#karma working at its finest

[thejadecount]

Usually I don’t get political on here but I’m gonna mark this day like a wedding anniversary

[hey-imma-fangirl]

Hahaha—

Nothin’s’ better than finally getting some comeuppance from the lady at work who’s been trying to blackmail me.

So she came by my desk today and started to tell me off that I did my work completely wrong (I didn’t, she just assumes since I’m newer that I wouldn’t know better), and she was basically just trying to embarrass me and try to get me in trouble.

Meanwhile she failed to notice our supervisor right behind her 😂

Yeah, she got in trouble for trying to get me in trouble

[cruyuu]

The real reason why I left twitter was because I got tired of seeing sukuita shippers bashed over the same old 'omg u like incest/problematic content' argument. I got real tired of explaining myself that I like problematic content in fiction and not in rl so here I am! Free to rant without someone screaming about what's wrong and what's right into my ear. Also, partly, because Tumblr's much better to use for rants or analysis posts.

I thought the uncle reveal was hilarious, actually. It was supposed to add another reason to the growing list why liking them together is wrong. To throw everyone off the boat. To brand them as a big no-no. "Oh look, it's wrong to ship them now! It's incest."

It backfired. It just made them more interesting. It made whatever they have going on now extremely important to the story. I'm going to explain why below the cut because this got long.

Let's be honest, they've already been considered a problematic ship, so this really didn't sway most (as it shouldn't). Gege adding relation into the mix not only worked for the narrative of jjk, but also added more spice and depth to their relationship.

It's become undeniable now that– hate them or love them, ship them or don't– sukuita is the plot. This doesn't come as a surprise to me because the story literally began the moment Yuuji swallowed Sukuna's finger and if there's one thing to expect, it is that everything will– logically– end with them considering it began with them.

The fact that Sukuna's and Yuuji's souls are now proven to be intertwined and that they're connected indirectly via the soul which never saw daylight because of Sukuna's greed... is something. His twin brother managed to be reborn even if he was so weak that he got offed before even being born and Yuuji is an offspring made out of love that came from a soul Sukuna devoured.

It's poetic karma at its finest. Sukuna's twin brother comes back and has a child which will be his doom.

Not only that, but Yuuji is a total contrast of him, despite the fact that their appearances match. While Sukuna's selfish, Yuuji's selfless. He's a yin to his yang. A half which was lost, killed off, and consumed but it got reborn and brought Yuuji into the world. It survived. Why? Because of love.

And yes, I know Sukuna's twin brother isn't reincarnated into Yuuji but rather into his father— into Jin. Still doesn't matter because they're practically twins. Yuuji's appearance eerily matches Sukuna and even throughout the story, they start resembling each other more and more.

Yuuji being a suitable vessel is given much more meaning. Megumi couldn't fight back against him, yet Yuuji could control him easily. He can handle Sukuna because he is, technically, a product from the other half of him. Indirectly, they're two parts of one whole. So thanks Gege! This is very fucking romantic of you.

[wrongcaitlyn]

hi tawny!!! loved the magnus chase chapter 🫶🏻 alex and magnus r so cute. I love magnus’s backstory/how you adapted it!!

ok so today is my bday and I was hoping you might be able to share a snippet from the upcoming tgol chapter🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼 no pressure tho!!!!

HI OMGSDFKJDSF FIRST OF ALL HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!! I HOPE THAT ITS STILL YOUR BIRTHDAY IM SO SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG FOR ME TO GET TO THISJSDF!!!

i HAVE written a bit of the next chapter but unfortunately, it is solely tweets, and the tweets are all without users at the moment bc i always add the users at the end. SO. im gonna post a good majority of those tweets here as your excerpt and update it when i eventually add the users and let you know!!! and as a special treat if you'd like to choose one of these to be under your user, LET ME KNOW AND I'LL ADD IT :)))

hope you have had an absolutely wonderful day!!!

guys i dont think u realize how crazy this is for apollo to be working with another artist. like we all accepted nico was an exception bc like he’s will’s bsf and stuff but apollo apparently REACHED OUT to sadie. and they’ve been working together on an album. under apollo’s own label.

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genuinely hope that sadie becomes crazy popular like nico and that delphi records gets bigger than ****’s

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honestly i def think it’d happen. karma at its finest

so as an angel what’s the sadie lore anything we should know?? bc she’s abt to become my third fav artist

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who are the first two?? sadie’s AMAZING

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nico and alex fierro duh

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so your music taste is nico di angelo and his openers

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yes exactly

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Sadie currently has an EP out (Worst of You) that you should definitely check out, it was produced by her and her brother as an indie artist! As for background, she’s from London and her parents are pretty big in the archaeology world. She started putting out covers on YT when she was 13, and eventually started [1/2]

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writing her own songs. She uploaded a lot of unreleased songs to YT (they’ve since been deleted but they’re also on SoundCloud), and put out her debut EP at 18 and recently got signed to Apollo’s Delphi Records (technically second official artist signed, if we’re including Nico) [2/2]

still processing graveyard bc what does he MEAN by directly referencing how apollo “took his money and dignity and got the hell out” and thinks “i understand it now” and “i think you got it right.” nico please don’t disappear on us.

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i blame munich

i ship

[ two images attached: The first is a selfie of Nico di Angelo, Apollo, and Sadie Kane taken by Sadie. The second is the same photo, zoomed in on Sadie and Nico. ]

THE MYSTERY OF NICO’S SKULL RING: A THREAD

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Sep 27, 2015: the skull ring is first seen, albeit blurry, in jason grace’s vlog around his school, in which nico is sitting in their school cafeteria. it’s on his right ring finger, as it always has been (that we know of, logically he may have worn it on his middle or index finger when younger) 

[ two images attached ]

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May 21, 2016: it’s once again seen in nico’s first appearance on apollo’s insta, before we even knew his name. during this time, nico had been working on ‘haunted’ with apollo, and was already known as his insta user “the ghost king,” which ties into the skull/ghost/death theme

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[ one image attached ] 

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June 18, 2016: the skull ring is on the back cover of ‘haunted’s vinyl and its tracklist. it’s pretty much the centerpiece of the image, with his hand mostly covering his face.

[ two images attached ]

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There are several more appearances of the skull ring, he practically never takes it off. It’s seen in his pictures at the AMA’s, VMA’s, Grammys, and pretty much every other public appearance of his from 2016 - 2018. 

[ four images attached ]

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During the haunted acoustic shows (July 2017), he’s seen wearing the rings in all of the shows. 

[ four images attached ]

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Even the design of the doomsday world tour poster is based on the skull design in his ring, as well as several other merch pieces.

[ four images attached ]

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August 26, 2018: nico is wearing the ring in the official pictures from the first night of the doomsday world tour (and from various fans’ pictures)

[ three images attached ]

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But on the second night of the doomsday world tour, nico is seen without a skull ring. 

[ four images attached ]

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Since then, he hasn’t been seen wearing the ring ONCE. Several other rings take the place on the right ring finger, but the skull ring’s pretty identifiable - and the ones he’s worn since are noticeably different. so, that leaves the question: what happened to it? why did nico stop wearing it? 

[ four images attached ]

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more pictures of the other rings he’s worn since

[ four images attached ]

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ummm maybe. hear me out. just a possibility. his ring size grew? being a living growing teenager at the time

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okay but it is interesting how it happened right after the first night of tour. and its not like a normal piece of jewelry, right? the skull ring is one of the first things we even knew about him, its basically like a logo. dating all the way back to apollo’s first post signifying haunted? it must have meant something to him if he wore it for at least three years (1/2)

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even at award shows and red carpets and all that fancy stuff. putting the exact same skull design on tour merch, etc… it’s just strange that it disappeared all of a sudden, despite nico still going on with the death/skull aesthetic in graveyard. if he just lost it or it broke/stopped fitting, wouldn’t he try and get another?

this fandom belongs in an insane asylum 

[annonymousp]

Just think about it. @naffeclipse

Venessa gets a report from F.E.I. Venessa doesn't like the fact they get a mission so soon after their friend Y/N stops messaging. They clearly see them but never once respond and one day it all stops. But work is work and she can only hope Y/N is fine. Karma at its finest IMO. She checked the email and a few sources. A monster of some kind clearly, no mistaking it for a human. Kills known or unknown everyday villains. All kinds of people who harm kids. The rumors have been going around for a few months now. The person is found dead, heart missing but their blood is gone as well. Maybe even a list of crimes left behind. Sounds like an extra hungry Vampire to her. She comes up to a town and maybe even finds Y/N’s truck and signs they are ok. The hunting gear might be gone though. Or maybe its just some of it. Y/N’s clearly out so she will come back later, maybe Y/N is even looking themselves. She thinks at least. Que looking for the monster. Takes forever but oh shit that's a demon. Radar is going all kinds of off. And something else that seems to not move much. Keeps going towards the second blimp and hears something odd. Feeding of some kind? Did the demon have a child or someone they are teaching? Can they even do that!? Or is there another part to this? Turning the corner Venessa sees something she never thought would or could happen. Y/N isn't human that's clear enough. The feeding stops as they both stare at each other. Something is right behind her she knows it but she can’t stop looking. At least not before someone makes a move.

[thebaldchoicemachine]

You know how some people believe that Chara or the “Player’ is controlling Frisk to do Genocide?... What if it was the 6 Human Souls that are somehow controlling Frisk to destroy Asgore’s Kingdom in REVENGE for their deaths as well as prevent the war/genocide against Humanity?... That would be an interesting tragic story, and it would be KARMA at its finest! ❤️🧡💛💚💙💜💖 How would Toriel + Undyne + Mettaton + Sans + Asgore react when they realize that Genocide Frisk is being possessed by the dead vengeful human souls that they harvested?

This is such a unique and complex idea... i don't even know where to begin. I kind of just want to chew on this concept. The way I think of them reacting would work better with art than writing but just imagining the looks on their faces when they see the gleam of that child in frisk's eyes.

I think Sans's and Undyne's reactions would be the most interesting since they're the ones who confront you directly about the route.

[love-kurdt]

it is wednesday my dudes *screams*

so here is a sneak peek of this is me trying: 2

As soon as Mike had arrived back at his dorm in January, he diligently thumbtacked the post-it detailing Will’s phone number on the wall above his headboard. He wasn’t normally someone who believed in karma, omens, manifestation, or any of that hippie crap (because Mike was obviously a realist and a pessimist by nature), but he truly believed that seeing Joyce at Melvald’s was fate in its finest form. Forgetting his school supplies (along with his reluctance to just go back home and grab what he needed from his room) resulted in essentially coming out to Will’s mother. And that was one step closer to getting Will back. Now, all he had to do was call that number.

The post-it stayed on his wall for three months. Elvis hadn’t mentioned or questioned it; they weren’t official, anyway, so Mike was free to see whoever he wanted. Except Mike didn’t just want to see Will. He wanted to spend the rest of his life with Will. If only Mike could pick up the goddamn phone.

It wasn’t that Mike didn’t want to call; he wanted nothing more than to hear Will’s voice enveloped in grainy audio. He longed for the day he’d get to say Will’s name out loud instead of just writing it. But Mike was waiting for the right time to do it. He couldn’t call in the morning, because Will had insisted for years that, in the words of his stepfather, “Mornings are for coffee and contemplation,” and refused to be disturbed before 9am. He couldn’t call in the afternoon, because Will would most definitely be in class, or at work if he had a job, or hanging out somewhere with his new friends, and Mike didn’t want to impose upon that. And he couldn’t call in the evening, because what if the conversation went south? He didn’t want Will to go to sleep angry or upset, especially at him.

In reality, no time was a good time. Mike knew that confrontation was inexorable, whether it came across as offensive or not was dependent upon how the conversation began. Mike prepared himself for a multitude of scenarios, from worst to best case; it turned out that predicting all possible outcomes during a supernatural war would help him immensely in this process. Ultimately, he chose to pick up the phone and call Will on the least problematic occasion he could think of: the date was March 22nd, 1990– also known as Will’s 19th birthday.

y’all should mark ur calendars for TIMT 2 coming out on december 16th ✨

[gemwing1988]

The Cuphead Show: Dreamstones Edition — King Dice TV Tropes

A/N: Warning, this fanmade TV Tropes will contain some spoilers for a future fanfic. Please read with care and enjoy.

Former host of the rigged radio game show, “Roll the Dice” and the self-claimed number one to the Devil, King Dice is a sleazy individual who is eager to please Old Scratch and has his eyes on Lexie.

Abhorrent Admirer: Much like his counterpart from the book, he has a Villainous Crush on Lexie. Although he isn’t ugly since he’s considered handsome by some of her former fans, he is still an unwanted suitor who won’t leave Lexie alone.

Ascended Extra: In the fanfic adaptation, he gets a couple of decent amount of screen (page time, in this case) in several fanmade episodes/chapters.

Baddie Flattery:

Berserk Button:

Break the Haughty:

Changed My Mind, Kid:

Co-Dragons: With Henchman and Anubis.

Crouching Moron, Hidden Hardcore:

Didn’t See That Coming:

Didn’t Think This Through:

In Roll the Dice, he thought it was a good idea to immediately call the Devil on the phone and inform him he has Cuphead, Katie and Natty on his show while he holds Lexie hostage, assuming delivering Cuphead’s soul, Natty’s wand and Katie to the Devil would be an easy win. And how did all of that work out at the end?

Dirty Coward:

Dude in Distress: In the summer special, “The Isle of Serverus”, he gets captured, held prisoner and almost used as a sacrifice alongside Natty, Liam, Cuphead, Captain Brineybeard and his parrot by the Big Bad/Villain of the Week after he stowed away on Brineybeard’s ship in an attempt to get Lexie.

Even Evil Has Standards:

Face Palm:

Fatal Flaw:

Hypocrite:

I Can Explain: He frantically says this word for trope as he begged the Devil to hear him out in fear when the Devil revealed that Henchman informed him about Dice’s failure to get Cuphead’s soul and capture Katie in the radio.

Idiot Ball:

I Have You Now, My Pretty:

I Lied:

Karmic Butt-Monkey:

Laser-Guided Karma:

Manipulative Monster: In the adaptation of the Release the Demons! episode, he suavely manipulates the scorpion demons to take out the spider demon. Then, when he claimed about hoping the scorpion demons would turn on him, they did just that. Unfortunately for them, Dice had actually hoped they would as he casually side stepped away from their stingers, causing the two of them to accidentally blow each other. Adaptational Wimp or not, King Dice is still as sleazy as he comes.

Narcissist: It’s no secret that King Dice is in love with himself to the point of actually flirting with his reflection, which often practically has a life of its own to flirt with him back.

Dice: Who’s the host with the most, hmmm?

His reflection: You are, ya handsome devil. Mwha!~

Dice: Ohh, you’re terrible.~

Never My Fault:

Oh, Crud!:

The Rival: He always butts heads with Liam over Lexie.

Sadistic Game Show:

Screams Like a Little Girl: He pulled this at least two times in Roll the Dice and Release the Demons!. But the authoresses agreed to make him prone to squeal like a girl every chance they get in future fanmade chapters.

Skewered Priorities:

Slimeball: This is King Dice we’re talking about here.

Smug Snake:

Stalker with a Crush:

Surrounded by Idiots: He often feels this way towards his hired minions, Jack and Ace (@akluthor1998’s OC’s) whenever they mess stuff up or they fail.

This is Gonna Suck:

After the Dreamstones reveal that his game show is rigged and exposed him as the Devil’s stooge in the adaptation, we see the canon scene of Henchman arriving to inform him the Devil wants an audience with Dice. His reaction is just sigh and had a comically nervous look on his face on the way down in the elevator.

Mixed with an Oh, Crud! reaction, when Dice nervously asked about his “number one” has to go with the third “finest” demons to go after Cuphead and the gang all the while meekly pointing at himself.

Villainous Crush: Poor Lexie. Just when she got away from the King Dice in the book…

Villainous Breakdown:

Villain Song:

Villain with Good Publicity:

What’s He Got That I Ain’t Got?: He pretty much voiced this trope out when he had a self conversation when he had been spying on Lexie and Liam on one of their dates.

Would Hurt a Child:

You Have Failed Me:

You Gotta Be Kidding Me!:

You Meddling Kids!:

[justsigma-bsd]

So.. this was Nikolai’s reaction to being told karmas in rehab “I’m not in that family anymore, not like they want me there anyway”

Parenting at its finest

"... yea, this is basically why I don't know how to help. Also, no idea how parenting works"

[heliads]

Tom!Peter x male reader. Peter gets sick and reader tries to juggle taking care of people and New York in peters absence as well as his standard superhero stuff

idk if you wanted reader to be a superhero also but i think it's so much more fun if reader is ordinary. enjoy!

masterlist

If anything were to take down New York City’s favorite hero, you didn’t think it was going to be something as simple as a respiratory infection. You’ve seen Peter Parker walk off bullets, fall from high places, and the occasional near-death bludgeoning, but this, a cough and a fever, is too much for him to ignore.

Technically, you suppose you shouldn’t be laughing. It’s, just, well, it’s really funny to see Peter, your impossibly untouchable Peter, barely able to move an inch because he’s so sick. After all the times Peter has made fun of you for suffering from allergies or not being able to easily recover from any injury like he can, this feels like karma. His pitifully thin voice doesn’t do him any favors, either. Love is expressed in its finest form by only referring to your boyfriend as a sick little Victorian era orphan about to die of consumption.

Yeah, Peter’s having a great time, to be sure. In your defense, you definitely are trying your best to take care of him. Peter’s bedridden in his room, occasionally shifting in the mounds of blankets that he alternates between tucking up to his chin and throwing off at a moment’s notice. May Parker is out for the moment, staying late to work again, but you’re here and that’s what matters.

Peter squeezes your hand feebly. “Y/N, if I don’t make it, I want you to have my stuff.”

You snort. “You’re going to be fine, Peter. This is just a bad cold.”

Peter closes his eyes dazedly. “I might die. If you’re going to be rude, though, I’ll rewrite my will so Ned gets my chemistry notes.”

You poke him in the shoulder, causing Peter to open his eyes blearily. “I take it all back. I’ll arrange the finest of burial services if it means I get your study guides. Quantum mechanics never makes half so much sense as when you’re explaining it to me.”

Peter eyes you balefully. “I wish I knew for sure that you loved me for me instead of for my chemistry knowledge. Tell a dying man sweet lies, would you?”

“I do love you besides chemistry,” you laugh, “or I wouldn’t have been here for hours on a weekend to sit by your side and listen to you sniffle endlessly.”

Peter smiles through the happy daze of having been constantly on DayQuil and NyQuil for the last forty hours at least. “You have been here. It was great. We watched The Great British Baking Show.”

You nod solemnly. “Bread week was brutal. No more brutal than that fever, though.”

Peter coughs weakly. “We should do this again sometime. Not the plague part, obviously, but the hanging out.”

You grimace. “Is this a sign that we don’t spend enough time together, that you’d wish for something like this on your deathbed?”

Peter flops a tired arm over his eyes. “I’m doing my best, alright? We’re busy people, and I get that, but I like spending time with you. Not when my head is going to split in half, though.”

You stand up to close the blinds, then flick off the lights. “You’re looking a little rough, Pete. How about you get some sleep? May told me that she’s planning on getting back in just a couple minutes. In fact,” you pause, listening to the jangle of keys in locks down the hall, “I think she’s here now. Yeah, get some rest.”

Peter reaches out a tired arm to you. “I don’t want to sleep. It’s the middle of the day.”

You roll your eyes but take the outstretched hand anyway. “You always want to sleep. Besides, look at yourself. You’re a few moments from unconsciousness. Just close your eyes for a few minutes, alright?”

Peter mumbles something under his breath about how that’s totally ridiculous and he’s wide awake, but does as told. You stay with him until you hear soft, phlegm-filled snores start to ricochet around the room, then gently pull your hand from Peter’s and slip out of the room.

May’s setting her bags down in the living room, and she smiles at you when she sees you approach. “How’s our contagion victim?”

You let out a quiet laugh. “He’s doing alright. Just fell asleep, actually.”

May nods. “Good, he needs it. You’re so sweet for watching him, Y/N. Peter couldn’t ask for a better boyfriend. He’s always said it, and he’s right.”

You shrug, although you can feel your spine proudly straighten just a little bit when you hear May talk about how much Peter talks about you. “He makes it easy to love him.”

“Yes,” May says wistfully, “he does. Peter’s a good kid. Heaven knows he tries hard enough to make it work.”

“And he does,” you promise, “mostly because he’s got you in his corner. I’m going to head out, but please text me if you need anything. I’ll be over in a minute if necessary.”

May shakes her head, flapping her hand towards the door. “No, flee the infection zone while you can. You kids always have homework to do, don’t you? I don’t want you falling behind just because Peter’s sick.”

You laugh. “I’ll see you soon, May.”

She returns the farewell, and soon enough the door is shutting behind you as you head down the hall. May is right, there is homework you need to do, but there’s another task calling your name before you can even so much as think about calculus problem sets or chemistry notes to take. See, Peter is special not just because he’s the love of your life or a STEM whiz, he’s Spider-Man. Spider-Man can’t take breaks, even if the boy behind the mask feels like he’s on death’s door.

Truth be told, you think that’s what Peter is most worried about. You could see it written all over his face, how terrified he is to not be out patrolling the last few days. Peter has himself convinced that if he leaves the streets of New York alone for even a few rounds of twenty four hours, all the crime in the world will come crawling to his doorstep. If Spider-Man isn’t seen helping people, the thugs and criminals and carjackers will start thinking that it’s alright to come out again, and Peter can’t have that.

Neither can you. So, instead of taking the elevator down to street level, you press the button to go all the way up to the top. There’s a secret stuffed into your backpack, a red and blue suit that you’ve borrowed from your boyfriend. Peter clued you in to his secret identity a long time ago, so you’ve been able to help him with modifications to his Spider-Man suit for the last few iterations of the classic uniform.

This also means that you’re well versed in using it, especially the web shooters. If Peter Parker can’t take up the mantle of the friendly neighborhood hero, that just means someone else will have to step in for the time being, and you’re more than alright with doing just that if it means that burden disappears from your boyfriend’s shoulders while he’s so sick.

After all, it only feels right that someone should share in that grave responsibility. Spider-Man may be the city, but sometimes that means the city gets to be Spider-Man as well. The boy protects the streets, and the streets protect the boy. This is just you doing your part to thank the hero who risks his life for you every single night without fail.

You tug the mask over your face. You don’t know how Peter is able to casually don the suit every night– once you get it on, it feels claustrophobic, clinging to your every muscle and bone yet heavier than you’d thought it would be. Does it not drag him down with every step, reminding him how fragile he is to be a boy leaping from rooftops? Is this job not far too much for him to ever complete?

It must be done, however, so you do what Peter does and grin and bear it. You fire a few test shots of webbing from the gadgets at your wrists, but everything works as you remember. You’re not completely out of your mind– no backflips off of skyscrapers for you, no sir, but you can at least make the various goons and criminals think that Spider-Man wouldn’t take a day off for the world. Continue the ruse, that’s all you have to do.

You find your first job soon enough. An old lady is walking home late at night and someone runs by, liberating her of her purse when she’s distracted in pushing the pedestrian button at a crosswalk. You carefully swing down to that street and chase after the thief, firing a web at his feet to trip him up. Surprised, the thief rears around and throws a punch at you.

You’re not as fast as Peter and the punch lands. It’s a flailing hit and doesn’t have that much of an impact, but fiery lines of hurt still erupt across your shoulder. You grab the purse from the thief and race back to the old lady before much more fighting can happen. She thanks you quite happily. You’re glad to keep up Peter’s legacy of protecting those in need, but man, you are not that good at taking a hit. When you manage to make it back up to the roof, it’s much slower than before, and the ache of the blow doesn’t fade for quite some time.

It makes you wince to think about what Peter’s nights must be like. Sure, Peter has learned to fight since he first started out as Spider-Man, but he’s still just a kid, and there’s only so much you can do. Is this what Peter does every night, protecting the city at the risk of slowly killing himself through bruise after bruise? It makes you want to take up the mantle every single night, even if you’re worse at the job, just to ensure that Peter stays that much safer.

Thus the night continues in much of the same fashion. Thankfully, tonight seems to be a fairly quiet night, and you don’t see much action. This is good, as you’re barely able to do anything. You are just a student, not trained in combat and certainly not used to having to tackle criminals at a moment’s notice.

Peter has told you his usual Spider-Man schedule before, so you call it quits when the hours slip from late night to early morning. You’re called in at last by Peter texting you, asking if you’re in bed. He just wants a phone call, but you’re close to his apartment so you decide to just swing by anyway. Hey, Peter always does it to you, right? You always thought it would be fun to try it for yourself.

Unlike Peter, you’re not able to climb up the side of his apartment building to crawl inside his window, but the elevator does well enough for you. You change back into your regular street clothes before daring to step inside the building, but apparently that still isn’t enough to convince Peter that you’ve been up to normal person activities tonight, even if he’s in a haze due to his sickness.

You’ve barely taken a few steps into his room before Peter’s squinting at you. “Are you alright?” He asks, voice hoarse.

You shrug a bit too quickly. “Of course I am. Why would you ask that?”

In truth, you’re not entirely okay. You took a fair amount of hits tonight in your efforts to keep up the guard as Spider-Man, and they’re already starting to make themselves known. You’re limping a little, but you had tried to hide it when you came into Peter’s space. As usual, he sees through your best attempts to pretend you’re fine.

Peter reaches over to flick on his desk lamp and instantly sucks in a breath.

You wince. “That bad, huh?”

Peter stares at you, horror clouding his eyes. “Y/N, what happened? You’re covered in bruises.”

You can see the self judgements appearing in Peter’s mind, a thousand ways to blame himself for what happened. You hold up a hand hurriedly, trying to stave away Peter’s guilt before it swallows him completely.

“This isn’t your fault, Peter. Trust me, I made this choice. I know you were stressed about not being able to be Spider-Man these last few nights because you were sick, so I wanted to make sure somebody could do it for you. I might not be the best at fighting, obviously, but it worked. The city still thinks you’re fine. It’s alright.”

Peter stares at you for a few seconds longer, then breaks into the most wonderful smile you’ve ever seen. “You did that for me? You went out on patrol for me?”

You grin. “Of course I did, Peter. I don’t want you to be focusing on anything but your own recovery. I’m not half the crime fighter you are, but it did the job.”

Peter holds out an arm to you, and you crawl into his bed, letting Peter pull you into a hug.

Face tucked against the top of your head, Peter speaks. “I don’t know about that. I think you’re my hero.”

You laugh. “As if. You’re the superhero, Peter. You always have been.”

Peter shrugs, the movement making you shift with him. “Every hero needs a hero. You can be mine.”

The two of you continue in that way for a while, both quiet, both happy, and then Peter continues. “I think we both need a good night’s rest, though. Stay the night?”

“Of course,” you whisper back, and you can feel Peter smile against the top of your head.

He has one last thought before the two of you drift off to sleep:  “You’re definitely going to be sick after this, though. Like, there’s no way you’re not getting my germs now.”

“Oh, I am,” you laugh, “no doubt about that. It just means I’m going to make you take care of me after this.”

“I have no problem with that,” Peter murmurs.

It’s easy to let your eyes close after that, to let unconsciousness pull you under and paint you a dream-world in which you have a boy who loves you unconditionally. It is the very world in which you exist right now.

marvel tag list: @namoreno, @thatfangirl42, @rogueanschel, @mycosmicparadise, @ellobruv, @caswinchester2000, @with-inked-solace, @sher-lokid7, @amortensie, @23victoria, @watchreadfangirlrepeat, @gods-fools-heroes, @w1shes43

[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 209

Thank you everyone who is still here after the last chapter... Your patience with the world’s weirdest plot point is appreciated. Also, everyone who came for the story and has stayed for the doodles.

Also appreciated: @baelpenrose for beta work on this chapter, as always.

Happy Halloween, Samhain, and Day of the Dead (I don’t know the correct salutation to that lost one, so apologies and let me know if you know what it should be) to everyone who celebrates them, since the next chapter won’t come until afterwards.

The first thing I thought as I walked into my office was Why does it smell like jalapeno and cinnamon?

That particular train of thinking ended as abruptly as my stride when I noticed the walls.  Immediate impressions were simply “orange”, and only slightly improved when I realized why - everywhere I looked, my office, my sacred working space, was covered floor-to-ceiling in pumpkins.

“Floor.” I blurted out in emphasis. “Why floor?”

Hannah just waved the question away. “Why not floor? Why not ceiling? Why not both?”

With no small degree of dawning horror, I slowly rolled my eyes upward at the ceiling.  “Puh,” I squeaked as I took in the sight of my ceiling coated in a thick layer of moving yellow fuzz, only scant patches of orange showing through. The bags in my hands hit the floor with a dull thud, and all I could do was gape.

Something warm was pressed into my hand as I tried to comprehend what I was looking at. I started piecing together that the pumpkin art was being removed by Else, who seemed to be enjoying their treat with singular abandon. “Parvati?” I asked.

“She found the paint pens, yes.” Hannah’s voice was suddenly deeper, far more droll, and severely British.  Her hands were also noticeably larger as she steered me to a chair to sit in front of her.  I only realized it was actually Alistair when he plunked a lid and a straw on my coffee. “I don’t trust you to drink freely in your current state.”

Definitely Alistair.

I took a couple of careful sips, focusing on the artificial alertness sizzling in my half-shocked brain. “Extra espresso?”

“And extra sugar, yes.”

“Thanks.” Gradually, I took everything in while slurping contentedly.  Pumpkins really were painted everywhere. It was like a fever dream, a sensation only enhanced as I watched Else trundle along the ceiling in blissful ignorance of gravity. “Did she have to do the ceiling and the floor?”

Hannah sighed and screwed her mouth to the side. “Just be glad she ran out of paint halfway through your desk.” When I started to snap my head around to look, she placed a hand over mine and squeezed gently. “Else already ate that, it’s clean.”

I slumped in slight relief. “Then it could have clearly been worse. Somehow.”

An ear-splitting shriek proved me horribly wrong. All eyes turned toward the door, and both Hannah and I were half-standing as it slid open to reveal a bouncing, squealing version of my sister that was clearly summoned from the depths of hell. “My office is covered in ghosts and skeletons!” she cried in delight as she bounded forward before stopping short. “Oh wow, that’s a lot of pumpkins….”

Parvati was one step behind her, wiggling a finger in her left ear to banish the inevitable ringing that would have resulted in such close proximity to a noise that penetrated bulkheads. Karma at its finest, in my judgment.

Half-glaring, I nodded. “Eyeah. Helluva scene to walk into half asleep, I’ll go ahead and tell you that. Also, why don’t I have skeletons and ghosts?”

“Why don’t I have pumpkins?” Tyche demanded.

Flicking her braid over one shoulder, Parvati drew herself into a confident pose. “Different colors evoke different emotions.  I made sure to use oranges in Sophia’s office because I know she struggles to wake up in the mornings, and it’s a bright and wakeful, but cheery, color.  It evokes energy! And the spicy scents of jalapeno and cinnamon are warming and comforting, reducing possible anxiety in the face of a full workday - “

Hannah interrupted. “She also ran out of white and gray.”

“Shut up, Hannah,” her counterpart hissed playfully. “I used whites and grays in Tyche’s office because the subtlety of the colors against the neutral bulkheads would be less distracting and also lend itself to the ethereal quality of the skeletons and ghosts….”

I rubbed my temples gently in mock frustration. “Promise me you didn’t do this anywhere else?”

She paused before venturing slowly, “I may have also painted Professor Farro’s office.”

“SO HELP ME CTHULU if you used red in his office…!” Alistair shouted, panicking.

Hannah started snorting, and Tyche pulled an about-face to hide her smile. To her credit, Parvati looked extremely confused. “I used blue? You know: trust, detachment? And a big dose of ‘chill the fuck out’ just in case?”

Alistair was still scowling until Hannah was able to get her laughter under control. “Also, you already ate all the red on your scones, Worthington. I promise, there wasn’t even enough to fake a mild sunburn, much less paint Arthur’s office with it.”

He reached a shaky hand for a chair to steady himself until he could sit in it. “The mental image of Farro steepling his fingers and staring over them like some creep from those anime he enjoys was simply too much. I daresay he would wear his glasses and leave his office door open, just for the occasion.”

I started to laugh, but then the exact image he was talking about popped in my head. With my third, fresh dawning horror of the day, I turned my head toward my assistant. “Please tell me neither of you possess a hair straightener?”

“I do not, but I can only speak for myself.”

As hilarious as the mental image of Arthur Farro dressing up as Gendo Ikari for Halloween was, I had serious doubts that everyone on the Ark would be well versed enough in late-Twentieth Century pop culture to know it was a costume.  I was entirely sure that not enough would know it was a joke to persuade anyone that Farro had not, in fact, gone full genocidal dictator overnight.

“Fuuuuuck fuckfuckfuckfuck,” I started chanting. Finishing off my coffee, I started giving out directions. “Parvati, do nothing. Seriously. Nothing else. Hannah, I need you to call Charly and let her know not to make any more red paint without authorization from myself or Xiomara.  Alistair, Tyche, I would tell you to hold down the fort, but it would be like telling you to breathe, so just do what you do, please.”

“Where are you going?” Tyche demanded as I bolted for the door.

“To warn Xiomara that it’s a joke!” I shouted over my shoulder. “Potatoes in bags on the floor, help yourselves, I’ll be baaaaack!”

The door closed behind me just as I heard a confused voice ask “Potatoes?”

I was panting when I reached Xio’s office and frantically started requesting entry. The door was only slightly cracked when I heard her snap “WHAT?”

“There was a prank!” I shouted as the door opened enough for me to enter. “I don’t think it was meant to be a prank, but there was a prank and Arthur got dragged into it, and I need to make sure you know that he isn’t actually a genocidal maniac hellbent on bringing a deceased love back from the dead at the cost of his own child and any others he can get his hands on.” I was gasping for air when I finished, and entirely unphased by Xiomara’s expression.

“Youuuuu need a med eval…” she responded, flicking open her datapad while keeping an eye on me.

Diving forward, I shook her wrist to dismiss the datapad. Three seconds later, I was staring up at her from the floor, shoulder aching and wrist sprained. Probably. “Well, I sure as fuck do now, Jesus Christ, Xio. Just let me explain before you put me in the hug jacket okay?”

“Fifteen seconds.”

Generous of her. “Parvati painted Arthur’s office for the holiday, only he’s going to think it was a prank if it looks anything like mine did. We both know he is going to go overboard in retaliation, because Arthur. My best guess is that he is going to paint his office red and dress up like Gendo Ikari, who you can look up in the database to understand why I came to warn you.”

“Three seconds left.” Impressed, she helped me up off the floor. “So, you are warning me because…?”

“Because we are trying to warn Charly not to make him any paint until we can explain it was well-intentioned, but just in case Hannah can’t reach her in time to head it off from that direction, you are going to get complaints.”

“From students?”

“From passersby. There isn’t a chance this side of death that he would go to those lengths and not let everyone walking past his office see what he’s done. You know how much pride he takes in a job well done.”

“And triple that in a well-executed prank,” she nodded. “I’m going to look up the name you gave me, and if you promise not to try to grab me again, I’ll let you keep the other wrist and skip the psych hold.”

Cradling my already throbbing arm, I nodded.  I was still pretty sure it was only sprained, but I couldn’t move it very well so concern was starting to set in alongside the pain.

Her nod told me she found the relevant images, but when her eyes widened I realized that she was reading the background profile. “No wonder you sounded like your grip on reality slipped…. And this was an actual entertainment that people watched?”

“Hey!” I objected. “It makes more sense when you are watching it.” Granted, not much, but at least some.  “You would be astonished the number of people who remember it fondly as their first exposure to the genre.”

She just shook her head. “You can keep your religious hallucination television, thank you…. The creator was having an active psychiatric episode while writing this!?”

“Allegedly.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me. You had Derek plant this, right?”

“Not even I could make up that show, four manga, and six films.”

“SIX?”

“What can I say? We didn’t like the ending. Or the other ending. Or the other other ending.”

She dismissed her datapad and stood, hands held up in a defensive posture. “Nope. Not doing it. You said ‘we’, which means you’re part of it. Thank you for the warning that Farro may go overboard, please leave my office.”

I turned toward the door, grumbling. “Geez, you didn’t even see how bad the ship wars for that one were…”

“OUT! NOW!”

<<Prev       Masterlist     Next>>

[catsandgoodbooks]

No. 22: “They never saw us coming, ‘til they hit the floor.”

Glass Shard | Vehicular Accident | “Watch out!”

Not my finest work but okay, I'll probably come back and edit this sometime during November

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

“Hey, Dream?” Technoblade glanced over at the blond man huddling under Techno’s cape in the corner. He hadn’t spoken in hours, and Techno was starting to get worried. He’d only been here for a couple days, so maybe he didn’t have full context, Chat, but it was still justified. Dream was never quiet, at least not as long as Techno had known him. “You okay?”

“No, I’m not,” Dream muttered. His grip unconsciously tightened, pulling the cape tighter around himself. “You came.”

“And that’s a bad thing? You’re not alone anymore, right? Isn’t that a good thing?” Techno questioned. From what he knew, Dream being alone was absolutely not a good thing. Someone like that needed companionship, connections, other people around them. Either way, Techno had never been much of a fan of solitary confinement itself. Guess it came with being an anarchist. A package deal sort of situation.

Dream laughed weakly, bitterly. “If you’re looking at it that way, I guess. But you weren’t supposed to end up here! You weren’t supposed to come!”

“What, I’m not allowed to visit my old rival and become roomies?” Techno joked.

“Not when I’m counting on you to get me out of here!” Dream hissed. “Whatever. Doesn’t matter now,” he said, mostly to himself.

“Look.” Dream glared at Techno. “This isn’t just–some visit. You’re stuck here now, with me. You can’t leave. I was trusting you to break me out, so you being trapped here too completely derails everything. You’re just putting yourself in danger,” he added glumly.

“I think I can take care of myself, Dream,” Technoblade replied. “It might do you some good to worry about yourself first, y’know?”

Dream scoffed. “There isn’t anything I can do, Techno! Now that you’re here, Sam can do whatever he wants to you and when he comes–”

“It’ll be fine,” Techno interrupted. He wasn’t a slow learner, so it hadn’t been hard to pick up on the mysterious him Dream sometimes mentioned (or, worse, Sir, but that only came up when Dream wasn’t lucid, when he crying out during a nightmare or waking up from one), and he didn’t want to talk about whoever that was right now. (Technoblade did have to find out who he was, because he needed a name and face to be able to go hunting for them and enforce a little bit of karma, because you treated people the way they treated you and the people you cared about and whoever he was absolutely was not treating Dream well) “We’ll get out of here, and they won’t see us coming ‘til they hit the floor,” Techno promised.

A small, spiteful smile worked its way onto Dream’s face despite his best efforts. “Fine. I’m holding you to that, though.”

[hotelkarmainn]

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[almostfancywombat]

wip prologue

What happens when the muse becomes enthralled by the artist?

a/n: if y'all couldn't tell, i'm working through something. i just realized the weight of what happened to me (the reality of it all) and cannot cope :( idk when this will be finished or if it ever will be. just posting the prologue thingy to get it out there, sorta like a mile marker

Wherever Victoria went, the stench of varnish and acrylics wafted. It permeated her dreams, and when she awoke at midnight, when moonlight squeezed through slats of blinds shielding the window panes, she smelled it. Saw it, the wisps of colors riding on the wind, the watery pink slosh slipping down her throat. In the past week, she had accidentally consumed enough paint water to stain her insides. She downed the concoction by the mouthful.

In surrealist, eye-piercing beams of moonlight, she felt the tumult, the watery pink staining her tongue, flakes of paint entering her lungs.  Dispelling the poison, she hacked and coughed. Cradling her side, she sputters specks into the crook of her elbow. When she pulled away, she saw bits of pink, pale red. 

“God,” Victoria murmured, chest heaving. It was barely autumn of sophomore year, and already, she regretted not dying during her retreat in Belize. There would have been no better time to go; tenderly caring to others, destroying herself, producing her finest works. 

She always imagined dying in charity, in a way that matters, but as she finally overcame her brush with death, only a dreary gray life reflected. Instead of something worthwhile, art, the dreaded thing, might be her causus vivendi and causa expiciendi. Perfectly balanced, as all things ought to have been, but between two extremes, there was little room for living. 

Freshly freed from slumber’s cocoon, she eased onto her feet. Her legs wobbled, so she crouched and slid down the side of her bed. Head thrown back, she sighed. She became a statue, determined not to move until sunshine peppered her face, until gardens grew around her. 

In quietude, shadows curled around the room and danced. Leaves imprinted their criss crossing pattern against her skin, creating mottled spots. She imagined a ghost outside, shaking the tree, trying to capture her attention, desperate to speak loud enough to permit its voice to carry on the wind and into her ears. 

Victoria couldn’t hear. Couldn’t see. There was a graveyard in her mind, where all good things went to die. She wished she could treasure things without them spoiling, but her touch was like summer heat to cheese. 

Nothing was beautiful anymore, and her search was becoming desperate. Despite not registering, she had attended a lecture on classics, then with that professor who spoke about gods. All highly specialized people were insane in some way. 

His lessons hadn’t wrought any cosmic revelations, but at the very least, his lessons inspired the theme of this semester’s collection: fortune and misfortune, faith and disbelief, futility gambling life away to the hands of the omnipotent. What was faith if not suspension of disbelief? 

Victoria was not religious, but she imagined that if she were, she’d have been raptured and whisked away to wherever artists went once they got it. Success in this field was a pipe dream, especially when she was suffering from an artist’s greatest affliction.  It must’ve been karma. She’d never believed in burnout or artist’s block, but with only two weeks remaining before the fall semester wound to a close, she was without a centerpiece for her collection and barely two weeks from the deadline imposed by the dean of her faculty. 

Maybe she needed something greater than a scholarship to fight for, because it didn’t scare her to know that in two weeks, she either might be coasting through classes until March or a dropout. The balance of her life rested in the value of a single, stupid painting. Any more of this, and she’d be drained of all artistic merit by the year’s end.

Maybe dropping out wasn’t as terrible of an option as she thought. Victoria could neither afford to spare the tuition costs nor the mental load producing each piece took. She could never abandon her education, but she could always forsake art. It had yet to do her any good. Fiscally or otherwise, she would never find it profitable so long as she hated the act of creating and was no longer certain which part of her soul it entailed. 

She had exhausted herself of inspiration, doodled all her friends and immortalized them on canvas, far too many times. She could practically count every one of their pores and they have seen Victoria dangling cliffside so often that she’d made a uniform of sweatpants and whatever non-stale shirt she plucked from her wardrobe. 

She managed to greet Ama and stumbled out the door. She wasn’t late but skipped breakfast, mouth still flooded with the lingering taste of paint water. There was a slight chill in the air, winter’s precursor. It was expected to snow this year. Maybe if these cataclysmic events kept occurring, she wouldn’t have to make any more decisions; the world would simply end. Maybe it already had, and she was racing through a pre-mortem surge before she crumbled to stardust. 

She drew her sweater closer, tugging the neckline up. Stray strands of hair caressed her face, whipping about as she slid into the driver’s seat. Hands settled on the steering wheel, she stared ahead at another crumbling line of homes with crummy paint jobs and heaps of scrap metal, beer. Stoops were occupied by sunrise drinkers, shouting scraps of incoherency. Their cheeks flushed from alcohol and the cold. Futuristic ghosts with their chilling resonance. Each was a promise of what she could become. 

With a sigh, she shifted gears and pulled forward onto a road. The car rattled along, jostling over the craggy, uneven ground.

“Goddamn shitty road,” Victoria sighed, praying it would last just another two years. She’d even give her car a Viking funeral if it pulls through; she rewarded her comrades kindly. 

The radio was broken, so the only soundtrack was the car’s cacophony of rumbling parts. Fortunately, Victoria managed to pull into the university’s parking lot and slid into her favorite spot without incident. On her way out, she grabbed her bag from the passenger’s side and dragged over, too lazy to go make the effort to go around and retrieve it.

The handle snagged on the rear-view mirror, knocking it askew. Sighing, she readjusted it and paused, jarred by her reflection. Bruises beneath her eyes framed the little red veins in the sclera. Mouth agape, she nearly looked like a fish. But with a wide, pointed noise and frazzled hair, she looked more like a blobfish. She wished her face was as disfigured as one.  She didn’t enjoy being perceived. 

What to paint when her only friend was the mirror? A self-portrait is too trite, and it would never be about Victoria because she’d implode if it was. Theoretically, she could ask her friends, but Katherine was out of town, off doing Cool Katherine Things, and like his worrisome, lovesick self, Justin allocated his weekend to watching her compete in a tournament. She wouldn’t even dare to inconvenience him. It wasn’t that he’d object; it was that he’d miraculously try to find a way to make it all work and be miserable every step of the process. He’d smile and bear it, claiming he was glad to help, but Victoria knew better. They were alike in that self-sacrificing regard.

But Justin was her closest friend and everyone else was out of state on early holidays, visiting family, on expensive ski trips, or all of them at once. Kit’s parents lived a town over, but he despised the commute and was probably lurking somewhere in the library. Still, Victoria was certain he’d sooner bite her head off than loan her the time of day. Plus, the bastard still owed her some Tupperware. 

She trudged inside, then up a flight of stairs to reach her lecture hall. On the second floor, it offered a full-wall window and view of the walkways, an infamous spot where the cement was raised and people wasted hours watching freshmen trip. 

It was a class only a dozen others were unfortunate enough to have, and this unit focused on the art of translating in medical settings. As if she didn’t already have the experience; all immigrant children should’ve been mandated for financial compensation for their efforts at interpreting. She recalled a particularly terrible evening when she fell sick during the long drive to Austin, and Ama pulled over at a small clinic in the countryside. 

Only, the pain continued even after her treatment because she was whisked out of the clinic and made to inform a lone elderly woman that she’d have to get screened for cancer. 

Busy jotting notes and trying not to think about her, Victoria didn’t even notice the door swinging open, the footsteps trudging her way. Only when chair legs stuttered over the carpet did she seek the source of the noise. Looking up, she cracked a smile. 

Despite not sharing any classes, Justin would appear on whims. Victoria’s professor knew him well enough not to cause a fuss and no one in college really cared about anything, so he slid in the seat next to her and propped his laptop open. He reached into his bag and slid a small brown bag across the table. Unceremoniously, it collapsed. 

“I got you a kolache,” he said, nudging her. “If you’re still hungry, I have a protein shake and granola.” 

“Okay?” She was thankful for the food and didn’t want to question his sixth sense for these things, lest the universe suddenly deem her unworthy. “How did you know where I was? And why stop by? Just send me a message.”

“You always have your location on. Also, you weren’t answering your phone.” His elbow dug into her side, warranting a harsh slap to his arm. “Do you want to come with me to Katherine’s tournament? I miss you. We both do.” 

Victoria gestured around at the class, but Justin remained unfazed. Prior, she had declined several invitations, alongside an offer to view an up-and-coming artist’s gallery. It wasn’t that she hated the world, but that it seemed to hate her. Nothing was ever organized when she had time and the proper mental amenities to socialize. 

She couldn’t even focus on class without thinking about how it might’ve been her last. As much as she despised the conditions, she needed that measly three thousand. School would be unaffordable without it but maintaining it meant bouts of isolation, then the depression that came when nothing lived up to standards. 

Just as Victoria prepared to slam her head onto the desk, she turned and saw Her through the window, arm-in-arm with a girl from the volleyball team. They traipsed across the quad, throwing their heads back in laughter. The pale, thin column of her neck was barred. They walked in the shade, nearly stomping on the grass when they laughed so viscerally and pushed against each other, almost like they were in a competition. 

The other girl said something, then pinched the nonexistent fat on Milan’s exposed ribs. She wore a cute crop top with frilly sleeves and a nicely fitted skirt. Although Victoria wouldn’t know the brand, she knew the girl’s sneaker game was always on point. 

Even from a distance, Victoria saw a subtle clench in Milan’s jaw, a certain droop to her eyelids. It was clear that she was unamused. She was fuming, but that part of her was only for Victoria. 

After another exaggerated laugh, they continued, arm-in-arm again, this time slower, with Milan setting the pace. In her grumpy mood, she shuffled along, inconveniencing the other girl with a radiant smile. 

Milan’s sunglasses slipped from her head, clattering to the cement. Startled, she pushed past the other girl and crouched to retrieve the accessory. Cradling it like an injured bird, she looked angelic as rays of light rained down through the canopy. 

Victoria studied her for any imperfections; it was Texas and scalding hot. Melting was inevitable, but Milan wasn’t sweating because the sun zapped it off. It beamed down on Milan, turning her dark eyes the shade of caramel. Her hair became orange flames. A glimmer from the colorful lens reflected on her skin.

There she was, presented in her truest form; misaligned bits of overwhelming sunshine. She was beautiful. She was torture. It pained Victoria to know that such a person was her friend. 

She chewed her check, then something metallic filled her mouth. A friend. So she could rely on her a little, right? 

Well, it’s worth a shot. 

Sighing, she plucked her phone from her pocket. She saw twelve unread messages from Justin and felt his glare. She tried not to choke as she typed out a message. 

(You) Look I know you're busy and we’re kinda not talking right now…

but I really need to ask you for a favor 

Victoria viewed her through the window, watching Milan stop and detach from her companion. She plopped down onto one of the stone benches lining the walkway, lounging more lordly than the sun. Shifting in her seat, Victoria attempted to divert her gazel it felt strangely voyeuristic, but she experienced not even an ounce of shame, venerated as Milan perked up, fingers flying across the screen. Moments later, Victoria’s phone pinged. 

(Milan) Don't tell me over text, just come for me 

I'm outside your building

Scoffing, Victoria turned off the screen and shoved it back into her pocket. The girl is crazy if she thinks Victoria will skip. Milan would just have to wait until class was over. 

“You’re crazy,” said Justin, shaking his head. “Just stop hanging with that bitch already. She’s not good for you.” 

Pointedly, she smacked his arm. He yelped and cradled his elbow, glaring. Victoria couldn’t turn her back on Milan. She knew her before she knew herself. Everything she was, was because of her. 

Not good for her? Milan was her. Just as much as Victoria made her. 

“Girls support girls,” she said. “Bitches be tripping, but I be bitches sometimes.” 

“You’re not, but lie with them and get fleas.” His brows furrowed. “Do you get what I’m saying?”

“I’m no better than anyone else, Justin. I be bitches sometimes,” she blandly repeated, finally meeting his gaze. Like waves reaching the shore, he shyly receded. Victoria liked playing this game. It was like he's a guy at a casino, and she gambled whenever she tried to make him shy. The win was always so sweet. 

“Message received,” he huffed, rolling his eyes. Gathering his belongings, he made quick work of cramming them into his bag. “If you want to spend the day with her instead of your actual friends, then go ahead. Just text me if she starts being weird.” 

Milan being weird? He may as well have asked her to alert him if Milan breathed. She may not be Victoria’s brand of peculiar, but she was still an oddity, indeed. Nevertheless, as she intended, she would not bother him. 

“Fuck,” Justin hisses beneath his breath, checking his phone. Victoria peered over, and he turned the device toward her. “My cousin says repairs are running two hours behind schedule. Even if you don’t, I really want to see Katherine slay. Can I take your car later?” 

She nearly agreed but quickly invented a lie. Considering how the vehicle ran on hopes and dreams and was probably thrice overdue on an oil change, Justin’s psychic senses would somehow know such, causing him a mental breakdown. She was in no mood to be chastised, 

Hissing through her teeth, she shook her head. “I would, but I have some off-campus chores today.” 

Pulling out his phone again, he checked his calendar. “Okay?” 

She chewed her tongue. He didn’t have to ask because she already sensed it. “Well, I need to pick up Ama, get an oil change, and…” She struggled to get around implying that the vehicle was only holding up because it was welded by tears and too many spilled, high-fructose drinks. “And I just ordered some supplies, that new Oineza album, and a photo book, so I also really need to check my PO box.” 

With both Victoria and Ama’s cars taking turns intermittently breaking down, the household can only afford to keep one running. As it goes, her mother takes priority; at the very least, she appreciated each day like it was the last. 

But Justin didn’t need to know that. The last thing she wanted was to trigger one of his episodes. She could barely handle them as a friend and was too scared to ask about it. He wasn’t intimidating, but he was someone she still wouldn’t mind not knowing too well. 

“You have a PO? Fancy.” Shrugging, he typed out her list, stating his intentions to complete it. She wanted to object, but it would take an hour of unnecessary chores off her plate. Without it, she’d have more time to contemplate how much she liked painting and staying in college. 

Begrudgingly, Victoria ceded. He must’ve really wanted to see Katherine. 

“For what it’s worth,” she said, voice low and warning, “it’s an actual piece of shit. Don’t drive on the highways and don’t go over fifty.” 

There was a glimmer of something sharp, then his eyes drooped into their usual tired expression. “Alright. But just so you know, this isn't—” 

“Isn’t very safe, and I’m liable for an early death. Yeah, I get it, but I can’t afford much better. Just go and support your girl.” 

“Why are you acting weird?” He whispered. “You’re still my girl too, you know. We’re not—” 

“Nothing, nothing! I was thinking about how I’ll get back, but I’ll just ask Kit for a ride. He’s still kinda an ass but I think it’s just because he was raised in the UK. There’s also how I don’t feel comfortable with—” 

In a single fluid motion, Justin pulled out his wallet, flipped it open and presented her with his bus card. 

“Dude, I can’t use this,” she said. Staring at the picture, she realized it wasn’t his card, but a card. “Great job, Justie. I can totally use this card because I clearly look like a someone male named Somchai Boonam.” 

“We’re all broke students,” he pressed. “Trust me, no one cares. Jeremiah drives today. I’ll text him ahead of time to make sure you won’t get in trouble.” 

“Like I said, I’ll just ask someone else. I don’t know what happens when you use someone else’s card, and I don’t want to.” 

She tried to slide it back over, but he placed his hand atop her. 

“Uh, no.” He said, and that was the end of the bus pass debate “You’ll also forget about your chores if you don’t do it now and I don’t feel safe with the idea of you driving around in this, so just be patient let me get everything in order. Also, I’ll text my cousin to give you a discount on…” he scrutinizes you, “whatever it takes to fix your car, so you have no reason to object. I’ll fill up on gas when I return it, too.” 

Despite the overwhelming kindness, she felt icky. Victoria’s friends were deranged saints. She couldn’t counter their energy. She was passive and will try to reciprocate, but it felt like she was persistently falling in debt to them. 

It didn’t feel much like friendship at times and was more akin to pre-school. They’d let her wander, do stupid things, smear finger paint on walls and rugs, then she’d receive a scolding before she was left unattended to repeat it all again. 

Wordless, she tossed the keys at him. 

“Tank you,” she sang in defeat. 

Justin departed, accompanied by a contented sigh. 

*** 

Sure enough, Victoria kept Milan waiting until the end of the lecture, twenty-past-four. She made sure to yell it at Victoria as she jumped to her feet. 

“So, I wanted to ask about modeling for me,” she admitted, shoulders drooping. “I haven’t felt inspired, but I saw you and thought—” 

Low and warning, she cut in. “You kept me waiting. You should make it up.”

“I will, but c’mon,” she said while tugging on her sleeve. She refused to budge and stubbornly remained. “Milan! Please, just follow me. I got a deadline to make, and I’ll do anything. Just… Help me. Please. I need you.”

“Good.” Milan smiled, displaying her perfect teeth. Sauntering over, she wrapped an arm around Victoria’s shoulders. “That’s what I wanted to hear.” 

She was compliant, allowing Victoria to guide her along the meandering path to the Arts Center. Entering ahead of her, Victoria shook her off and picked up the pace. Shoes scuffled against the floor in a desperate game of catch-up. 

“Vic, wait,” Milan called, pout evident in her voice. 

She rushed through the halls that served as a gallery, past her section in the student hall. She was immortalized here, or rather, her aesthetic was. A small self-portrait of her greeted visitors and a plaque beneath detailed the start of what everyone assumed would be a long, illustrious career. 

Victoria’s favorite studio was the most secluded and looked the least like a fishbowl. Others might’ve been fine being observed, but hers was no performance art. Unlocking the door with a swipe of her ID, she ushered Milan inside. She dropped her belongings on the floor. A tube of paint tumbled out, and before she could stop her, Milan stepped in right after her. 

“No, Milan, don’t—” 

She stepped on the tube. Sixteen dollars of carmine red splatter across her sneakers, her legs. Dots of it speckle across her face. Red, everywhere.

I hate you I hate you I hate you I hate you I hate you. 

Now came Victoria’s turn to bleed. Vitriol spewed through her brain. Snatching the tube from beneath her, she tried to keep calm. But she squeezed it in a fit of rage and gore fell right into her hands. 

“It’s alright,” said Milan, placating, enclosing a hand over Victoria’s while the other settled on her knee. Squishing between their conjoined palms, the red stained hers too, seeped beneath her nails. “My shoes are fine. I can just get a new pair.” 

Victoria looked at her, those big, round eyes narrowed to surgical points. Impulsively, she wiped a smudge of paint off Milan’s cheek. She complied, allowing her to preen until her face was spotless. 

She recoiled, jumping to her feet and skipping over to her bag. There were some wet wipes in there, and in anticipation, Milan stretched her legs out. Victoria gave her a puzzled look but complied, hooking a hand beneath her knee to brace herself. She did a quick wipe down, but her skin was tinged pink. 

Milan traced Victoria’s profile with her gaze. “Why aren’t you looking at me?”

“I’m sorry.” Dejected, she pulled away. “It’s not your fault, but I’m upset because it was expensive.” 

“So were my clothes, but I’m not acting pissy about it. I could buy you two more of those for how much my shirt costs.”

Victoria winced. “Sorry. I have an extra shirt from a merch thing I did yesterday. I wore it for like, an hour then changed, but it might be dirty.” 

Without warning Milan stood. Stumbling a little, she giggled and braced herself against the wall. Reaching out, she caught the shirt and immediately began lifting her paint-stained one. 

Victoria craned her neck, viewing the ornate molding. What a shame that modern architecture stripped most buildings of their beauty. She’d rather be miserable like a Victorian than whatever strange archeological limbo the world currently existed in. 

“Milan!” She turned away, a surge of heat traveling to her face. 

“I don’t mind,” she said, already topless.

Using her shirt, she wiped away the paint and discarded it. Slipping on Victoria’s, she mumbled about the material and faint scent. Self-conscious, Victoria grabbed her sweater and tugged it over her nose. It didn’t smell like anything, but maybe she was too accustomed to existing in herself. 

Although Milan was now spotless, she remained tainted; little abrasions arose from where Victoria scrubbed too hard. “What’s this?" 

“Nothing,” Victoria muttered. “Just a design I did for a recent merch drop. It was in collab with a local singer.”

“Why are you acting weird?” She bluntly asked, moving closer. 

“I’m not. I just never got over how easily you change around others.” 

“I was in softball,” Dragging a stool toward Victoria, she sat in it backwards. Arms curled around the back, she propped her head atop them. 

A bit of her tummy folded over the waistband of her jeans. Good. That meant she was eating. Victoria gave a sigh of relief; she had been slacking. She needed to be around more to help monitor her intake; just because she was doing good didn’t mean it would stay that way. She had to keep her on track, to praise her body no matter the form, to show her how beautiful she was. Because that was what friends did; they were unconditional and always sought the best for each other. 

She noticed Victoria staring and gasped, covering her chest. Then, once she was furiously shaking her head, smiled. “Do you want me like this?” 

“Well, I have something for you to wear,” Victoria said, jumping to her feet. Rushing to the wall, she retrieved a bag from off a pipe that served as a makeshift rack. Unzipping it, a dress spilled out. Squealing, Milan rushed over and ripped it from her grasp. “I literally fought a mean French girl from the Theatre Department for this, so please be gentle.” 

“Sure, I will,” she cooed, already tugging it free. 

Affirmed by her earlier actions, Victoria distracted herself by setting up her workstation. To avoid the awkwardness of silence, she grabbed her phone and pressed play. Her favorite jazz singer blared, but Milan demanded a much more mellow and standard tune. With the immaculate vibe ruined, Victoria retrieved a canvas and easel, then applied a foundational layer of white.

“So how’ve you been?” said Milan, huffing from the effort.

“Oh, nothing much.” Victoria hummed, mimicking her sing-song tone and twang. She began layering colors in square chunks. “Kiko took me to an art show, and I met this insufferable Czech prick.”

Despite the arduous encounter, she was overjoyed to finally have a chance to utilize her Czech courses from her one year at community college, along with Kiko’s lessons in Dealing with Douchebaggery 101. If she wanted to make it in his world, she would have to learn to tolerate people like that. Smile, nod, keep sweet, and deceive. As long as she was not herself, she would make it far.

When Milan began humming and shuffling, she turned around with a smile. It quickly withered when she realized Milan was rifling through a left-behind sketchbook. She noticed the staring but continued flipping. 

“Thanks for doing this,” Victoria said, gesturing her over. “I’m glad I picked you. I was going to get someone rando from the school’s theatre troop unless I felt inspired.” 

Dragging a stool over, Milan obliged. Smiling, she draped herself across it and struck a pose.  Immediately, Victoria began flinging blotches of color onto the canvas. She didn’t even bother with an outline: she saw Milan as she wanted her. She saw her as she was.

Time passed in a flurry, but Milan remained still, erected in stone. Without her distracting, Victoria finished laying out the colors and configured the base layer. She stepped aside to allow Milan to view, but she was eerily silent in her assessment. 

“Do you…” Victoria thickly swallowed. “Do you like it so far?” 

Fluttering up from her painted visage, mascara-clad eyes pinned her in place. Victoria had always felt unsettled by her gaze, its intensity. Even when she didn’t wear those lenses, her eyes pierced right through Victoria’s soul. 

Moments passed, then an eternity before Milan exhaled.  In a duet, she held the canvas to her chest, dancing around. Victoria wanted to reprimand, but she was walking on air. Milan smiles were all because of her. She wondered how long it would last.

“I’m in love.” Her waltz came to an abrupt end. Still cradling her portrait, “Do I get to keep it? Can I go to the unveiling with you? So sorry I missed last year’s, but I was busy. I’ll put you in my schedule, this time.  I promise.” 

She was taken aback. Milan wanted it? She wanted to treasure Victoria’s mediocrity? She was the muse; of course it would be hers. 

“It’s you. It’s yours,” she mindlessly said, slumping over. “But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

I gave it to you before it even existed. Art—that’s what you are to me, no matter how sick and twisted everyone thinks you might be.  

“I did,” said Milan, cradling her face. Then and there, Victoria committed the image to memory. She’d have to rework the vision to reflect her splendor. “I shouldn’t have to ask. I just want to make sure you remembered.”

[skz8fatelux]

Hello Stays!

I am a SKZ fanfic writer. I have a new story up on AO3, please check it out if you'd like!

Felix should just swim away and ignore the sailor. That’s his duty, as a protector of his people, to only think about his people. This human doesn’t matter. He deserves it. Humans have caused harm to mermaids for centuries. It’s karma at its finest.

Yet...

The sailor stops thrashing, his body finally giving up, his lungs running out of air as he sinks deeper into the ocean.

Something inside Felix snaps.

--------

please check it out ! <3

[bestastrologerinuk]

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