. Here's a pentagon tiling with 6-fold rotational symmetry. It can be extended infinitely, and tilings can be constructed with pentagons for n-fold symmetry of any n>2.

Going back to non-convex shapes, here's the Voderberg tile, an enneagon that forms a spiral tiling. Notably, one copy of the shape can be completely surrounded by two others.

And of course I can't go without mentioning the tiling news of the century: "Tile (1,1)", aka the Hat, aka the T-shirt, a tridecagon (and polykite) that can tile the plane but only aperiodically. IDK if you follow polygon news but this was huge.

Okay, enough about tilings. With tilngs it's pretty easy to get what's going on just by looking at them, but my next topic, triangle centers, requires a bit more explanation. Also there's a bit of jargon, but I will try to keep it simple.

Take an arbitrary triangle ABC. Where is its center? One way you might define it is to find the midpoint of each side and draw a line to it from the opposite vertex. Each line divides the triangle in half, and these three lines (the medians) all cross at a point, the centroid. This works for any triangle, no matter its shape. The point marks the center of gravity of the area of the triangle, and also the center of gravity of its vertices. Based on that, you could consider this the center of the triangle.

Or you could work with angles instead of sides. Draw lines from each vertex that divide the angles in half (the angle bisectors). These all meet at a point called the incenter, which marks the center of the largest circle that fits inside the triangle. To put it another way, it's the point that is equidistant from all three sides. That's another point you could call the center of the triangle.

Or, how about a circle around the triangle instead? From the midpoints of the sides, draw the perpendicular bisectors. Again, they all intersect at a point, the circumcenter, which is the center of the circle that passes through the vertices -- the point that is equidistant from all three of them. So you could also call that the center of the triangle.

Or how about drawing perpendicular lines from the sides again, but having them pass through the opposite vertices (the altitudes)? They coincide at a point called the orthocenter. Isn't that neat? Yet another point we could call the center of the triangle.

But wait -- can we? For an obtuse triangle, the circumcenter and the orthocenter are going to lie outside the triangle. (For the orthocenter of an obtuse triangle, you have to extend each side into a line, and draw the altitude as a perpendicular to that.) Being outside a thing is really not what we have in mind when we talk about the center of the thing. Should we care about that?

Maybe not. Check this out. We'll go back to the circumcircle, and draw tangents to it at the three vertices. The three tangents form the tangential triangle (in blue), which we'll call A'B'C', where A' is opposite A, and so on with B and C. Now draw the circle that passes through A, A', and the circumcenter, and do the analogous construction for B and C (in red). The three circles coincide in two places: the circumcenter and another point called the far-out point. And as the name suggests, this is usually well outside the triangle, even for acute triangles.

There's no reasonable way to call this point the center of the circle. But so what? I just love the fact that the three circles line up like that. I no longer care about finding "the" center of the triangle. I no longer care that "center" is rather a misnomer for many of these points. I just think it's neat that you can draw these constructions on ordinary aysmmetrical triangles and they keep all converging on one point. Want more? Reflect the medians across the angle bisectors, and they all meet at the symmedian point. Or connect the vertices of the tangential triangle with the intersections of the medians and the circumcircle. Those lines meet at the Exeter point. Or, from each vertex, draw the line that splits the perimeter of the triangle in half. These are called the splitters, and they meet at the Nagel point. And on and on and on.

You can simply wander around a triangle, connecting things that relate somehow to vertex A, then do the equivalent thing for B and C, and stumble upon new centers. And there are tens of thousands of these things, constructed with straightedge and compass or by other methods. And there are so many ways to enjoy these things. You can page through the enormous collection and get a kind of stamp-collecting satisfaction just looking at their variety and knowing that they exist. Or you can appreciate the proofs that show that the constructions really do specify a unique point. Or proofs that show that a point constructed to have one property has a surprisingly different property. Or you can notice that the points fall into certain families and appreciate the connections between them. (For instance, the centroid, circumcenter, orthocenter, far-out point, and Exeter point, among others, all happen to lie on the same line, the Euler line.) Or you can convert the points to trilinear coordinates, manipulate them algebraically, and get to know them that way.

But to appreciate them at all, you need to work with irregular triangles. Because here's the thing: in an equilateral triangle, all these points collapse to the same point. Everything simplifies to a single center, and the incredible wealth of invisible structure that teems inside every ordinary triangle is gone.

You have finally found "the" center, but at what cost? Symmetry is death. Only through asymmetry will the vast truth of the triangle be revealed to you.

And those are just a few of the reasons irregular polygons are cool!

#polygon representation

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