#so external saving like a boss

[skzdarlings]

i do ; skz ; felix x reader

requested by anonymous: ' I would love if you could use these prompts...on Felix x fem reader:❛ i love that no one else has seen you like this, that no one else has felt you before, been inside you. they don't get to have you, but i do. ❜❛ you're mine. you've always been mine. ❜I love possessive Felix, istg i would give amything to have him' plus two anonymous requests for: 'i'd say you need someone to put you in your place' for felix.

pairing: lee felix/reader content info: look this request was for possessive!felix and so possessive!felix i delivered. he is a little weirdo in this tbh. but i think after all my anti-rich-guy stories, i have earned the right for one problematic possessive mafia boss who throws his money and his dick around hahaha. so yes, possessive!felix, virgin!reader, wedding night, arranged marriage, felix being a criminal boss, insta-love. reader's backstory involves a verbally abusive/neglectful family. explicit sexual content. word count: 4000 words.

masterlist. part of the valentine’s day stories series. credit to prompts. requests are closed.

enjoy <3

-

Your new husband is astoundingly pretty.   You expected a different face to be waiting at the end of the wedding aisle: harsh, old, scarred.  Maybe, if you let yourself fantasize, he would be handsome in a rugged way. 

You were not expecting Felix.  Slender, delicate Felix with his high cheekbones and freckles, his dark eyes and feather-soft blonde hair.  He smiled a dimpled smile as your father surrendered your hand. 

That surrender was a visual representation of a literal transaction.  You were a bartering tool to save your father’s business.  You knew an arranged marriage was inevitable when a few trades went sour and the company went bankrupt.  The family could only maintain relevancy and safety through a match to someone more powerful. 

Lee Felix is the heir to a very dirty criminal syndicate that blends in high society.  Everyone knows their money is blood-spattered, but they throw a good party and the jewels sparkle the same.

You knew his name long before the wedding.  Of course you knew his name.  But you did not know his face.  You expected a devil, not a vision of divinity, resplendent in white and gold. 

Your heart has not stopped racing since he first lifted your veil and kissed you with lips softer and gentler than your grandest fantasies. 

Now you are perched on a lavish bed in a beautiful penthouse suite.  The walls are windows, externally tinted but offering you a glorious view of the glittering cityscape at night.  You wonder how much of the city your new husband owns. 

Would that be an impertinent question?  It is not as though there is any real charade to play; this is not a love match and there is no sense pretending otherwise.  Enquiring after financial assets is arguably appropriate insofar as business goes. 

Then the door opens and your new husband enters.  All thoughts of business flitter into nothing, an insignificant detail next to your wedding night.  A night with this powerful and beautiful stranger.

“Are you nervous?” he asks in a voice so deep it keeps surprising you.  It suits his angelic appearance in a way, something so captivating about its low tones, effortlessly melodic.  But that melody is coloured darkly in its depth, scratching a shiver up your spine.  When he speaks, it feels like he is trailing his fingers up your back in a curious, searching touch. 

He looks at you with as much depth, dark eyes penetrating as he circles the bed.  He has been nothing but polite, but you can’t help but feel like prey being circled by a predator. 

Even more concerning, you can’t help but like it.  Since the moment he took your hand, his eyes have not left you.  It is almost overwhelming.  You have been invisible your whole life.  No one ever looked at you.  No one ever wanted you.  Your father scared off anyone who tried. 

Felix is not just anyone.  Anyone sensible would be scared of him.

You are also not just anyone. 

“No,” you answer.

“Really?”  He lifts a curious eyebrow. 

You are both in your wedding clothes, all white and gold.  Your veil is draped over a chair in the corner.  He puts his coat there too. 

He never looks away from you, rolling his shirtsleeves up his forearms as he approaches the bed.

“May I ask, why not?” he asks.  It’s a funny question, so polite but only posed because he knows his own reputation.  He knows what you must think of him.  The bloodshed, the ruthlessness, the merciless command he holds over his family’s legacy.  He might look unassuming, but he is not to be trifled with.  That gentle exterior could be unnerving to some people, even more than an outward brute. 

But you have dealt with those brutes your whole life.  An abusive father, cruel brother, an uncaring mother.  Hurt, neglected, ignored. 

Tonight, while you circled the reception to greet everyone, your father and brother pulled you aside.  Your mother had already berated you on the details of your appearance, but they were reprimanding you for every other misstep.

You almost burst into tears, tired and frightened.  You were so afraid you would never escape them.  Even at your wedding, on the cusp of a new life, they were dragging you around, kicking and screaming.

Then you felt a tap on your shoulder.  Bang Chan, one of Felix’s most trusted agents, stood there with a forced but cordial smile.  He looked at you and not your family. 

“Sorry to interrupt,” he said.  “Your husband is asking for you.  Please, come with me.”

Your father sputtered indignantly, unaccustomed to such blatant disrespect for his authority.  Chan said nothing to him, simply offered you his arm.  He also opened his jacket to flash the gun in his chest holster.  Your family had their weapons stripped before entering the reception.  It was a subtle reminder of who was really in charge. 

So your father and brother were left sputtering helplessly as Chan escorted you across the room.  Felix was sitting with some of his men, smiling his bright smile and looking like any happy young groom. 

That sunny face faltered when he saw your morose expression.  His glance passed to your family, a flicker of anger in his gaze.  Then he smiled at you and held out a welcoming arm. 

“Come here,” he said.  “Sit with me a bit.  Please.” That deep voice.  You felt it like a touch inside you. He had recited the scripted vows earlier.  This invitation was his first real address. 

You nodded.  Your legs were shaky from the confrontation, never mind the wobble from your heels.  Your feet hurt.  Sitting would be a relief if nothing else. 

There was an empty seat behind Felix.  It was the type of seat you were usually given: at the back where you could be forgotten. 

Once you were within reach, Felix grabbed you around the waist.  Your breath caught as you stumbled towards him.  He caught you and held you.  Then you were sitting in his lap, your dress draped everywhere, a glittering ivory prize perched safe and pretty on his knee.  He wrapped a possessive arm around your middle. 

It was more than a power play.  It was one thing to put you on his lap and show your family that he owned you now, but it was another for him to frown as he touched the painfully tight pearl belt around your waist. 

“Why is this so tight?” he asked, looking at you with concern.     

“I’m sorry,” you said automatically, in the habit of grovelling whenever someone took a disappointed tone.  “My mother,” you spoke softly, not wanting the rest of the table to hear. 

He leaned closer to you, offering you his ear directly.  A whisper was all you managed, unaccustomed to such attention.

“They’re real pearls,” you whispered.  “Very expensive.  Very fine.  Too fine for me.  My mother had the belt made small so I would remember to act worthy of them.  Sit straight.  Not over-eat.  You know.”

He frowned, his brow furrowing.  Instinct compelled you to soothe that displeasure, laughing like you were not upset.

“It’s all right,” you said.  “She’s right.  They are very fine pearls.”

“It’s not all right,” Felix said.  He looked at you, held your gaze in his own.  You found yourself counting his freckles.  “Do you like it?” he asked. 

Maybe it was his display of power.  Maybe it was his arm around you.  Maybe it was the freckles.  He looked so sweet, so sincere.  You could not bring yourself to lie.  Though you had defended your cruel family all your life, the truth fell from your lips in a rough exhale. 

“No.”  You felt tears in your eyes.  “I know it’s expensive.  I know it’s beautiful.  But I’ve never hated anything more.” 

He held your gaze, your watery eyes in the dark depths of his own.

Then he grabbed the belt by a thin material strand and yanked.  A couple pearls popped right off and scattered.  The rest dangled on the belt, an absurd amount of wealth in his hand. 

Felix tossed it over his shoulder like it was garbage. Then he wrapped his arm around your waist and held you against him. 

You chanced a look at your family.  They were scandalized.  Horrified.  And you breathed easier for the first time in a long time. You have long suffered the oppressive strangle of control masquerading as love.  His protective arm felt nothing like that pearl belt.

So you look at him now.  You strive to articulate all these feelings.  You are not used to speaking and having someone listen. 

“I can’t explain it,” you say.  “Maybe it’s foolish.  But I… I just feel like I was meant to be here.  With you.  Like this.”

Your heart jumps at his expression, a luminous pleasure that brightens this dimly lit room. 

“That’s funny,” he says.  “I feel the same way.”

You swallow as he sits beside you.  Slowly, touch by touch, breath by breath, he is bringing your bodies together.  His knee touches yours, his arm your arm.  He folds his hands in his lap but he is close enough you can count his freckles again. 

“I need to be honest with you,” he says.  “I’ve wanted you since I first saw you.  A year ago.  At the winter masquerade.”

You look at him with surprise.  All at once, his eyes come back to you, gazing at you behind a golden bird mask at the annual winter social.  You couldn’t place the handsome stranger at the time.  His hair was dark then, his face in a mask.  He did not speak.  His distinctive voice would have given him away. 

He danced one dance with you, the only person who danced with you all night.  You were later reprimanded for behaving like a slut, even though he touched your waist and nothing more.

“You were very kind,” he says.  “I watched you with the staff.  You were the only one in that whole room to say please and thank you to them – did you know that?”  He sighs and looks away, thoughts travelling beyond this room.  “I came from nothing,” he says.  “My family… we fought to get where we are now.  But I remember, you know.  What it feels like to be the smallest and least important person in the room.”

You sit straighter when he looks at you.  Oh, your heart has not slowed its thunder.  Excitement and affection swirl together in a motley tempest of sensation, touched by his words and yearning for more.  You thought you had been sold to an uncaring bidder, but Felix touches you slowly, like he would a very fine work of art.  His knuckles caress your cheek, the slope of your jaw. 

“I thought…” He looks at you reverently.  “I thought… I would do anything to preserve that goodness.  I would protect it.  Like your family wasn’t.”  His brow furrows now, a shadow of his face.  “They would have ruined you.” 

His hand continues, knuckles skimming down your throat, your shoulder, your arm.  You shiver.   He has a terrible scar, scoring the whole back of his hand.  A stark difference to your unblemished hand, your manicured nails against his calloused fingers. 

He says, “I know what it’s like to be ruined.”

You look from your hands to his face, his handsome profile, the slope of his nose and his soft lips.  He is still looking at your joined hands. 

“I wasn’t always like this,” he says.  “I’d give anything to have my innocence back.  But I can’t.”

He lifts your hand, cradles it between both of his like something precious.  Your breath catches when he kisses your palm, lips soft against your skin.  

“So I told myself, I would do anything to save yours,” he says.  He looks almost… afraid.  An expression you never expected to see on this man.   “So I destroyed your father’s business,” he says.  “It was all me.  I knew he would never give you to a man like me unless he had no choice.  He would have given you away to one of his friends and they would have broken you.  But you were already mine.  So I left him no choice but to see things my way.” 

“Oh,” you say, surprised beyond all words. 

“I wanted you to know before anything… happens… between us,” he says.  “But I understand if your feeling are complicated.  Or if you… fear me.”

Your father has often boasted how many men fear him.  It does not sound like a boast from Felix, rather something lamentable.  His face is shadowed in shame. 

“My feelings are not complicated,” you say.  He is still holding your hand in both of his.  You lay your other hand there, a complete joining. 

He meets your gaze, an intense and imploring stare.

“I’m not my father’s daughter anymore,” you say.  “I’m my husband’s wife.  My loyalty is to you.  My place is with you.”

“Yes,” he says, spoken on a breath.  His smile returns.  “Your place.  I’d say you need someone to put you in your place.  Your rightful place.” 

He springs off the bed like there is lightning under his feet.  He is all smiles and sunlight again, a beacon in the blue dark of this room.  You cannot help but bask in his warmth, bereft in the chill when he leaves your side. 

He takes something from his discarded coat pocket, a case swathed in velvet, soft to the touch.  You hold it, admiring the texture.

He kneels behind you on the bed while you open it.   Inside is the most breathtaking necklace you have ever seen in your life.  When you lift it, the chain is long, designed to sit low, loose around your neck.  No more chokers.  No more pearls. 

“Oh, Felix,” you say, breathless and amazed, then very embarrassed.  You are not used to such lovely gifts.  Even the pearls were a punishment.  “I can’t accept this…” you say, stunned.

“You can,” he says. 

He takes the clasp then strings the necklace around you.  His fingers on the nape of your neck have you shivering.  The necklace clasps in place, then his lips are on your neck, a chaste press that nonetheless lights fire under your skin.  “It was made for you,” he says.  “Like you were made for me.” 

He takes the zipper of your gown between two careful fingers, so slowly lowering it.  It feels like you are unravelling with it.  The zipper reaches the base of your spine and his fingertips dance across your bare skin. 

He steps off the bed.  He looks down at you, his eyes intense but his smile soft.  He touches your cheek, strokes his thumb across it lovingly. 

Then he is sinking to his knees in front of you.  You already feel weak as jelly, but your whole body goes soft and pliant when he gently grasps your ankle, when he slides your painful shoe off your foot and tosses it aside.  He somehow finds every sore spot and rubs it better. 

“This is how it works,” he says.  He is on his knees but somehow his presence looms bigger than you.  You cannot look away from the thrall of his gaze.  “You are my wife.  And when we are out there, I am your servant.”  He takes your other foot and removes that shoe as well.  He massages you gently.  “I will never deny you anything,” he says.  “You can ask me for anything. All right?  I will give you the whole world.  I will give you my whole heart.  In return, I only want one thing.”

“What’s that?” you ask, already breathless.

“I am your husband,” he says, “and in here, you are my servant.  Only I can touch you.  Only I will have you.  All of you.  In every way.  Always, starting from today.  Starting from right now.”    

“Yes.  Yes.  But I – I’ve never done this before,” you say, aching to surrender but fearful he will regret this.  Though you are knowledgeable, you are lacking in experience from years of isolation.  “I’ve been alone for so long,” you say.  “I don’t want to disappoint you.” 

“You don’t,” he says.  He lifts your leg, swoops down to kiss your calf, then higher: your knee, your thigh.  “You could never,” he says, guiding your leg to rest on his shoulder.  He gathers the volume of your wedding dress in his hands and pushes it up, up. 

You almost forget to breathe.  He kisses higher on your thigh.  Then he grabs the thin material of your white tights and rips them open.

“You’re mine,” he says.  “You’ve always been mine.” 

You fall back on your elbows, limbs already quivering as he tears through your underclothes as if impatiently ripping open a prettily wrapped gift.   With your expensive lace panties shredded and your tights in tatters, he pushes your skirts up and out of his way.  You hold them while he kisses up your thigh.  He runs his tongue along the seam between your thigh and somewhere much more sensitive. 

“No one else has done this to you?” he asks.  He already looks flushed.  Desperate.      

“No,” you answer.  You swallow hard.  “Never.”  You know some men do not enjoy providing this type of pleasure to their wives, so you are about to tell him that you have no expectations in that regard—

But then he is on you like a starving man, eyes closed and mouth open and licking through all that wet desire.  You fall on your back, pressing your heel into his back.  He groans, pressing deeper, tongue seeking, swiping, stroking. 

He grips your thighs possessively, holding you in place as he ravages you with his mouth.  He takes you up and over a blissful crest.  It leaves you a drenched and panting mess. 

He stands, wiping his arm across his wet mouth.  He does not look satisfied, eyes still hungry as he climbs on top of you. 

“My wife,” he says, like the word is sacred and impossible, like he thought a man like him could never say it.  “All mine,” he says, running his hands up your thighs, up your waist, touching every inch of you until he is cradling your face delicately in his careful but calloused hands.   

It makes your whole body clench up tightly, your breath stuttering as he kisses you.  You melt into the kiss, so different from the chaste peck of your ceremony.  It is a claiming kiss, the taste of you still on his lips, his moan in your mouth, his chest against yours as those sounds of pleasure rumble through him. 

He tugs down your bodice, then he is ripping through your underclothes again.   When your bodice is around your waist and your chest is bare except for his necklace, you find yourself covering your breasts instinctively.  He takes your hands, not forcefully but firmly, holding your gaze.  His mouth is already so pink and raw from kissing.  You wonder if you look as ravished.  Maybe more.  It makes you whimper, surrendering when he pins your hands on either side of your head. 

“This is mine,” he says, kissing your jaw, your throat, then lower.  “All mine, sweetheart.”

He wraps his lips around a pointed nipple and you feel the reaction between your legs, as if connected by a thread.  Your legs try to close around his hips but he presses down.  The crumpled skirt of your dress is between you, but he feels your thighs clenching, feels you desperately bucking. 

Even his chuckle is a deep sound.  He smiles at you, batting his eyelashes as he licks the curve of your breast.  Your whole body twitches again. 

“Mm,” he says.  “You feel that?  You getting all tight… and hot… just for me…”

“Felix,” you say, you beg.

He sits back on his heels to get your wedding dress off.  It is a flurry of ivory and silk, earning some laughter, then it is gone and your husband is staring down at you.   Again, you feel like prey, like a meal spread out helplessly for some predatory creature.  Again, you like it. 

He is just as impatient with his own clothes.  He does not look away from you while tearing his shirt open.  Buttons fly, forgotten, and he rips the material down his arms and off.  His belt is next, leather whistling through the air then joining the heap on the floor.  He grabs your hand and guides it to the hard shape in his white pants, groaning deep in his chest as your palm curves around it. 

You are so captivated him, by the way he feels, by the sounds he makes, that you are surprised when he touches you too.  Your legs part instinctively, then your thighs twitch to close when you are embarrassed by your eagerness. 

“Don’t be shy,” he says.  “Not with me.” His fingers feel divine inside you, gliding as if through silk, pressing at your walls and making you whimper.  “Yeah, my baby.  So nice… ‘n wet… for me…” he murmurs, more to himself than you. It still makes you clench, like your body wants him deeper, pulling tight around him.   “God.  Perfect.” 

“Aren’t we g-gonna—”  Your eyes drop to his waistband, then up to his eyes again. 

He smiles, laughs, and withdraws his fingers slowly. 

“Oh yeah, sweetheart,” he says, unbuttoning his pants.  “We are.  Be patient.  You’re gonna enjoy this.  Gonna remember this night forever.”  He leans down so his body is over yours.  He kisses you, presses you into the pillows.  When he pulls back, he traces a finger along the necklace, smiling brightly. “The first time I made you mine,” he says, speaking low and soft against your lips.   “I’m going to do everything with you,” he says.  “And you’re gonna want it.  All of it and more.” 

He has you begging for more already.  When he finally is pushing inside you, after so much torturous build-up, you are a breathless, sweaty tangle of limbs.  It feels like he is pinning you to the mattress, taking you so deep and so hard, like your whole body is changing to fit him.   There is a long, slow burn, but you are so wet and he is so careful; it is an ache that gives way to pleasure. 

His arms are around you, holding him above you, making you feel so completely shielded and enveloped.  He starts a slow pace that turns more frantic.  Your hands move all over his chest and shoulders to find a grip. 

“I love that no one else has seen you like this,” he says, grabbing your searching hand.  He brings it to his mouth, kisses your palm, your fingers.  He puts your hand on his shoulder, then he slides his hand under your head to cup your neck, holding you steady while he rolls his hips into yours.  “That no one else has felt you before,” he says.  “Been inside you. They don't get to have you, but I do.“

“Yes,” you say.  “Always.  My husband.” 

“Mm.”  He drops his forehead to yours.  “My wife.” 

You come again but it feels different, starting deep inside you and rolling outward, a full-body spasm that has you crying out his name.  He comes too, holding you against him, his lips on your neck as he says your name. 

Then he kisses you.  Then he lays you down.  He wraps you in his arms and squeezes. 

“Sleep for now,” he says.  “It’s been a long day.  And I want you again.”

“You have me,” you say, nestling in his arms, your head under his chin. 

“Yes,” he says with a smile.  He looks so sweet even while his wicked hands hold your body in a strong, possessive grip.  “I do.”      

[my-fancy-hat]

denji's progression is backwards, not in the sense he's unlearning his development but literally regressing to the womb. early part 2 was his crowning moment, displayment of an autonomous person living his life ahead, moving foward in a clear road alongside his new family, a girlfriend, graduating and a job are his goals ahead. as the story progresses external forces make denji start doubting his place in his world and bluring his boundaries, so things like SA start happening again, and other people are to decide how denji must live. this is followed by the textual destruction of his complete identity, csm, denji and a man, toyed around as an idol and bringed back by external forces once again. but denji comes back to the past figuratelly, put into his childhood clothes and a yakuza (his ex-boss' grandson) is there to torture him like old times. the epitome of the progression once existed, after everything denji went through in part 1, was nayuta's birth, result of the transmutation of his pain and failure as an idol/son/lover to this newborn daughter/sibling. but story repeats itself, his family gets killed and the new control devil is eaten, everything comes back to zero. denji wasn't capable of fulfilling his part of the contract, so pochita takes control over his body and fights to keep him alive. denji right now is dead, pochita is the womb carrying the corpse, death and birth.

unfortunerally for this part, power came back to save denji and their friendship inspired him keep on living, but i can't see an equivalent of her role in the story right now. Denji has never been this lonely in his life, so i'm expectant of how things will go from here.

[daysofbeingnothing]

this is the second time jack is getting slandered unjustifiably and unreasonably by the fandom and i am tired of it.

jack’s had a pretty rough couple of hours prior to the hospital scene. he saw smn he knew get thrown off a building and die, he found out a person whom he considered his friend was backstabbing him all this time and all hell is loose on his neighborhood for whatever reason he has no clue about. and now a literal child, a girl he considers his daughter is at the hospital, in surgery and he is losing his mind because he doesn’t know why all of these atrocities are happening back to back just when things were getting better. so when he hears that his boyfriend is the one that -unknowingly- caused all of these to start happening, understandably he cannot react calm and collected. and yes joker did betray jack’s trust, he did what jack told him not to do and he agreed he wasn’t going to do like literally hours later jack reminded him of it again.

what differentiates jack’s lie and joker’s is that first they weren’t in a relationship back then and second they hadn’t agreed to be honest with each other from then on and lastly joker had no external pressure to do what he did. jack had to save his grandma somehow and while that did force him to lie and hide the truth from joker it was because he was trying to protect joke from boss. but joker decided himself that he was gonna steal the ring in exchange for jack’s freedom. so an obligation and compulsion is not the same thing as a decision to go behind the person you love even though it is because you want to help them. and given the multiple outfit and location changes throughout the ep we can assume some time has passed between joker stealing the ring and tao ting ending up at the hospital meaning joker had time to tell jack the truth before it blew in all of their faces and its repercussions came to mess up everyone’s lives.

and i know joker meant well and i don’t think he should have been thought the lesson of his actions having consequences through tao ting. but saying jack should just ignore everything, show no reaction and emotions to being deceived is absurd. the jack hate train is so ridiculous.

[chaifootsteps]

Remember when the pilot implied that lucifer was a domineering, sinister presence in Charlie's life? God forbid we have that kind of interpersonal strife! Naaaah let's woobify him and make it so the woman parent is the the sinister mean one. Much better! With the exception of your dad being a literal mob boss, it's always the mother that is the mean parent! Thanks Viv, now we know!

Don't know why people have been saying this show is externalized daddy issues for so long, clearly it's externalized mommy issues.

Now he's a silly goofball that says things like "Take that, depression!" So relatable, right? LAUGH!

(Granted, her dream actor for him was Weird Al and so he was always meant to be silly to an extent, but I don't think anyone ever imagined he'd show up, rescue her, save the day for her, and continue to loiter around the hotel hitting on Alastor.)

[astroboots]

Every You Every Me #8

COLLABORATED WITH @THIRSTWORLDPROBLEMSS

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x female reader

Summary: You embark upon 'a Cosmic Masterplan to survive' - Phase one

Word count: 6,600

Series Masterlist | Spiderverse Masterlist | Astroboot’s Masterlist | thirstworldproblemss’ Masterlist

[Previous] [Next]

Ten days have passed since your home was blown to a million pieces. 

Ten days since you found out that there are multiple universes. 

Ten days since you learned that your universe—the world as you know it—has less than three months left before it implodes unless you can somehow find a way to save it… and yourself.

Despite the fantastical nature of those events, you find yourself returning back to your everyday life, just as mundane and ordinary as ever, cosmic murder attempts notwithstanding.

The helicopter crash was featured across the front page of The Times by morning, and apparently no one was hurt. The pilot had somehow been flung from the helicopter into a nearby window and miraculously survived without even a scratch. The only real casualty was your every worldly possession. 

After a personal calamity of that scale, you’d hoped you might be offered an extended leave from work. Unfortunately, corporate America stops for no tragedy. 

The only thing you're offered is a very sympathetic email the day after with a gift voucher for Dominos attached. Then Sally from HR had let you know that, given the severity of your situation, the company was generously granting you three whole personal days to sort out your affairs. After that you were requested to return to the office—the second quarter of the financial year was beginning soon after all. 

And so you find yourself back at work.

Back to 8+ hours a day spent sitting in your rickety office chair, killing your eyesight in front of your computer screen as you pore over excel sheets.  Back to the same old boring one-on-one meetings with your boss, who keeps harping on about Key Performance Indicators, as if they mean anything. You don’t understand what the point is. No matter how key your performance is, it never seems to be enough to net you a raise. 

“Our total revenue increased by 15% compared to last year, which is a significant achievement considering the challenges in the market, but I know we can do better if we just–”

You stifle a yawn, as you readjust yourself in your chair. It’s Monday morning, and you find yourself in one of the stale meeting rooms, with staler treats that you’re not even allowed to have because they are for external clients only. Your boss is right next to you, droning on and on about how she wants to see better results in the next fiscal quarter. All the while you’re trying to fight the losing odds of keeping your eyes open and the temptation of gravity that wants your head to lay down on the conference table for an impromptu nap.  

“We managed to improve our profit margin by 3% by reducing overhead costs, but we need to focus on further optimizing our operations in order to–”

Out of nowhere, the sound of her shrill nasal voice stops, and for a second you think that perhaps, sweet mercies of mercies, the meeting is finally over. But instead she points out the window and says the last thing you expect. 

“Hey, isn’t that Spiderman?” 

Huh?

You whip your head around to stare out the window so fast you nearly give yourself whiplash, and the sight that greets you is nearly enough to give you a heart attack on the spot. 

Oh, it’s Spiderman alright. Your Spiderman. 

Your maybe-vampire-but-maybe-not (he hasn’t combusted in sunlight yet, but then again he wears a full-body spandex suit) Spiderman.

Your Spiderman is right there in front of you in plain sight on the outside of the building, plastered to the wide wall-to-wall meeting room window. That dark blue super suit with the angry red spider emblazoned on his chest like a neon sign screaming: ‘Here I am!’ 

Your boss skips closer to the window in giddy excitement, until the two of them are only about a feet away from each other separated by a half an inch of glass.

“Look, his suit is different! I wonder if it’s an upgrade?” she exclaims, tilting her head to study him from the window. “He sure is a lot bigger in person, isn’t he?” 

You feel the blood drain from your face, and the whole of your back breaks out in cold clammy sweat against your blouse. Doing your best to act normal, you force yourself to stay seated in your chair despite the shrill scream ringing in your head and the way your heart is threatening to leap right out of your throat. 

What the hell does he think he’s doing!?

Thank fuck your boss still has her back to you, too enthralled by the unexpected superhero sighting to pay attention to anything else. You take advantage of her distraction to gesture frantically at Miguel, waving him away with as covert of a shooing motion as you can manage and praying that he’ll take the hint.

You know he sees you because the triangular outlines of his eyes narrow into annoyed slits and then he turns his face away as if offended, refusing to look at you. But at least he finally moves, leaping into the air and disappearing out of the sight of the window. 

“Oh, shoot! There he goes again,” your boss says, letting out a long, loud sigh as if even she doesn’t want to go back to listening to her own voice for the rest of this meeting. “Well, back to work. Guess that was the excitement for the day.”

Scratch what you were saying before. There are no more completely mundane days. Not now that Miguel O’Hara has entered your life. 

Once upon a time, your biggest dilemma with him was that he was avoiding you, refusing all your attempts to force a face-to-face meeting. Now you find yourself in the strange position of having the opposite problem.

True to his promise, Miguel is always there to protect you. 

In fact, he’s just plain always there. 

Never more than 10 feet away, regardless of where you go. He’s the last thing you see… or rather, hear before you go to sleep, his incessant snoring reverberating off the walls of your shared hotel room. Then, when you wake, it’s to his big 6’9” frame draped across the tiny velvet sofa, his long legs sticking off the end and hanging out into the room. 

Miguel hovers over you when you eat, in case you get another piece of toast stuck in your throat and he needs to do the Heimlich maneuver on you again. Or, like that one time last week, in case you developed another hitherto completely undiscovered food allergy and have to be rushed to the ER. He is constantly on alert, eyes glued to you at all times.

Miguel comes with you when you go grocery shopping at the corner bodega. Sticking close to your back in the cramped aisles, lest one of the shelves fall over and bury you under crates of Lucky Charms and Fruit Loops… again.  He has a sneaky habit of covertly dropping the most nutritiously questionable grocery items in your basket: jellied donuts, sugar-frosted pop tarts, fun dip and jolly ranchers. He eats like a five year old who has too much pocket money and no understanding of the food pyramid. It’s worrying to watch and you definitely google diabetes risk for spiders at least once, but the internet has nothing helpful to offer on that front.

Even when you’re relaxing in the luxury hotel suite that’s become your home, flipping through Tik Tok-edits on your iPhone (the newest model, which Lyla snagged for you!) or catching up on Netflix, Miguel is always right there. Not two steps away from you, looking over your shoulder. 

Being the constant center of Miguel's attention is… disconcerting. You know it’s because he’s watching for the next random disaster to strike, but having his eyes on you nonstop leaves you feeling uncomfortably aware of him all the time. Especially when you’re trying to watch Bridgerton on your new macbook pro (also courtesy Lyla) and an R-rated scene comes on. You’ve resorted to having Lyla order books and magazines for him in an attempt to keep him occupied, but it doesn’t seem to make much difference.

It’s so bad that you can barely go to the bathroom without Miguel guarding the door like a zealous German Shepherd, his back plastered to the nearest wall when you emerge. You try not to let the lack of privacy bother you… or to think about the fact that his spidey-supersenses probably let him hear everything.

The only place Miguel doesn’t come with you is when you go to work, because he doesn’t have the clearance needed to get into the building—tourists and non-personnel aren’t allowed any further than the lobby. It doesn’t stop him from climbing the walls of the building and hanging around outside the 44th floor though. You know he’s there because, you see his shadow blurring at the window whenever you get up to get more coffee or unstick the paper jammed in the printer. 

It’s an adjustment, but for all the madness that comes with the package, having Miguel around does make you feel safe. 

Time always seems to pass too quickly when there’s a deadline approaching. 

The problem is that right now the due it’s not the date of a school assignment or some work project that you’re worrying about. And if you take too long, the consequences will be much worse than a lower grade or a slap on the wrist. If you fail to meet this deadline, it will be the end of the world—not just as you know it, but for everyone in your entire universe.

A week ago you had been dauntless, facing Miguel down across the table at Starbucks and announcing that you intended to fight cosmically impossible odds in order to live. Bold even, when you’d confidently declared that the only thing you needed was three months and his protection from the universe's murder attempts to make that happen.

In retrospect, you might have been less dauntless and more… delusional, because so far the only real progress you've made is drawing up a Master Plan, complete with a bullet point list and no idea if any of it is actually going to accomplish anything.

'A Cosmic Masterplan to survive' - Phase one

Step 1: Personal history:

Identify past wrongdoings

Determine if they could explain cosmic retaliation

Step 2: Analyze incident patterns:

Study recurring near death incidents

Identify commonalities and patterns

Determine strategies to stop or prevent future occurrences

Step 3: Research genealogy:

Explore family history

Investigate any ancestors who may have incurred celestial grudges

Determine if these grudges extend to descendants

Step 4: Examine past life wrongdoings:

Establish if reincarnation is real

Investigate potential past life transgressions

Assess if they correlate with current cosmic retaliation

Step 5: Seek cosmic expert assistance:

Consider approaching Dr. Strange for guidance

Request expertise in understanding cosmic phenomena

Things had started out okay. 

You completed Step 1 in less than a day, quickly compiling a list of all the people you’d wronged in your lifetime. Anything that might make the universe want to intervene on their behalf and dole out some karma against you.

So far, your life's most egregious crimes include:

That time when you wet the bed during a sleepover when you were six and blamed it on your friend Sally Jenkins.

The night you bailed out in the middle of a date with a dentist from Tinder who insisted on ordering for you and kept talking about Alpha and Betas. (It was only after a very confusing and awkward conversation that you realized he was not talking about the omegaverse). You’re pretty sure you did both of you a favor when you told him you were going to use the bathroom before dessert and took off without saying goodbye instead.

That summer you brought only chocolate with coconut back to share with your coworkers after your vacation in Canada so that Matt in accounting (who always steals your yogurt out of the office fridge) couldn’t have any because he's allergic to coconut.

Are those the actions of a good person? Probably not. 

Are they petty? Oh yeah. 

Are they bad enough to justify karmic retaliation from the universe in the form of death? You doubt it.

As for Step 2, despite all the near death experiences you've had recently, there doesn’t seem to be any discernible pattern that could help you predict or prevent future incidents. After all it’s a bit difficult to predict that an impromptu mounted police parade would take place near your office, only for there to be a wild stampede of panicky horses that tried to mow you over. 

Step 3 of your plan? Another dud. 

Your family line is made up of uncles working blue-collar jobs at warehouses, aunties who pester you about being single, one grandfather who likes to talk about how things were better in the old days and a grandmother who likes to complain that you never call every time you call her (and another grandma you actually like because she feeds you sweets and cakes when you go visit).

There are no skeletons hidden in your family closet. Nothing interesting at all except maybe that one cousin who claims to have hooked up with Leonardo Di Caprio at Coachella (unverifiable and unlikely).

Your mission to try to figure out if all of this is caused by any past life connections in Step 4? 

It had seemed like a reasonable thing to look into, but how the heck do you go about doing that? You’ve put it on hold for now.

As for the final step? Your search to seek out cosmic expert assistance is still ongoing.

Contacting another Supe that has a magical expertise in the cosmic should be the most logical avenue. Doctor Strange is the superhero that famously deals with the magical cosmos stuff, so you figured maybe he could help in some way. That it wouldn't be hard for Miguel to reach out to him, one superhero to another.

It’s the one part of your plan you could actually take action on that seems like it might lead somewhere. Problem is, you've run into a big sassy roadblock named Miguel O'Hara. 

Miguel flatly refuses to have anything to do with Dr. Strange. 

His justification? 

"Hate that guy."

Repeatedly pestering him has gotten you nowhere, and it’s not like you, a random normie, can just rock up outside of Dr. Strange’s residence and ask for help because the universe is out to get you. That’s a good way to get yourself hauled away, like that guy from Colorado who was in the news last year for faking a UFO invasion with cheap props on YouTube and then camping out outside of Bruce Banner’s lab. Idiots like that show up from time to time, Superhero fanatics seeking the attention of the Avengers for some fake emergency.

Worst comes to worst, you could probably just stand outside Doctor Strange’s house until something tries to kill you again and hope that he’ll notice, but you’re not sure the universe won’t thwart you on purpose. Probably not the best use of your limited time, especially since you’re out of PTO. 

For now, you’re hoping to change Miguel’s mind through sheer persistence, but given how stubborn the man is, that might be more of a lost cause than trying to thwart the universe itself. 

It’s payday today, and you’ve decided to take Miguel to dinner in Chinatown as thanks for the man’s continuous efforts in saving your life.

As touristy as that area can be, there are some good, cheap diners owned by grumpy Cantonese families that serve large enough portions to feed this horse of a man.

It’s not entirely selfless. You’re tired of being cooped up in the hotel room as soon as you get off work, and you want to stretch your legs. You’re also hoping that stuffing Miguel full of food will make him more receptive to the next round of your arguments in favor of Step 5 of your Cosmic Masterplan. 

But you’ve been here for two hours now, and you’re not sure Miguel knows the meaning of the word full. 

He’s ordered egg tarts by the dozen. Crispy fried seafood noodles drenched in sweet cornstarch slurry. Deep fried turnip cakes soaked in sweet soy sauce. Beef Ho Fun. Every other dish is deep fried and slathered in XO sauce, and you are starting to be genuinely concerned about his cardiovascular health as you watch him shovel it down his maw, barely pausing to chew as he goes.

At least he looks happy while eating? Endearingly so. It’s the only time you’ve seen him relaxed and finally drop his guard a little bit, though you’re sure he’s still aware of every minute detail in his surroundings. You decide it’s better not to say anything since scolding him about being a glutton would be like the pot name calling the kettle. Your wolfish food habits is a shared hobby you have with Miguel at this point. 

“What’s wrong with the egg tarts?” you ask, eyeing the plate that lies still untouched on the table, the only food to have escaped Miguel’s massacre. Given how sweet they are, you would have expected him to inhale them within seconds. 

“I ordered them for you,” he says, not slowing down as he spears more food onto his plate. “Your favorite, right?” 

You nod slowly and reach for one, touched by the gesture but not sure what to say. 

There’s a fleck of sauce smudged on his cheek, a stray rice grain on his nose. He looks like any other civilian as he scarfs down the food in quick succession.

Out of his super suit, he looks different. He’s partial to oversized clothes that makes him look oddly gangly even with his build. You’ve caught him with glasses on more than once, even though you’re pretty sure he’s mentioned that supersight is one of the things he’s gifted with. You can’t help but wonder if he wears them out of a sense of habit or if it’s a conscious fashion choice. Probably the former, given what you’ve seen him wear so far—fashion doesn’t seem to be one of his fortes. All in all, it makes him look like a much homelier person with a slightly nerdy vibe than the handsome superhero when he’s on the job.

He’s softer without the supersuit. Still scowling, but it’s less intimidating when he’s doing it wearing a big hoodie with dumb logos printed across his chest. 

It’s still odd seeing Rude Spiderman in these domestic settings, but you think you prefer him like this.

“How’s your plan coming along?” he asks, mouth full of fried rice as he’s already reaching for a piece of char siu. 

Of course, he has to ask you a question just as you bite into sweet and creamy egg custard. 

“I’m kind of stuck,” you admit, the words muffled slightly by the pastry in your mouth. “I think we need to talk about reaching out to Dr. Strange.”

“No.” He doesn’t even bother to stop eating, still chewing with a gusto as the word emerges.

Nothing more than that. No reasons or explanation given, just ‘No.’ 

Irritation brews in your chest at his unhelpfulness. He’s throwing a monkey wrench into your cosmic survival masterplan, and he won’t even tell you why. 

Too busy stuffing his face with crispy wontons. 

“But why? He’s the only Avenger with an expertise in cosmic magic!”

“Expertise, my ass,” he retorts. 

“Why do you hate him so much?”  You slide the plate of roasted duck across the table, away from him, and that finally makes him pay proper attention. 

Miguel is doing that scowling thing again, first at you and then dropping his gaze to glaring down at his rice and chopstick like he’s about to stab it. 

“Because he’s an idiot. “Doesn’t have a clue what he’s talking about. Gives terrible advice.” 

“He was one of the world’s leading brain surgeons,” you huff. “I don’t think he’s an idiot, Miguel.”

Miguel leans over the table, sliding the plate back closer to where he’s seated. 

“Being handy with a scalpel isn’t a transferable skill to the supernatural. And he wears a cape. Only idiots wear capes.”

“Wait, what? You don’t like him because he wears a cape!?” you spit out incredulously. You don’t understand this man’s logic sometimes.

“Capes are impractical. Get snagged everywhere. No superhero worth the name would wear one,” he explain as if this alone perfectly justifies hating someone. He stabs a piece of meat with his chopstick and brings it to his mouth. “I will never ask that man for help again.”

Then he inhales the rest of the plate of roasted duck. 

You leave the restaurant frustrated. 

Miguel’s stubbornness remains as immovable as stone, and this big red and blue boulder has left you stuck at a dead end roadblock in the middle of a street, one you don’t know how to get around. He won't agree to talk to Strange, and you don’t know what else to do.

You need divine inspiration, or failing that maybe just… a hint. Something to tell you what direction to go in. Some kind of a sign.

Deep in thought, you turn round a corner, barely noticing how the alley narrows as you keep walking forward.  It’s not until a pile of crates in front blocks your path, forcing you to stop dead in your tracks that you lift your head to survey your surroundings. 

You and Miguel are at a small alley that you don’t recognize, which is weird because you know this area like the back of your hand. Somewhere along the way you must’ve taken a wrong turn.

Just ahead of you, there's a red stall set up on the sidewalk surrounding a small rickety table with red cloth draped over it, a couple of folding chairs set up in front.

Above it is… a giant sign. Fortune Teller, it says. 

Not quite the metaphorical sign you were asking for a few minutes ago, but maybe the universe has given up on subtlety for today. Hey, at least it’s not trying to kill you… unless fortune teller assassins are a thing. Shit, is the universe resorting to baiting traps now? You really hope it doesn’t start setting out poisoned cookies on window sills, because then it will be game over for you and Miguel both. 

You look the stall over, noticing that there are no crystal balls. No tarot cards. No trinkets or ancient scrolls like the ones you see in the movies.

There’s just an old lady. Her head is cleanly shaven, shining slick under the sole street lamp in the alley. She’s wearing a thick robe with a blue shawl draped over her shoulders that seems much too warm for the current weather, and cheap oversized sunglasses perch on her small nose despite it being evening. That outfit is certainly a choice.

Maybe you should be more cautious, but what harm can it do at this point?

The fortune teller certainly looks harmless and frail with her big round cheeks, sitting on a small stool. Even though she looks nothing like her, she makes you think of your grandmother—the one you actually like to call. The grandma who always has cookies stashed away for you when you come to visit.

Maybe she can give you a reading of who you were in your past life.

Maybe she can give you a protection amulet to make the universe chill the fuck out for a while.

Maybe she can burn some incense that will make you relax and get rid of the migraine you've gotten since the universe decided to murder you.

"Miguel." You tug at the lapel of his jacket, and point in the direction of the sign.

He turns around, scanning the space and then his eyes narrow disapprovingly.

"Fortune… teller,” Miguel reads off the sign in a slow skeptic drawl. He doesn't need to say more to express his complete and utter disdain, but that doesn’t stop him.

"You know it's all a scam right? People like this can't actually tell the future. They have no supernatural powers. What they do is cold reading."

It’s entirely unsurprising Miguel doesn't like the idea. There are a lot of things Miguel doesn’t like.

"What else do you propose we do?"

"Ask someone with actual skills who can help us?"

"You were the one who shot down the idea of asking Doctor Strange for help," you remind him.

"I don’t want his help," Miguel shoots back, grimacing as though the mere mention of the name is enough to leave a bad taste in his mouth.

"Yeah, so you keep telling me." You continue on to the stall, despite your companion's strong protests.

The sweet old lady greets you as you sit down at the table. She looks even weirder from up close, her bald head abnormally large for her small body. You try not to stare, not wanting to make her self-conscious, but you can’t help but wonder how gravity keeps her head upright. 

“Fifty dollars,” she announces the moment you take a seat. 

Fifty bucks to get your fortune read!? Talk about highway robbery! You could get seven overpriced Spiderman cookies for that. 

“That’s too much.” You shake your head, rising from your seat. 

“Okay, okay. I can do cheaper,” the woman immediately concedes, looking nervous at your sudden outburst, and you have to bite back a smile. 

That was easy. 

“How much cheaper?” you ask. You know how this game is played. 

“Twenty?”

If she’s willing to drop the price from fifty to twenty that easily, you can definitely get her to go lower. 

“Ten.” You cross your arms where you stand, making no move to sit down.

“Are you really haggling over this? You were the one who wanted to do this, and now you’re going to cheap out over ten bucks!?” Miguel says from behind you, but you ignore him. It’s enough to have him there looming over the lady as you stare her down, taking a note out of his intimidation tactic book. 

“Some of us aren’t made out of money, Miguel–” 

“Fine! Ten, I’ll do it for ten,” the lady says over the top of your arguing. 

She’s skittish in the sudden silence that follows, looking over her shoulder to her left and right, as if she’s checking if your loud outbursts have attracted any attention.

Seemingly reassured that there’s only the three of you here, she gestures for you to sit back down and then tilts her head towards you. 

From behind her sunglasses, you can see that her eyes are clouded white from glaucoma, but when she raises her gaze to give Miguel an appraising look from head to toe, it’s obvious that she’s still able to see.  

“Your husband is tall.”

You see Miguel go rigid out the corner of your eye and chance a quick glance up at him. His sour expression hasn’t changed but you can tell he’s uncomfortable from the way his fingers are gripping the fabric of his hoodie where the chain holding his ring is hiding underneath the layers of clothing.

"Can you do a past life reading?" you ask instead, trying to steer the conversation away from anything that might inflict further painful reminders upon him. "I want to know if I could have attracted bad karma in my past lives."

“No such thing,” she says bluntly, shaking her head, "You have no past life. Reincarnation is not real."

That’s step 4 taken care of, you think to yourself, and you think you hear Miguel choke back a laugh behind you. You’re not thrilled that he’s having fun at your expense, but at least he’s not sad anymore. 

"Uh… okay…" You try to think of what else was on your list. "Then can I buy a protection amulet or something? I've had really bad luck lately."

The old granny looks you over appraisingly, eyes traveling from the top of your head as far down as she can see before the table top gets in the way, and her benign and friendly smile fades as she does. 

"No," she says, eyes wrinkling with worry. "An amulet is of no use to you. Just a waste of money."

Oh wow, grandma is really dissing you right now.

She gestures her hand in a come hither motion to get you to lean down, and then pulls out a paper and pen and starts to draw an uneven circle with thick, crude lines.

"See here?" she says as she loops the circle closed, "This is all of us, our world" 

Miguel is suddenly right next to you, hunching down and bent over the small table. You don’t know when he managed to sneak up on you, but he’s right there, so close his shoulder is brushing up against yours. 

The fortune teller moves her pen inside the circle to draw a much smaller one, then a forked line sticking out of it, and another line across the center of that one. It’s so crudely drawn it takes you a second to realize it’s a stick figure. 

"This is you," she points at it with a pen, seeming to admire her own creation.

Next to you, Miguel is staring down at the childish drawing with his hands crossed against his chest in irritation, his right eyelid is twitching. He looks like he’s about to have an aneurysm.

Even though he’s not saying a word, you swear you can almost hear his inner monologue, protesting the lady’s poor handmanship and drawing skills. He doesn’t need to say it but even $10 is too much of a price to pay, even for a man with infinity dollars.

Seemingly oblivious to Miguel’s irritation, the fortune teller proceeds to draw angry darts from inside the circle aimed at the poor you stick figure. Pressing so hard with her pen that the ink bleeds into the paper and the darts are starting to look like daggers. You almost wince when you see a couple of them pierce through your stick figure. “Outside interference has brought bad luck to you. It will never go away; it will follow you forever.”

You peer down at the paper with a sense of unease. Aren’t scam fortune tellers supposed to tell you what you want to hear? Where are the reassuring lies? Shouldn’t she be telling you that you’re going to meet a tall, dark, handsome stranger? Or that you were a princess in a past life? Since when do they tell you that you’re doomed to die over and over?

“So what am I supposed to do?” you ask. 

“Keep moving,” she says with an unfaltering smile as if she hasn’t given you the most grim fortune telling of all time. 

You lean back in your seat deflated. Scam or not, the prognosis isn’t looking good for you right now. 

The lady ducks under her desk, and is sorting through a pile of junk paper, before she pops back up again. She shoves something into your hands, and leans over to you with a piercing gaze in her milky-white eyes. “The man who will help you lives here.”

Hope sparks bright in your chest at her words. Finally, a lead! Someone who can help you! You can’t believe your random decision to stop has given you the first clue that might actually lead somewhere!

You look down at what she’s given you. It's a pamphlet map of New York. Yellow and bright, the title reads: ‘Star Maps of Celebrity Homes.’ One of those cheap plastic ones they hand out with the tour buses. 

The hope that had been building in your chest deflates, popping like a cheap balloon. 

You make yourself scan the tacky star map for any clues as to who she means, but you you don’t see anything to lift you out of your disappointment. As much as you love Robert De Niro and Whoopi Goldberg and would love to get their autographs, you don’t think any of the people on this map are in any position to help you. 

You sigh. 

Ok, maybe Miguel was right. The fortune teller was a bust. What a waste of money. 

From behind you, you can already hear the rustle of movement from him, as he’s stepping away. 

“Come on, Cielito,” he says as he nods his head in the direction towards the exit of the alley.

The fortune teller grabs your hands in hers, as she leans in closer to your ear and whispers, as if trying to be out of earshot of Miguel. “Be careful with that one. He’s not from around here.”

Back at the hotel, you plop down on the ridiculously wide and fluffy bed, but not even the luxury of your surroundings can lift your spirits. You’re still uncomfortably full from dinner. The overload of delicious egg tarts sit like lead in your stomach, weighing you down. 

Wasn’t there a Swedish king at some point who ate too many sweet buns and died of a burst stomach? Wouldn’t it be ironic if, after all the calamity and disasters you’ve escaped, your gluttony was the thing that ended you? You don’t think anyone who knows you would be surprised to read ‘died from eating too many egg tarts’ in your obituary. It’s perfect. A stupid and meaningless death to match your stupid and meaningless life. 

From the corner of your eye, you see Miguel drag off his hoodie over his head. You squint your eyes, pretending not to look as the tan skin of his firm muscled back is revealed to you before he pulls on a tight-fitting white t-shirt that pulls taut against his chest.

The free peep show usually makes excitement and heat thrill through your spine, but tonight it does nothing. You feel… oddly numb. 

The lights go off with a gentle click, and then you are left by yourself in darkness with nothing but your thoughts to keep you company.

You don’t know what to do. The fortune teller had been as stupid and pointless as every other idea you’ve had. 

You grit your teeth, sighing as you turn restlessly onto your side in the bed, stretching out your leg to make yourself more comfortable, hoping sleep will claim you so that you can stop these thoughts from running on a constant loop on your brain like the world’s shittiest radio channel. 

God, you can’t believe you spent $10 dollars on that fortune teller, and got nothing to show for it except a crappy map meant for gullible tourists. 

What are you going to do if you’re too stupid to think of any other ideas? Your skin crawls at the thought, a tangle of worry sitting in the pit of your stomach, climbing upwards and trying to burst out of your chest. You roll over, but it only seems to get worse. 

Are you just going to wait out your time like a sitting duck? 

You twist your body, squeezing your eyes shut. The thoughts won’t stop. 

Are you just going to sit here doing nothing? 

Are you going to di–

Screeeeeeeeeeeeeeech.

The loud noise startles you, and you freeze, suddenly aware of just how vulnerable you are with only the sheets and comforter for protection. 

Oh god, what is trying to kill you this time? 

Your eyes are wide open with a strain, staring off into the darkness like a deer in the headlights as you listen to the sound of something sharp scraping against the wooden floor.

It’s coming closer. 

Fuck. Is it an assassin? Some kind of otherworldly monster that’s come to drag you to hell with it? 

And where is Miguel? Why isn’t he stopping it!? 

Maybe he’s gone, a cruel voice whispers in your head. Maybe he’s had enough. Maybe he sees what you don’t want to—the futility of what you’re trying to do. Running around like a headless chicken trying to find a way out of the grand cosmic slaughterhouse that is set on ending your life. Maybe he’s given up on you. 

Maybe you need to give up too. 

You’re too scared to risk making noise, but you can’t not do anything. You turn as soundlessly as you can in bed, rolling towards Miguel—hoping with all your might that he’ll still be there to save you—only to be greeted by the sight of his back closer than you expect, hunched over the lounge chair as he drags it towards the bed, the metal legs scraping against the floor, making the very sound that had just scared you half to death. 

You dart upright in the bed, outraged.

“What are you doing!?”

Miguel looks back at you, then down at the chair he’s moving, and then back up at you with that blank expression on his face. 

“Moving this?” He sits down on the lounge chair that’s now next to your bed, “I heard you tossing and turning. Thought you couldn’t sleep.” 

There’s a pause as he peers at you in the darkness, then he rubs his hand at the back of his neck.

 “Shit, did the noise scare you? Sorry, Cielito.”

There’s that nickname again. You don’t remember when it started or where it came from, but it’s something he’s been calling you more and more often. He’s wearing a wrinkly oversized t-shirt and a sheepish expression as he’s eyeing you, making sure you’re okay. It’s almost, nearly endearing. 

“Why do you keep calling me Cielito?” you ask. “Is that what you used to call other me?”

“No, I didn’t call her that.” He shakes his head, the same aching longing in his eyes that’s always there at the mention of your other self. “I called her Nena.” 

“Then why Cielito?”

He tilts his head down at you as if the answer is obvious, and then he breaks out into a small smile. “Because you keep falling through the sky.”

You stare at him in silence for a second, at the goofy looking grin he’s wearing.  He looks so proud of himself and his silly dad joke that you can’t help but smile back, laughter bubbling up and out of your chest. His smile just gets bigger.

What a dork.

You lay back down in bed, still tittering with laughter, and there’s a comforting weight that rests on top of your head for a brief moment. It’s his hand. The touch is pleasant, his palm warm against your skin, and the comfort of it erases the last trace of residual alarm in your body. 

“Just go to sleep already." The words are impatient, but his voice is gentle, and it makes your chest warm as he continues, “It’s okay. You don't have to worry. I won't let anything happen to you.”

He hasn’t given up on you. 

His words drip through your insides and warms you from inside out. It’s comforting, the way a blanket feels wrapped around you in the winter when your heating is out. He sounds so confident when he says them. Like there’s no doubt in his mind that you’ll survive this, because he will personally see to it. The anxious chatter in your mind finally quiets, and you close your eyes, knowing he’s only an arm’s length away. 

Somehow, with Miguel here, the impossible odds you’re up against don’t seem quite so impossible, and hope buzzes pleasantly in your chest as you drift off to sleep. It's the best sleep you've had in a long time.

~ Next Issue

Credits & Dedication: Love a thousand and million years for @thirstworldproblemss who had to finely comb over and beta-read and edit this chapter over and over and rubber duck i with me while I was fixing up the details. I hope that I get to write with her til I go old and grey and senile, because it is the most wonderful joy and experience and I love her so.

This chapter is also dedicated to the wonderful and talented @forwantofwill who was endlessly kind in doing this amazing, beautiful piece of art of Miguel eating cookies in the windowsill Thank you so so much for making this and gifting me not just with your immense talent but also your time!

For those of you who haven't yet please follow her! She's amazingly talented and have such a wonderful blog filled with gorgeous and amazing fanart!

a/n: to be notified of new writing updates follow astroboots-writes and turn on notifs.

[hi-i-love-u-bitch]

Okay I see your "if Hobie and Noir meet they would be besties and punch nazis together" and I totally agree with that! But also consider:

Hobie is Spider Noir's biggest fanboy!

Like in the comics he's like a HUGE Gwen Stacy stan and he's such a goofy little dork about it. In ATSV him and Gwen's relationship is more like chill friends, and I'm okay with that. But I think it be so funny that when Hobie was recruted into Spiderverse society and Miguel was showing him all the other universes with the different Spiderman variants he pauses by the computer screen with that one gritty black and white universe cuz he just saw some guy in a fedora and trench coat PUNCH A FUCKING NAZI!!! WHO IS THAT GUY?!?! HE'S SO COOL!!!

He asks Miguel a million and one question about the guy and when the old grump annoyingly shoos him away he asks Peter as he briefly met him during that one incident in Miles is dimension. When that still isn't enough he asks Lyla to tell him everything she knows on Noir. Now obviously Lyla has no obligation to do this but she's also never seen Hobie this giddy and excited over something other then music. Its adorable, he's almost like a little kid wanting to know everything about their favorite cartoon. Also she low key likes to annoy Miguel and Hobie's rebellious spirit that gets under her straight laced boss is skin which is hilarious.

You know when Gwen first met Hobie she was a bit intimated cuz he just had that "too cool" vibe about him. But as soon as she mentions that she has worked with other Spider people before, which includes Noir, he did a whole 180 and became a complete dork!

Hobie: Get out, you actually met him! 🤩

Gwen: Uh, yeah?

Hobie: How was he like? What did he say? Did he talk about fascist corruption that not only plagued the system back then but even now as well? Was he super cool during the fight?! 😃🤩💫😻

Gwen: ..........He was nice.

Hobie: That's so rad! ✨️🤟🤩

I also feel like, aside from Miles, Gwen keeps in contact with the other Spider peeps from the first movie and tried to recruit them into the Spider society but obviously Noir and Porker didn't join. Porker because he’s a cartoon that follows "toon logic" and Miguel's ideologies are too serious for his taste. And Noir because, and I quote: "The last I heard of a secret society designed to 'keep the peace for the greater good of humanity at any cost' a whole world war came about it. I know fascism when I see it, kid."

Gwen relays that message to Hobie when explaining why Noir isn't joining and Hobie's response to that is: "He gets it! He just like me fr! 😭💕"

I think it be really cute that in the next movie when they finally meet Hobie is kinda awkward and shy. Like this guy has never respected an adult in his life (at least not any that didn’t deserve the disrespect) and with Noir his all like "Hello sir" "How are you sir" "It's very nice to meet you sir!" And Noir is actually just a really nice guy if a little broody but he's heard so much about this kid from Gwen and how much of a good friend he's been to her so Noir already likes him on principle.

Hobie: Uh Mr. Noir-- Parker, sir! It is such an honor to meet you! The work you do in your universe is amazing and I hope to learn more while working alongside you however briefly.

Noir: Ah, Peter is just fine really, or Noir if it gets to confusing. No need to be so formal, we're all on equal footing here. I've heard a lot about you and your world as well from Gwen. Although it does sadden me that such a young man has to take on the burden of saving the world from such a corrupt society yet again, you're going about it quite well. War is hard and ugly and violent but you are amazingly brave to be able to stand up for what is right in the face of it all. If anybody is honored here it is me, for being able to meet such a remarkable young man like you. And knowing that my friends have made such honorable allies in the midst of all this chaos.

Hobie, externally: Yeah, it's whatevs 😎

Hobie, internally: Dont cry dont cry dont cry dont cry dont cry dont cry dont cry dont cry YOURE GUNNA LOOK SO UNCOOL IF YOU CRY IN FRONT OF HIM NOW 😭💕😭💕😭

I just think it be really cute if they had a wholesome father-son sort of relationship where they shit talk corrupt government systems and punch fascists together. You know, regular father-son bonding!

(Also I think that's another reason Miguel didn't invite Spider Noir to the Spiderverse, cuz he knew that both of these menaces together would cause a bigger headache than its worth 🤣🤣🤣)

[fumifooms]

Namalin

Namari x Falin

Easy short rarepair spotlight post for prosperity~ This one I didn’t think of on my own for once, I don’t know if it’s just I forgot the decided-on ship name or what but I remember seeing really nice art and a couple posts about it that I can’t find again 💔 Namalin warrior you are out there and not forgotten ty for making me see the light

I like that Namari’s critical of Falin! I have a whole character analysis on Falin if you’re interested, but it’s generally well noticed that people around Falin idealize her a lot. Laios, Marcille and Toshiro all put her on a pedestral of ultimate goodness in the world, a saintess if nothing short of perfection. Sounds like Chilchuck felt sort of creeped out by her vibes, uncomfortable because he couldn’t read her, so unlike Namari it seems he preferred steering clear of her rather than debate opposed ideologies like he usually does. Makes sense if unlike Namari his issue is with her cryptic aura rather than the stances she does show. "… The dungeon is no place for soft hearts" my ultimate namalin scene <333 It’s fun because while this scene is there to show us a lot of things, mostly to establish Falin’s characters better as it’s the first flashback of her we get, the conflict in it is more than anything else Falin vs Namari in how they contrast and clash and approach situations differently. Namari wants security in swift effective violence and thinks Falin too soft for her own good when she prefers a pacifist approach and promotes compassion even for the "undeserving" in Namari’s eyes. Falin steps between the battle ready Namari and the ghost, fearless. Falin effortlessly gently exorcises the ghost without one step back, quickly. Falin proves someone wrong. Falin proves someone wrong.

I love thinking of Namari being surprised when she learns new aspects of Falin. I like Falin having the power to shape people’s views on her. With Falin ships the most fun part for me is usually that point where Falin/the relationship becomes a clean slate: the person realizes they haven’t been seeing all of her, realizes there’s more of her they hadn’t noticed or that she hadn’t shown, that there’s change, a shift in the views on each other and the dynamic a bit.

Namari often feels like an external view looking in to me… I need to make a proper analysis on her but like. I made a lamari post once (analytic more than personally invested rip sorry) and I go with the same Namari take here, I think she’s someone who tends to have an outsider view on people and relationships if that makes sense, she’s a coworker before anything else and she’s content staying at a distance, she’s not objective per se but she tries to keep feelings out of her choices and how she sees people (her lil arc on not staying to save Falin despite the existing camaderie but in the end asking to work for the Flokes more because she wants to stay with them). She’s serious no nonsense on the job but friendly off the job and likes having casual friends, but she’s not… She doesn’t really feel connected to the group. She’s so focused on doing her job, even if she does get impulsive and passionate and too assertive for her bosses’ tastes, so focused on working her reputation and life from the ground up that that professionalism and attitude limits her social life. It doesn’t help that her reputation makes her widely judged, so she probably enters social spaces on the derensive. The closest person she was to pre-canon as far as we knew was Chilchuck and even they have a very "coworker I get along with" dynamic more than friends, with a similar sense of boundaries, humor and world view. Also like canon says a few time, the party didn’t really try to get to know each other well pre-canon, didn’t hang out after work often no one knew where Marcille was from and no one thought that was weird (also how no one had the instinct to ask about Senshi’s past) etc, the notable exception is we’re shown Namari and Chilchuck hitting taverns together and having a grand time. Everyone’s fine with things as they are, they get along decent even if not everyone considers each other friends exactly. Where I’m getting at is that to me, it feels like she tries keeping emotional distance. Emotional distance from people in general being something which in my interpretation of Falin is also present, which would make it a theme and common thread interesting to explore imo. But yes like, Namari looking at Falin, and how everyone treats her, and being more skeptical, seeing her for what she is a little more, maybe even uncharitable. "Why is everyone treating her like she’s all that? She’s gentle sure but seems like a doormat to me" and then one day she comes running up with her mace ready to cave in someone’s face to protect Laios. So yeah… Keeping her distance but one day Falin offering her some gentleness that feels very too personal for someone who’s not used to being genuine and simply showing that they care… Them talking a bit which leaves her stumped and mindblown in a quiet way when Falin defies her expectations. Namari growing on Falin when she stays and decides to open herself up more, or when Falin ends up reading her really well like she’s shown to do with her parents and Marcille’s worries. She’s very attuned to worrying and why and when different people do it especially when it comes to when they worry for others, perhaps because she does a lot of that too, so I think she’d nail down how Namari does care for the rest of the party and it’d make Namari feel seen both in a warm validating way and in a scared naked way.

We see in the tentacles chapter that she’s someone’s who’s very protective and looks out for her peers in a tough love way. She’s overbearing but it’s because she wants everyone to have the best chances. I like that she’s very confrontational and somewhat pushy and rude, but it’s tough love, it’s protective care: asserting herself to better protect and defend. The opposite of Falin’s type of care, quiet and self-sacrificial devotion. They’re barbarian x healer but they’re also bodyguard x bodyguard in their attitude and role. … What I want for them is slow burn slice of life of being coworkers and slowly getting to know each other better, pretty fluffy, but god, put this way they’d have the potential to be such a hot layered mess of insanely mutually devoted codependence… Falin taking a hit for Namari and Namari being scarred by it forever, lots of arguments about it, my god.

I like that she’s the fighter to Falin’s healer. I looove thinking of scenes of Falin healing Namari, necessitating touch and like, a moment of slowing down and sitting together in silence, too intimate, the perfect opportunity to connect that neither truly want to take until one day they do. I love how onesided I imagine the relationship would be at first. Again, as per my interpretation of Falin, I think Namari would have all these little observations and opinions on Falin meanwhile Falin really doesn’t think of Namari much at first. So Namari thinks a lot about Falin and thinks she’s got her pinned down but hasn’t (not that she’s fully wrong, she’d have credit and confront Falin on some of her flaws like the doormat thing), while Falin is very passive about Namari and doesn’t think deeply about her or anything but she read Namari’s insecurities and logic well. Not unlike how Laios was the one who seemed to understand Namari’s way of care the best in the party in the tentacles episode, and how he was very understanding of her choice and reasons. In Falin’s case it’s more like, the objectivity of passivity… She cares about Namari less than Laios who generally seeks to form bonds, so her lack of investment allows her a neutral perspective. In that way another parallel with Namari that I’m drawing, except Namari lets feelings from her opinions seeps in more… Onesided beef my beloved. I’m going insane save me this post was a mistake. I think Falin takes the crumbs of friendship and love where she can without expecting or asking for anything more than what’s offered, and I think her relationship with Namari (or anyone really) would start out the way it did with Marcille: the other takes the initiative and they end up spending time together, Falin is friendly but unattached until the bond gets gradually and wordlessly strenghtened through regularly spending moments together. So! I think Namari would need to take a lot of the first steps, which since again she’s confrontational & argumentative and doesn’t hold herself back on that front that could spark a lot of conversations I think. Ooor since Falin cares about Namari less than Laios and Marcille she allows herself to be bolder herself lol. Or also circumstances force them to spend time together like dungeon party getting separated shenanigans.

I think their personalities match cutely, I think falin would try to protect namari like she does others but also Namari simply doesn’t need protection, just support. And I think they’re complementary in that way that Namari’s friendly but also won’t sugarcoat things, and I think if she takes an interest in Falin it could go from there and she could develop some understanding of her and idk like an intrigued crush….

Namari wants stability & security & to, like, not be judged and rejected and exiled lol, to find her nest her pack the place where she feels good and wanted in. I think having a fitting partner would help in that (similarly to how the found family with the Flokes seemed to. Oh another parallel, Falin’s top priority is protecting Laios her brother and what Namari are a family figure) and I think Falin would fulfill that cozy protection and that warm ‘being seen and not judged’ feeling. But also Namari would run up to her and yell about her trying to sacrifice herself ever.

Another fun thread to explore: post-canon guilt for not having gone to save her. Sure, they weren’t close, but they had some nice memories, didn’t they? Namari cares, and it stings despite herself when it feels like people think she doesn’t. Oh it wasn’t a lost cause after all, oh it’d have worked out, oh I could have stayed loyal and it wouldn’t have compromised myself in the end. Wanting to apologize to Falin, or just ahnging out with her and sharing a moment after she wakes up. And tangent but that’s interesting to think about… Narratively, I think the purpose of Namari and Toshiro in the story, beyond strenghtening the theme of "seek to understand what is different from you and promote unity despite them" and fleshing the cast and worldbuilding, is Toshiro’s purpose was being a foil & tool in Laios’ arc (trouble connecting with people) while Namari’s was being and a foil & tool in Marcille’s arc (standing up for ideals without being out of touch with harsh realities and needs). They are the conflict that push our protagonists to grow— and they explore different ways of dealing with a situation or topic, different ways of growing into themselves on that end: Laios needing to listen to others more and Toshiro needing to focus on voicing himself more to be able to connect, Marcille needing to learn ideals sometimes cost too much and Namari needing to internalize that ideals are sometimes worth risks (not only to be able to find a reasonable but fulfilling life balance, but also to get in touch with their compassion: Namari restricts her own too much and Marcille is too harsh on people she deems to be breaking values, like Namari not risking her life and career for a friend with no promise of success, or even like how Namari is harsh on Falin’s way of doing things : too gentle, too soft, too idealistic) (similarly to Chilchuck’s arc with Marcille too, and he also plays a hand in advancing that arc in the Namari chapters). We are getting far from namalin sorry ummm preview for future analyses like Toshiro’s contrasting approach to grief and accepting loss.

More post-canon namalin! Thinking about a timeline where… Namari is fond of Falin finding herself and going off to do her thing. "Finally!" she thinks. If she’s still for hire, maybe Falin would want her to come along, either as guide or bodyguard <3, she knows Namari has a lot of good avice on a lot of things to give, plus they’ve worked together before. She hires Namari and they travel for a bit. Travel would do Namari good too I think, even if her end goal is to settle and I think Falin’s would be too eventually. Seeing sights that light her wonder for the world and going places where people don’t know her story, don’t recognize her face or her name. Them, feeling free. Finding a companionship that feels uplifting instead of stifling or charged. Namari having been too in her head about reputation and social games and money that they hit the roads and spend time in nature and it’s like, woah. I’ve been living in a small world with made up rules.

Ahh yes romance, Namari and Falin kissing after 3 years of not really knowing each other despite seeing each other every day then 2 months of wanting to spend more and more time together until they’re an inseparable duo! Workwives. I want them to stand next to each other during campire time and Namari cracks little jokes and Namari laughs. I want Namari to gift Falin a bug caught in amber and for it to be their wedding/promised to each other thing.

TLDR

Rowdy but levelheaded barbarian x gentle healer that will also cave your face in with a mace I like it…… They’re an interesting duo of mixed stuff. Protection being your purpose and what you’re worth for, literally being a meat shield (Laios, Tansu), finding your individuality recognized and validated through a growing bond with the other. Sticking around as a love language. Also bug immortalized in amber and it being beautiful.

Nevermind this wasn’t short. Um! Anyways.

[smolestbrein]

Look, this is going to be sorta a personal post, not exactly coherent but hey, why not.

A big thing holding back the film is the jarring comedy. Like I really can't overstate how utterly annoying Bumblebee is. And it even ruins Shockwave be deciding that he's also just another part of the comedy troupe. The comedy will just randomly decide to ruin moments in ways I really can't stress hard enough.

Like imagine, if, just for a moment that when Shockwave threatens Orion over him wanting the High Guard's help, instead of having the whole thing be settled by Elita's comedy, have be settled in a way that has more tension? Like I know most will tell me "how would you have done it hmm😏" but while I can't exactly solve that, it's doesn't detract from the fact that the comedy robs scenes that could've had moments with more energy to them.

There's just stuff like Bee's lines in the cave after the reveal, honestly most of Bee's scenes feel like genuine filler for the runtime (did we fucking need him to say Badassatron 3 times to Elita?). The cutoff at the moment they escape the cave is also another example. It really does feel like the film is bizarrely insecure to the point of wanting to have laughs for every few moments. It's even worse when the story really does just brush aside how Bumblebee was not only clearly not mentally well from being isolated for so long, but what could've been a subplot about his mental decay is just a punchline. The few times he's an actual character are so little and they happen externally with no real character work other than "thunder hit the writers as to not fuck this scene up".

A less annoying one is Elita-1, who's just … there. While Bumblebee is worse for having most of his scenes be just comedy, Elita is someone I genuinely struggle to understand why she was there in the first place.

Her dynamic with Orion really should've been an opposite to D-16, an easier way to infer how D is clearly not as friendly as he seemed. But instead Elita's just kind of a dick? Like that's really the problem, she's antagonistic to them, but it's not really meaningful? Like her being an asshole is never really forming into a dynamic with the rest. Like you could've had D or Orion at least mention "hey we saved Jazz" either angrily or sarcastically or anything. But instead her presence in the story feels like it's there for obligational reasons than anything really meaningful. Even her speech with Orion is filled with jokes for some reason, like how hard is it to just have her say:

"Orion, despite my misgiving, you're the guy that wants to see the bright future that everyone else doesn't, you're willing to do more in this shithole than I'll ever be. So c'mon! Let's do this." And hell, more mentions to Jazz that isn't just another trophy for Orion? Like that is what kinda ticked me off. Jazz is just this point in a basket for Orion, that never comes up again until Elita mentions him. Imagine this kind of scene:

D-16: Angry tone Ruin your life? Sorry you're too obsessed over promotions over Jazz's life, but you don't get to boss us around!

Orion: Hey! If she didn't toss us the thingy-

Elita-1: Thingy?

Orion: Quickly turns to Elita-1 Please. Quickly snaps back to D-16 All three of us would've died. Heavy sigh Calm down, let's try to settle this peacefully.

That would actually allow a bit more of a connection within the group.

Also Elita's bond with Orion feels underbaked? Like that's the closest word I got. It's just that for all intents and purposes they don't feel like they ever connected and Elita feels almost non-existent. Like I don't think her tossing that pillar ever means much within the story's beats. Like you can do things, factually relevant things, but the execution can make it feel like you have no presence within the story. Elita's speech acts like she had more interactions with Orion offscreen even though the timeline and presentation makes it look like that wouldn't even be possible.

The one person that does is D-16. And while I can see some of the ideas people have explained, here's the real problem with why people have said "his turn was (etc, etc)" is that the story...

...Well look this is going to be a bit of a recap now but first a little thing about pacing, narrative inflection and connective tissue. Pacing is pretty important not out of realism, but verisimilitudinous, meaning "the appearance of being true or real". Reality is reality, and in stories, pacing is there not to make things feel like you're either bloating the film with comedy scenes that exists for the sake of it, or squeezing the film into an anorexic mess.

Now the connective tissue is pretty simple. It's how moments hold weight when they happen, how they reflect the later moments and how the thematic viewpoint of the story or scene. You can't just have a character go through an arc, then vanish into irrelevancy for a long time even by the runtime before having a grand climatic moment. Reinforcement is key because it can add weight. The story-point can't just be a technical straight line.

Inflection is just this: a guy makes a racist/sexist, generally unpleasant remark and when confronted they go "just a joke!" even though it was obvious that it wasn't.

And the first thing that comes to mind is that D-16 is just weirdly incoherent.

People have pointed out his eagerness to make threats on Orion, but the narrative never presents his "threats" to Orion in the beginning as anything more than barbs. Simple jokes to be spoken in conversations. Now you could say that it's meant to be foreshadowing, that we're supposed to connect them to him post-T-Cog, and even in the cave beforehand, being a bit too on-the-nose violent. But it doesn't really work.

The message from how I see people say "He was always secretly bad!" Isn't really there. Orion's lack of a separate connection means that we only see him as the focal narrative lens to see D-16 become Megatron, and it is seen as a "falling" rather than a revealing of his character. The narrative never paints him being revealed.

And then there's the fact that the story really likes having D constantly face-off against shitty people.

This really goes hand-in-hand with how D is given the most focus when it came to wanting Sentinel torn down. When it came to the High-Guard the one given most focus is D, both in wanting Sentinel destroyed, and actively pointing out how blatantly cowardly Starscream is, after the latter established himself as a dick.

Optimus is only spurned into proactivity by D being captured. Like he does get to have his speech to the miners, but the story mainly focused on D when it came to taking down Sentinel.

Like you argue that after finding out his whole world was fake, that everything he worked for was a lie he'd crash out like a meteor. Except this circles back to how underdeveloped Elita-1 and B-127. They're significantly less affected by the revelation that their lives as this whole fucking mess. You could say that Elita has a character-driven reasoning compared to B since he really isn't good, but it still pretty much disconnects any real genuine weight there could've been.

Again, the story pulls so much on Optimus and D contrasting, that the jarring shift in how D begins his dark path is just going 180 without any real fluidity. People posit his earlier behavior, but the narrative portrayed that as him being the responsible one to Orion's recklessness. It becomes jarring because up until the reveal, D is the one to keep his head low, but it's never narratively presented as anything but a guy being responsible while his friend, while good is also clearly in over his head.

D's whole turn is just that jarring, and the narrative also really makes it so that he also takes a significant part of the screentime fighting Starscream, being tortured by Sentinel who also stole his idol's T-Cog. Like you can still argue that his whole scene about mercy is showing his dark turn, but it's the same thing, the story makes jarring shifts over D turning into the bad-guy.

Like let's kid ourselves, the story makes pre-emptive elements to justify it, but it still engages with the idea that the overwhelming uprising is bad. You could say that Optimus also took part in violence, but he's only spurned, reactive whereas D is the only one that acknowledges strength is needed.

The political foundations of the film are weird to me, because it's what Dan Olson said on his video Minecraft, Sandboxes, and Colonialism | Folding Ideas about how certain stories create a "clean" version of history to engage with. And in Transformers One, the story engages with the rage against the oppressor and says:

"Don't try to be violent because it shows that you're inevitably going down the route of becoming a monster."

The Matrix, to me, is the symbol of the divine right over Cybertron. But it's also basically making the idea that radicalism is bad, because the idea that the radical is actually evil/"too far" as per the Matrix's authority.

Some might say "B did it in self-defense! Sentinel didn't have that!" Yeah, let's disregard that those characters are faceless hordes who exist to die to our enemies, and B as a character is so thin on characterization that it's baffling they ever remembered him in the story. The three guards running from B's cutting threat are meant to comedic.

D is outright even more disconnected from the world at times since characters like Jazz are just not meaningful enough to connect us to the idea that he was always bad. Instead the story swerves right into D's thirst for vengeance as this moment of malevolence. When he kills the foot-soldiers with no purpose than to be beaten, the story acts like it's this moment that he might not be all there anymore.

Like the story does put context into these situations, and I'd argue that the reasoning behind making those in the first place are not great. The story just outright gets him into this box. Like the only reactions to Sentinel Prime's reveal that have genuine narrative weight is Orion's and D's, Elita's and B's are just background noise.

The story's shift is desperately trying to bury you into his fall into Megatron, but it rushes in the details, hammering them but never actually allowing us to see where his mindset turned from. D is just instantly now becoming Megatron, his growth being that every action he takes results in his fall.

It's like that you have a pathway with 30 steps before the hole to fall into, and the story just has D suddenly skip 25 steps before he drops.

Look, I don't think the writers and director intentionally made these weird points, but I would argue that the direction of Megatron as a pseudo-justified slave uprising is a demonization of political dissenters that oppose the system with a glorification of the centrists who, realistically, do jack shit to fix things. (IDW2005 has the same issues.)

Revolutions don't have a pretty history, 1984 is the textbook of this, since it directly commentates on reality to an extent. But that excuse feels very disingenuous since D is the only one who has the most rage against Sentinel, his rage is the most focused, and he seems to be the only one that pulls his weight the most against him, narratively.

D-16 is an interesting character in how a story failing to connect other characters, to have others reflect him can make a turn feel rushed. Like this film needed 15 more minutes to have him interact with more characters, or maybe instead of having the scene with ship, and the dumb comedy, cut them out for more interactions with the crew during their trek to Alpha Trion?

Who knows? Discussing in a hypothetical "better" is both infinite and moot, but this was a fun exercise in thought.

Me rn:

Yeah reposting my things into different blogs. check out yappintilldeath

[sonicjustbecause]

The Sonic 3 Trailer lacks of both spoiler and context, and that is about how a trailer should be. We already know what it is about. We only needed to see few scenes to make sure it might look good (or bad, it depends on what we except).

Now, I've seen a couple of crazy theories I've read and I believe both of them won't happen. I'll explain

Tom getting killed

Won't happens anything different to Tom that didn't happen before. he will be at worst knock out/neutralized and go off screen. Like in Sonic 1 (punched by Eggman) and Sonic 2 (encircled by flames)

Such happening would be the complete Shadow's assasination as character. We as fan won't forgive him and also this would push Shadow in the villains realm.

The past characterization.

Original Shadow (Adventure/Heroes/06) was very tame. There is a video on YT that analyze how Shadow behaves toward the world and underline the lack of destruction and violence in SA2, as opposite as we see in Sonic X and ShtH05.

in Sonic-X they changed slightly Shadow's personality, removing his intellectual and contemplative nature and replacing it with a more brash and violent personality. But even there, they prevented Shadow from killing Cosmo, making him acting like a cat who plays with his prey instead of being efficient (slow pace, talking, missing aim despite the short distance and when the thing failed just giving up on that). Shadow could have act smartly simply killing Cosmo in her sleep. As I say, I think they wanted to save his reputation.

In Sonic Force he indeed killed Infinite's squad. His first kill, most likely. Small fries, while leaving the boss alive, evil and stupid considering the aftermath. They saved Shadow's reputation by making Infinite lame and obnoxious and by not showing his gang at all (so we don't get attachted and we still cheer for Shadow). Sort of telling without actually showing anything.

Similar cases and why those characters have been tamed out.

Lupin III had a super rough star. His author got inspired by underground Western comics of the '60s and the original Lupin III was not a thief and a cheerful anti-hero. Lupin was originally a real godfather, a mafia boss, and despite he was mostly accompanied by Jigen and Goemon (who weren't really characterized back then) he had all underdogs, picciottos and so on under his rule. He did steal, but also he killed innocents, he raped women (includin Fujiko) and did several other hideous things.

Evil protagonists don't last long. They either get overhauled or they die like Light Yagami.

For this Lupin had to be tamed. Lupin killed less and less and more and more only with a reason and was more and more gentle with the innocents, including his main foe. And lastly he just virtually stopped to kill.

He's not the only one, many protagonists were born as unremedable villain and then they have been turned into antiheroes... or even heroes. Villanous protagonists never last long.

Shadow is beloved mostly because of his original personality. I noticed in most fan work, he is characterized the way he was in Sonic Adventure 2/Heroes/06 or Prime. Sometimes like in Sonic X and Shadow 05. Rarely like modern Shadow.

Back to Shadow

"What did you do?"

"What I had to!"

Those lines may be related to anything and everything. They might be related to Shadow's attempt to destroy the world like in SA2.

"I had to keep my promise!"

"What I had to do" suggest me something Shadow did not because he wanted to but for an external obiective. It might be world safety, keeping a promise, preventing the Sun going red giant, anything. Maybe even destroying Metal Sonic (if he appears like some rumor suggest) after Sonic convinced him to join the good side. Shadow has a long story dealing with living weapons.

Shadow stealing Stone's bike

Simply impossible. I already said Shadow's size is comparable to the size of a five years old child, about 1m tall. Stone is a 1,78m tall adult.

How Shadow would look on Stone's bike. It would be good material for the memes. And even if he would be able to ride an adult designed bike, he would be unable to do the Akira thing.

[quackity1999]

Mister Quackity,

Yeah Shrouds doing okay! He could drink as much poison as he wants without even feeling a little bad! He's so lucky .. wish I could drink poison like him sometimes..

But we would love to learn about 'las nevadas'!! For I wanna know what you do there because I've heard you could gamble with money which sounds really fun! While Shroud wants to know how it is being able to boss around people and tell them what to do without getting in any trouble. Wondering if he could be the boss of it someday so he could boss big people around like our parents boss us!

- Micheal_Beloved and Shroud Innit

( @michealsproutsnotes )

dear michael & shroud,

good news is i'll be back in las nevadas sooner rather than later. :] sounds to me that you two are masterminds in the making. first off, las nevadas isn't exactly a place for kids or teens— it's more of a business, less of a daycare. second, gambling isn’t all "fun”; it’s about strategy, risk, sometimes even losing your whole life savings. but you didn't hear that from me— just stick to card games with your parents for now.

as for being the boss, shroud, it’s not as easy as it looks. sure, i get to tell people what to do, but i also have to clean up their messes and deal with their whining, attend meetings and external partnership gatherings, organise taxes, talk to department heads and spend hours approving stuff that would just make you wanna take a solid nap instead.

if you ever want to take over las nevadas, you’ll have to learn how to manage paperwork, social etiquette, arguments, and snobby people who fully believe they’re smarter than you (spoiler: they’re not).

ps: shroud, stick to bossing around michael. good practice for someday taking over the world— get those skills in early.

as always,

quackity from las nevadas.

[autisticlalna]

i went insane in avid's comments again so here's the weekly wall of text:

the remodeled control room is supposed to get a stronger signal down into the Void-- and, potentially, to what's below it. everything glitches out like when Avid has flashbacks(?) to Limbo. Avid's confused, worried, and then glitches into his OSSHA uniform and is eerily calm. "They're not safe. I need to stop them. They can't fall in. If they fall in, I… I can't leave, I can't- I can save all of them. I will save all of them."

THEN WE HAVE THE MYSTERY ROOM. this has already been pointed out elsewhere in the comments, but that specific palette harkens back to areas under control by Olm, the Old One from the Avid Adventures series. there's a very memorable boss intro where you walk through a beautiful cathedral in darkness as tendrils of something worryingly fleshy spread across the walls and floor behind you. the fact that Olm's infection is here, of all places, is frightening-- and where IS here? is this part of OSSHA HQ? it's pretty hard to build hidden places in Skyblock, but… has this been here all along?

"Don't worry. I'll take care of you, Trog. You'll never fall in the Void again! None of them… will ever fall in the Void again." TROG'S BEEN TUBED!! THEY'VE BEEN PICKLED!! AAAUGH!! the worst part is, Trog might've been gone for a while! the last we've seen of them (in episodes / "in-character", anyway) was when they stopped by Cherry Kingdom to negotiate a trade deal, and that was… um. nearly three weeks ago. that would track with how oxidized their tube is, too.

and the thing is, Avid knows about Trog's trip to the Void. in Trog's POV, they reach the bottom of the Void, find someone there, and then get pulled back by the OSSHA station when Avid last turned on the machine. Trog told Avid about what they saw, and that might've been what spurred Avid into action to kidnap them: they got too close. Avid thinks he's protecting them (after all, the only reason they came back up was because of external influence-- what if they were trapped down there Forever? wouldn't that be awful? isn't that terrifying? Avid's doing them a favor, surely.) while his boss wants Trog out of the picture entirely before they can poke further into the carefully-constructed trap Avid is caught in.

there's still a lot to unpack that I don't have the keys to: "I can't leave", what exactly Avid saw or heard and why it pushed him to check in on Trog in stasis, how much time is lost between glitch segments (in the sense of "Avid is skipping from place to place, so we're probably skipping over things being said and things he's seeing as well"), if anyone else has been put in stasis yet.

[synthient]

I think that whether or not "Rogue is the Master" turns out to be correct, Davies/Herron/Redman assumed that it would be the popular, "obvious" fan theory after the episode came out.

They figured that everyone would be abuzz about the sheer number of Master references they worked in. "Rogue is the Master" would be the fan assumption they'd be working with and against in all subsequent, extra-textual Rogue content.

Now. Let's step away from "is Rogue the Master" for a moment, and focus on another question: "is Rogue coming back"

On the pro side: they keep working Rogue's ring into the Doctor's costume designs (potentially setting up some sort of "the ring is actually a tracking device or something" plot beat). Rogue and The Meep appear to have the same boss. Season 1 and 2 were shot back to back, which takes care of "will they ever be able to work Groff into the shooting schedule again"

On the con side: the novelization. If there's supposed to be any sort of mystery or suspense around Rogue that would sustain another appearance (and frankly, I don't think "Rogue is trapped on Scary World, but the Doctor saves him" would provide enough narrative thrust on its own. or the necessary relationship conflict, within the structural constraint where a straightforward "happily ever after/domestic bliss" would kind of end the show) - then I don't think we would have gotten this much detailed, unambiguous info about Rogue's thoughts and background and motivations.

Unless: either everything we just learned will be completely irrelevant to future plot twists (which would imply that any coming wrinkles in the story will be more external conflicts than character-driven ones. Less interesting, imo)

Or, everything we just learned is some kind of misdirect

But why would they feel the need to misdirect? If Rogue's story isn't finished yet, then why do the novelization at all? Or why not restrain it to info we already know, or the Doctor's pov only?

Which brings us back to: if the creators assumed that "Rogue is the Master" would be a major fan theory, then how would we expect them to act?

If Rogue isn't the Master, then I would expect them to play up the theory in order to distract from whatever reveal is actually coming.

You could argue that RTD liking the above insta comment would count. But if the goal was to tease the fandom, then one insta like wouldn't exactly be a very public forum for it (compared to, say, those "hee hee, what's with all the 4th wall breaks? What's with Mrs. Flood? Maybe we'll never know 🤭" comments in mainstream outlets)

If Rogue is the Master, and they thought that a significant portion of the fandom already knew that...then I'd probably expect them to throw out some misdirection.

Hey uh, for no particular reason. Remember when Moffat knew perfectly well that "Missy is the Master" would be glaringly obvious, but still wanted the reveal to land with at least some surprise. So he shot a fake scene where Missy goes "I'm the Rani btw 😘" and tried to leak it on purpose

[the-haunted-office]

Did you know that Wheatley is a huge inspiration behind many of my muses? Or rather, individual facets of his personality are part of many of my muses' personalities?

Thursday: Wheatley's animated tendency to talk a lot and make a lot of mistakes. The more affable side of his personality

Doomsday: One of the more sore spots of Wheatley's personality, the part where he is raging at the end of the game, that feels that she was always the sacrificial lamb and disposable to others, that nobody actually cares about her. You hear this part of Wheatley more in the dialogue during the boss fight, when he says things like, "We've had some times, haven't we? Like that time I jumped off my management rail, not sure if I'd die or not when I did, and all you had to do was catch me? Annnd you didn't. Did you? Ohhhh. You remember that? I remember that. I remember that all the time." And, "And we would have talked our way out of it. Oh! Except you forgot to tell me you'd murdered her. And that she needed you to live, so the only available vent for her rage would be good old crushable Wheatley. Yeah. Little details I remember. Easy little tidbits you could have used to save me from getting crushed if you'd cared, which you didn't, obviously. And still don't."

Oleander: The part of Wheatley that acts all superior to others he clearly feels superior to, to the point where he will actively talk down to them and strut around with an annoying sort of arrogance. But as soon as someone bigger and badder than he is, someone who is clearly more intelligent than he is, walks into the room, he cowers. He feels he was meant for something greater and that he was never given the opportunity to achieve it, and that if he was just given a chance he could rule the world, but the fact is, he couldn't. He just wasn't cut out for it.

Dorian: Again Wheatley's affability, but this leans more into his curiosity and goofiness than the part of his personality that makes mistakes. A lot of people see Wheatley as "baby", and that's more of who Dorian is. There isn't a harmful bone in Dorian's body, or whatever the building equivalent of that is, I can't think of words at the moment for some reason. >>;

James: The absolute need for external validation. He needs it so much, he will destroy everything around him to get it. He projects his failures onto others, especially when they're pointed out to him, and his negative traits just don't exist to him - he pretends they don't exist, anyway. All he can focus on is that need to be needed, that desire to be desired, that love for being loved. Everything else is..... well, what is it to him?

Stanley: The part of me that 100% believes that in another life, Wheatley was just some guy. xD

[xxbubbleytea]

Spirittake lore!

I’m going to write a semi-proper introduction to my undertale AU, Spirittake, since I’ll be posting my watercolor concept art later.

Lumins soul color is cyan. Lumin was a pure integrity mage whose moral compass leaned towards kindness-based integrity; so when she fell, the kindness souls spirit of my universe decided to stick with her. They didn’t fuse, but she did evolve with the added power. With it, Lumins pure soul trait overflowed and shifted slightly with the added kindness, the blue and green creating a cyan and leading to her tenacity. Tenacity could be described as determination through hardships, but for Lumin, it’s her integrity strong enough not to give up on holding on to her morals closely, despite difficulty.

As for evolved souls; Think of it how LOVE can power determination, its kind of like that; but certain branches of other souls (like tenacity) powers that soul trait. Lumin is the last in their own AU to be an evolved mage, so she’s last to hold the Tenacity trait as well.

When Frisk fell into the underground, everything was as it once was in Undertale. They grew to love the monsters, they grew old with the monsters, but over and over again, they missed seeing their overjoyed faces at the sight of the stars for the first time. At the sight of the sun for the first time. So, over and over again did Frisk reset. Over and over again, until Sans started remembering every little bit from each reset.

Flowey managed to break from the loophole and completely isolate from this, refusing to interact with Frisk after the 50th true pacifist reset and seemingly disappearing completely. Sans, on the other hand, wasn’t as lucky, trapped in his usual dialogue and interactions for the sake of his brother.

At least, that’s until Sans is unable to hide his growing paranoia and insanity after him and his brother are torn from the surface one last time. Instead of Papyrus being the one to try stopping Frisk from leaving Snowdin, Sans takes his place, not allowing Frisk mercy and fighting in hopes he can hopefully make them give up. Fighting so that he can take their soul and free monsters, and fighting to stay free.

Except he doesn’t have enough determination. Frisk, still wanting to do a pacifist run, realizes they don’t have a choice in killing him, and eventually, Sans dusts. Flowey, surprisingly, still doesn’t appear. Frisk is unable to achieve their perfect happy ending, attempting to reset but no matter how many times they try, whichever saves they load, Sans is gone, and Papyrus remembers what they’ve done. Frisk takes Sans’ soul and attempts to use it to cross the barrier, making it past just before Sans uses the last of his souls magic and determination to kill them. I’d have to say this would’ve went wrong regardless because Sans wasn’t a boss monster. They’re unable to come back, as is Sans.

Sans doesn’t truly “die”, though. He ends up as a spirit, just not as lucky as Napstablook. Since he wasn’t born a ghost, only Papyrus can see him, but everyone remembers him. Regardless, Sans’ death didn’t lack other repressions. His influx of magic leaving the underground impacts the core directly enough for it to malfunction; not severely, but enough for it to have impacts that I’ll go into detail of in later posts. These impacts, along with the loss of the 6 human souls, and fluctuating magic levels, end up being what drive monsters to insanity (as well as a drop of temperature in the underground). Due to it having external causes, the monsters insanity is something I may end up having taking a form inside of them that we will call shadow, and Papyrus and Flowey are the only ones who’s shadow hasn’t taken over. Papyrus wears his brothers hoodie tied his neck.

I’ll be posting more on it!

[tulipscomeinallsortsofcolors]

How does Harley feel when that protective posessiveness finally includes him?

Harley, externally: [voice cracking] thanks

Harley, internally: YIKES YIKES YIKES-

basically......... imagine you accidentally save a mob bosses life one day. and now he's like "youre family" and is Very Nice To You and gives you gifts and pays off all your student loans and groceries and would totally oneshot anyone who looked at you wrong. this is kinda cool! it is also extremely terrifying

like, he adjusts, he lives the rest of his life in Wickhills so he's Got Time you know, but Oh My God someone give this man a xanax

[xiaonyc]

xiaob͙ᴬ𝚋y's͙ temple☽

🔗 Masterlist 🔗

ᴴᴵ ᴮᴬᴮᴵᴱˢ,

ᴹᵞ ᴺᴬᴹᴱ ᴵˢ ˣᴵᴬᴼᵞᴵᴺ, ᴮᵁᵀ ᵁ ᶜᴬᴺ ᶜᴬᴸᴸ ᴹᴱ 𝕩𝕚𝕒𝕠. (Shiao) It means flute。

↳ ⁑⁎✬⋆ my baby fashion brand 『 @hautepng 』

↳ ⁑⁎✬⋆ my art blog 『 @xiaoyinxie 』

..............✩ 𝕒ᴮᴼᵁᵀ ⋆.................

ᴵ ᴾᴼˢᵀ ˢᴱᴸᶠᴴᴱᴸᴾ, ᶠᴬˢᴴᴵᴼᴺ, ᶜᴼᴼᴷᴵᴺᴳ, ᴬᴺᴰ ᴬᴿᵀ。ᴵ ᴿᴱᴮᴸᴼᴳ ᴬᴺᵞᵀᴴᴵᴺᴳ ᴵ ᴸᴵᴷᴱ。

.....✩.....✩.....✩.....✩.....✩.....✩.....

on this blog i will be sharing my journey of healing, growing, and becoming the best version of ᴹᵞˢᴱᴸᶠ. my joys are fashion, self care, cooking, and creating art in any medium. i work on things as i have energy and desire to, my life is nonlinear, i learn, adapt, do nothing, do something, i trust the cosmos to guide the way, i place my faith in what i cannot understand, something beyond my existence as a material body. grateful to b here and blessings to eryone xx

.............✩ 𝕤ᴱᴸᶠ ᴴᴱᴸᴾ ⋆...............

✩ status... treating myself like a precious baby, unlearning self-hating patterns

✩ what self-growth means to ᴹᴱ..... I am on my own journey to become the best version of myself, following my divine path. I am beautiful, a 1 of 1 creation by god. The world glitters around me, I am mentally strong. I am emotionally aware. I take care of my body to the best of my ability and nourish myself. My mind is sacred. My body is sacred. My soul is sacred. I honor them all and treat them as my babys.

I don't know everything but I will fail over and over again to become truest self, unaffected by opinion, trends, and expectations. I continue learning. I continue growing. I continue protecting my energy in any way I can. I put in the work today so I can continue to blossom in my lifetime, regardless of age.

If things i post can be of help to anyone, i am glad. If not, its okay too. Our journeys are all unique and trusting ourselves takes 1st priority.

..............✩ 𝕗ᴬˢᴴᴵᴼᴺ ⋆.................

✩ status... learning how to style outfits with a 30 OOTD challenge

✩ what fashion means to ᴹᴱ..... fashion gives me an outlet to transmute my truest self outwardly, that is why its my love. But it hasn't always been easy. I have cried over and over, had many failures, struggled with self-confidence to get to a point today where I accept myself as i am 1st and try my best to express my individuality 2nd. It has been a journey of healing my self-hating past, learning about myself, and choosing to not give a f what others think. Bad boss bitch.

..............✩ 𝕔ᴼᴼᴷᴵᴺᴳ ⋆.................

✩ status... learning to cook vietnamese food

✩ what cooking means to ᴹᴱ..... cooking is me taking responsibility for my life. it's taught me to adapt, budget, time manage, prepare, and make things my own creations. I had struggles along the way, such as with discipline, overspending, wasting food, ordering takeout all the time, eating junk food and overprocessed garbage, going on autopilot mode to not have to think or adapt. But by adapting more, i have found a sweet balance that gives me easy options for cooking delicious meals when I don't have much energy and options for when i am more ambitious. i love the smile on a loved ones face when its delicious ^_^

................✩ 𝕒ᴿᵀ ⋆...................

✩ status... not drawing much these days but I like fashion drawings

✩ what art means to ᴹᴱ.... the challenge of my life, it means practicing lots of self-love, and stepping into my own shoes: drawing ᵂᴴᴬᵀ and ᴴᴼᵂ I want regardless of what others say or think, and 2. Finding my true reason to create beyond ego and external validation, learning to create to heal, to have fun, and get closer to my true self, trusting inspiration will come to me, and believing in myself

☆★ Thanks for reading if you got here, I almost gave up on this post bc a part got deleted and it didnt save. I want to pull through even though my confidence is a bit shot//. ♡ THANKYOU ♡

All dividers and photos are made by me unless credited. I might open a request for them to celebrate the opening/ rennovation of this blog ^-^ i want to thank @fawndollie for the rainbow text inspiration and @anitalenia for the post decorations inspiration and the "status" text <33