#this is related to flight rising believe it or not

[weirdphilosopher]

gull moment

[kiss-me-cill-me]

Gravity Wins

Pairing: Robert Capa x Reader

Word Count: 5.2k

Summary: The walls around here are too thin, and Capa can't seem to mind his own business.

Warnings: Smut, changes to several minor aspects of canon, alcohol/drinking (not related to the smut), mentions of vibrators, sexual frustration, masturbation (f), slight voyeurism, teasing, biting, quiet sex, and my obvious fixation on Capa's arms

A/N: In the words of Jayne Cobb... I'll be in my bunk. This was the winner of my "Bad Summary WIPs" poll. I had originally intended for "Gravity Wins" to be a working title that I would change later, but uh, it did win, so I'm keeping it lol. Happy Capa Month! 🥰

***Please read the warnings before continuing. Minors DNI***

Life aboard Icarus II had its charms. The views were unlike anything else; the oxygen garden was truly breathtaking; and the ship itself was pleasantly quaint, in a close-knit kind of way. Most of the time, at least. Sometimes, that same pleasant quaintness had a habit of dissolving into claustrophobia; the tight quarters and lack of privacy suddenly surrounding you on all sides. 

That’s why it was important to find small moments of joy where you could, to pass the time. And that’s why you were currently in the canteen, with Cassie and Corazon squeezed in on either side of you, passing around a bottle of contraband vodka. 

It was cheap stuff; strawberry flavored. Not necessarily what you would have picked to drink, but beggars couldn’t be choosers and Cassie - god love her - had always had terrible taste in booze. Still, it got the job done. And getting to spend a night gossiping and getting a little tipsy every once in a while was just enough to break up the daily routine and keep the three of you from going mad.

Only three months into the mission, and your one bottle was already two-thirds empty. It was going to be a long flight.

“Y’know what I miss?” Cassie sighed, shoulders loose as she passed the bottle over to you. “Pizza.”

You took a swig - the cheap, artificial taste of fruit mixing terribly with the burn of alcohol - and passed the bottle on. Corazon slouched forward on the table.

“Don’t talk about food, Cassie. Please,” she whined. 

It wasn’t as if you were starving, but the bare-bones, monotonous rotation of meals you all ate while onboard the ship left a lot to be desired. You could feel your mouth watering just at the thought of something besides the same old efficient, nutritionally-dense meals you’d been eating for weeks now.

“I miss ice cream,” you jumped in.

Corazon groaned and took a sip of the vodka, rubbing her head.

“Enough already,” she begged.

“Fine then, Cora - what do you miss?” asked Cassie, reaching across your little circle to take the bottle back. She tipped it against her lips, taking a quick sip.

“My vibrator,” answered the biologist.

You and Cassie burst into laughter; high-pitched giggles bouncing off the walls of the cramped space. 

“I’m serious,” laughed Cora, nudging your shoulder.

“Oh, I believe you - I miss mine, too,” Cassie admitted. 

You hummed in agreement. It was a long journey, and until you’d stepped foot on the ship, you really hadn’t anticipated all the small comforts of home you would miss. If getting off could be considered a comfort.

“Here’s the real question though,” said Cassie, pointing the bottle at each of you in turn. “Would you fuck any of the guys?”

“On the ship?” you asked.

“You see any other guys around?” Cassie laughed. 

You joined her, feeling the hot flush of alcohol rise on your cheeks.

“What about Mace?” Cora offered.

“Too angry.” Cassie scrunched her nose.

“Sure, he’s hot-headed - but with guys, sometimes that means he’s a good fuck.”

Another round of laughter echoed after Corazon’s remark.

“Harvey?” you suggested, narrowing your eyes. Watching to see if either of the other women’s faces betrayed a genuine reaction.

“Kind of stuck-up,” Cora commented.

The group agreed, and lapsed into silence. The bottle made another round, and you felt yourself starting to tip past the point of a slight buzz.

“How ‘bout Capa?” Cassie asked.

“Maybe if he wasn’t such a dick,” Cora scoffed.

You snorted, then scrambled to control your expression.

“I think he’s kinda hot,” Cassie ventured.

A chorus of oooohs made their way around the table; Cassie waving them off.

“But I wouldn’t sleep with him,” she insisted. “Seems like the kind of guy to make himself come and then roll over.”

Corazon laughed sharply and then turned to face you.

“What about you, huh?” she asked, voice lowering. “Would you let Capa teach you all about physics and where he can stick ‘em?”

Before you had a chance to tease Cora about being so buzzed that she couldn’t even come up with a half-sensical sex joke about physics, the party was broken up by the arrival of a fourth person. Speak of the devil himself.

Capa glanced over at the three of you as he walked in, pausing to quietly open a cupboard and pull something out. Cora ignored him. Cassie took a swig of the vodka. And you quickly averted your eyes, looking down at your lap as your face burned.

“What are you all giggling about?” Capa droned.

“Nothing,” Cora snapped, a little harsher than was necessary.

Capa’s eyes narrowed, landing on the vodka. There was a moment of rigid silence.

“You know there’d be trouble if the captain found out about that,” he commented.

It wasn’t exactly a threat, but it wasn’t exactly a harmless observation either. Cassie stood up and slouched over to him, pressing the bottle against his chest. You were watching out of the corner of your eye, still too embarrassed to meet anyone’s gaze.

“But you wouldn’t tell on us - right, Capa?” Cassie asked sweetly. 

She was a little too drunk for her own good, and you felt a quick bolt of tension in your stomach. Capa gave each of you a questioning look, impossible to tell what he was thinking as he backed off and walked out the way he’d come in.

“Just keep it down in here,” he muttered.

Once he was out of earshot, Cassie sat down, and the three of you shared a shy laugh of relief. Corazon instantly broke the tension.

“See? What’d I say? He’s a dick.”

The next morning, you woke up groggier than you should have. After Capa’s interruption, the vodka bottle was quickly put away, hidden in Cassie’s bunk for another night. You hadn’t really had too much to drink, but the minor shame of getting caught mixed with the shitty vodka was enough to make you feel thrown off.

You shuffled out of bed, slipping into a pair of sandals after pulling on your pants. You shrugged into a shirt and ran a tired hand over your face.

On your way to the bathroom, Harvey stopped you. You only had the energy to listen to about half of what he was saying, still feeling grumpy and with a sour taste in your mouth. He was talking to you about some report; asking why it hadn’t been submitted in triplicate. You clenched your jaw, really not having the patience to deal with him right now.

You promised Harvey you’d re-file your report, and walked away before he could rope you into any more conversation. Cora’s assessment of him was accurate, you thought. Stuck-up.

As you walked, your thoughts wandered back to how the night had ended. Or, more accurately, to what had happened just before you’d been interrupted by the very topic of your conversation. Capa. You had been about to open your mouth to answer Cora’s question about him… or, not answer. You had actually been planning to make a joke and shift the attention away from yourself, specifically so that you wouldn’t have to give a straight yes or no. Because, of course, you didn’t want either of the other girls to know-

“Hey, wait up!” 

A voice behind you caused you to jump. You turned to see Cassie, already catching up behind you, oddly chipper considering that she’d been the one drinking more of the vodka than anybody last night.

“Hey, Cas.”

She fell into step beside you, easily keeping up with your sluggish pace. You tried to straighten up and match her energy, but it was hard to when all you wanted to do was crawl back in bed.

“Harvey just stopped me in the hallway,” Cassie told you. “Said something about getting you to file a report? I just wanted to warn you; he seemed pissed.”

Great - now Harvey was sending your friends after you.

“Yeah, we already talked about it,” you muttered. 

“You okay?” Cassie asked. “You look miserable.”

You felt miserable. And not just because of last night. For the past few weeks, you’d felt off. Moody. Unfocused. You'd been trying to push through it, but you felt yourself losing ground, and you were frustrated. 

It was partly to be expected - at least according to Searle, the ship’s de facto therapist, who you had talked to about your problems a few days ago. Space travel was taxing on the body, and sometimes doubly so on the mind. You felt cooped up, and getting mildly drunk with Cassie and Corazon only provided a temporary distraction.

“Cabin fever?” Cassie guessed.

“Something like that,” you agreed.

Cassie sighed. “Cora was right. We all really need to get laid.”

“Cassie!” 

You hissed her name, spinning around to check that no one was behind you eavesdropping. The last thing you needed was a repeat of last night.

“Relax - I’m not saying I’ll fuck you, so don’t get all excited,” Cassie joked. “But she is right. It gets to you, after a while.”

It certainly did, and you could attest to that fact. Last night it had seemed almost funny; giggling with your friends over missing your vibrators. But the truth was, three long months into your journey, you were already starting to go stir crazy from a life of near-celibacy.

“Maybe you just need to blow off some steam.” Cassie prodded, not letting up.

“Cas, no offense, but can we not discuss my sex life until I've been awake for at least twenty minutes?”

“What sex life?” Cassie laughed, a little too loudly, and you hurried to shush her again. “I'll shut up,” she promised, continuing on, “but all I'm saying is you look like you could use it.”

With one more conspiratorial giggle, she left, walking ahead of you down the bright hallway. You groaned inwardly, knowing she was right but also that there was nothing you could do about it. 

You went into the bathroom and splashed cold water on your face.

The day seemed to drag on worse than it ever had. You tried to remind yourself to be grateful; that you were lucky enough to have been selected as a member of the small crew in the first place, and that your mission was important to the fate of mankind. But it all felt so trivial when you couldn't focus on anything other than the building feeling of dissatisfaction that ached between your legs.

Talking about Capa last night really hadn't helped things. He was all you could think about as you tried in vain to get your work done. Twice, you caught yourself making mistakes in your calculations as your mind started to drift elsewhere.

What gave him the right to walk around in those tank tops, showing off his perfect arms and chiseled shoulders - that's what you wanted to know. And why did he even have such sexy arms to begin with? He was a physicist, for god's sake. He sat in his lab all day doing nothing that should have given him such infuriatingly noticeable forearm definition. 

Capa had a habit of putting his hands on his hips or in his pockets while he talked, and of running his fingers over his lips when he was thinking. Somehow, everything he did seemed to make a couple of thin veins poke just below his skin, as if to tease you into thinking what he'd look like holding you up against a wall. These were all little things you had noticed - found it impossible not to, actually - and they drove you crazy. Being cooped up was one thing, but being cooped up with Robert Capa was a whole other problem.

Cora was right, though. He was unapproachable at best and actively self-isolating at worst. Capa was the pariah of the crew, and whether or not he intended to be, acting that way made him come across as kind of rude. But to you, that only added to the appeal. The idea of getting with a guy who was so aloof made your fantasies run wild.

That night, you decided to take matters into your own hands. You slipped into your small room, dimmed the lights to thirty percent power, and shrugged out of your shirt and pants. 

This was nothing you hadn't done before; it wasn't exactly groundbreaking stuff to masturbate when you were horny. For weeks now, though, it hadn’t really been enough to scratch the itch that seemed to grab hold of you whenever you were around Capa. But it dulled the ache, and for now that was the best you could hope for.

Your bed was more of a bunk, recessed partially into the wall. You laid down on the springy mattress and sighed as your fingers slipped beneath the waistband of your underwear. You were still in your panties and bra, feeling self conscious about stripping all the way down even though you were alone in your room. 

It felt like everybody was living right on top of each other, although luckily your dorm was at the very end of a row, so you only had a neighbor on one side. Unfortunately, that one neighbor just so happened to be Capa. 

Knowing that he was so physically close only added to your frustration as your fingers swept over your clit. But still, it wasn’t like you had a choice about Capa being in the room next to you, and you certainly didn't have anywhere else to do this. Your fingers trailed lower, over your core, and you gasped.

You were already wet. Of course you were; after doing nothing but daydreaming about Capa for practically the entire day, how could you not be? You pictured his face from last night; how he had briefly looked at each one of you as you’d sat around the table with your two friends. The rush that it sent through your veins was electric. Your cheeks felt hot as you imagined him, his eyes holding slight disappointment while he looked at you. 

You weren't sure why that turned you on, but it did. You wanted him to look at you with that soft little frown; his blue eyes piercing through you as if they could see every dirty fantasy that played out behind your own eyelids. 

You sped up, using your fingers to collect some of the wetness that eagerly pooled between your legs, and then bringing them back up to rub at your clit. Slow circles at first, and then desperate with more pressure. Your mattress squeaked, and you hissed, bringing the hand that wasn't touching yourself down to grab at the cotton sheets.

“Fuck,” you whimpered, careful to stay as quiet as you could.

The only sound in the room aside from your moans was the wet noise that greeted you as you stuck two fingers into yourself, not bothering to warm up with just one. You needed this. You needed more, but this was the best you were getting. You curled your fingers, arching your back and daring to let a whisper of his name cross your lips.

A few seconds later, you were stopped by a knock at your door.

You barely had time to pull your fingers out, scrambling to sit up and cover yourself with a blanket as your door slid open. There were no locks, which usually wasn't a problem, except of course at times like this when it really reminded you that you had absolutely no privacy.

You were expecting Cassie - she had a habit of barging in, instead of waiting for you to answer her knock. But instead, you were greeted again by the very face you had been picturing only seconds ago.

“Capa?” 

Your voice felt strangely small in the cramped space. Capa stepped through the door, letting it hiss closed behind him. His face was expressionless, except for the barest hint of that pout that drove you so crazy.

He didn’t answer right away, but took a step closer and leaned up against the wall that separated his room from yours. Then, his lips curled into a smile.

“You really don’t realize how thin these walls are, do you?”

The implication of his words crept up on you, until finally your face was frozen in a look of sheer horror. 

“How much did you hear?” you asked, voice just barely above a whisper.

“Enough.” Capa shifted his weight, pushing himself off of the wall to stand up. “Enough to figure out the answer to that question Corazon asked you last night.”

“You heard that, too?” you groaned.

Capa walked over and sat down on the edge of your bed. Not touching you yet or getting too close, but hovering just out of reach in a way that made your skin tingle and your heart do flips. You had no clue if he was torturing you or inviting you to make the next move.

“D’you always think about me when you touch yourself?” Capa asked, bringing the volume of his voice down to match yours.

He sounded so sexy like that. He must have known what he was doing to you; his eyes were practically glowing with mirth and his lips were still curled into that smile. You shifted uncomfortably.

“I’d… rather not answer that,” you choked out.

Capa’s eyes darkened. No answer was as much of an affirmation as admitting it.

“You should have just asked for my help,” Capa teased. “You obviously need something. And it’s not like I’m twiddling my thumbs over there. Cumming into my own hand got old weeks ago.”

Your whole face burned hot with embarrassment at what he was admitting. And yet, at the same time, you shivered. The blanket you’d haphazardly thrown over yourself only covered your waist, and your bare shoulders were suddenly prickled with goosebumps. 

Finally, Capa reached out and put a warm hand on your shoulder, then dragged it down the side of your arm, taking your bra strap with it.

“Want me to touch you?” he asked.

His voice was low, and you could feel yourself getting pulled down with it. You knew that it would be stupid to do this; sleeping with Capa could only open a Pandora’s box. If it was good, you wouldn’t be able to get off on your own fingers for the rest of your time on the ship. If it was bad, you still had years to spend cramped up together. Your room right next to his in the already-tight quarters. It wasn’t as if you’d be able to avoid him after an awkward hook-up.

Suddenly, though, you realized that you were thinking way too much.

“Yes,” you whispered. 

Capa’s hand trailed farther down your arm; grabbed your wrist. You bit your cheek, wary of making any more noises after his earlier comment. All the crew’s quarters were laid out close together; if you were too loud, the whole ship would hear.

“Tell me what you want me to do to you,” Capa hummed, bringing you close as he leaned in, his lips practically brushing against yours. That seemed like a good enough place to start as any.

“K-kiss me - please,” you whimpered.

Capa’s lips found yours, and the rush that surged through you was almost overwhelming. It had been months since you’d kissed anyone, and the press of his slightly chapped lips against yours was doing more to you than it should have. 

Your mouth opened, and his tongue instantly pushed in. He was moving slow, but with a hunger that sent your mind racing with thoughts of what he could do to you if you asked. You felt Capa’s breath against your face; heard the low moan that vibrated through both of you as it came from the depths of his chest.

“What else?” Capa urged, pulling away. “We both know that’s not all you want.”

You could hardly think straight, much less put together a sentence. Instead, you guided his hand to your chest, and felt as his fingers squeezed. As he did, he leaned back in for another kiss.

You had put Capa’s hand over your bra, but he quickly slipped it under the fabric to rake over your bare skin. His fingers pressed into you, kneading at delicate flesh. You moaned, opening your mouth against his kiss again, and he bit hungrily at your lips.

“So soft,” he murmured, flicking a thumb over your nipple. “But that’s not where you really want me to touch…”

His voice was airy, even as he gripped at you with an intensity that almost hurt. He lowered his rough hand from your breast, and pushed past the blanket still draped over your legs. Teasing at the hem of your panties for only a second, he deepened the kiss as his fingers pushed lower and lower. Finally, he reached the wetness that was still pooling between your legs.

“You’re fucking soaked,” he groaned. You felt your cheeks heat up again. “You really want it that badly?”

“Fuck, Capa,” you whined.

“Want me to touch you like this?” he teased, voice still husky as he pressed one finger into you.

He had barely pushed in the pad of his fingertip, and you were already sinking into the mattress, unable to hold yourself up. Capa added a second finger, then repositioned himself, squeezing into the too-small bed with you to hover over your frame as his fingers roamed deeper. 

“Yes - just like that,” you begged. “Don't stop.”

Capa curled his fingers inside you, and you opened your mouth in a silent gasp. Your eyes had squeezed shut, and when you opened them again, you saw him looking pleased with himself, gazing down at you as you lost your mind over his touch.

“Bet you've thought about me doing this,” he whispered. “Isn't that right?”

“Yes-” Your voice hitched. “Yes- ah- thought about- cumming on your fingers.”

Capa smirked and brought his lips to your ear.

“You're not gonna cum on my fingers.”

He pulled them out of you, and you groaned at the loss. You felt his stubble scrape your cheek as he got up off of you, and you watched, half in a trance, as he took off his boxers. You hadn't even noticed until now, but he was just in his underwear and a t-shirt. He pulled the shirt off, too, and then went about removing the last of your clothes. 

You suddenly had the urge to cover yourself; like you now had too much on display even though Capa had already been watching your face twist in pleasure while he was knuckle-deep in you. You brought your arms up to cover your chest, but Capa gently brushed them away.

“Don't be shy; it's nothing I haven't already imagined,” he winked.

Again, the implications had you almost slack-jawed. You had no idea if it was true or if he was just teasing you, but you really didn't care.

“Let me show you what I've thought about,” Capa went on.

He took your hand and brought it to his hard cock, wrapping your fingers around it. He sighed a little as you touched him, softly, and the sound sent another shiver down your spine.

“C’mon - wanna feel you,” Capa said, his eyes half-hooded. “Use your hand. Squeeze me.”

Your heart fluttered as you followed his instructions; tightening your grip on his shaft until he was groaning above you. You gave him a few tentative pumps.

“So good,” Capa groaned.

The dull ache had returned between your legs; you were still missing the touch of his fingers. Even though you were happy to touch him as well, you needed the friction. You started to squirm, rubbing your legs together.

“Impatient,” Capa laughed. “Don't worry - m’not gonna tease you too much longer.”

His mouth dipped to your neck, pressing a kiss along your collarbone. Your hand flexed, and Capa groaned deeply again. The sound was enough to send you reeling; you thought you might come from his voice alone if he didn't hurry up.

“Stop teasing,” you begged. Breathless, and fully aware of just how desperate you sounded.

“I guess we've both waited long enough, huh?” Capa chuckled.

Your hand relaxed, and Capa’s came up to guide himself, hovering right at the space where you wanted him, but not pushing in just yet.

“Be quiet now,” Capa reminded you, and he kissed you as he started to press in. “Wouldn’t want anybody to hear you.”

You would have cried out, not caring who heard you or how loud you were, had Capa's lips not been pressed roughly against yours, swallowing your muffled moan as he bottomed out. He pulled back to watch you, panting like a dog beneath him, and smirked again.

“Fuck, this is so much better than my hand,” he said, breathing a little heavy himself. “M’not gonna last long.”

The idea sent your head spinning all over again, and your legs squeezed his hips a little tighter. The thought of Capa, coming too quick as he buried himself inside you, turned you on so much that you moaned out loud, and Capa quickly slapped a hand over your mouth. His palm was rougher than you'd imagined it.

“Told you to be quiet,” he warned.

When he started to move, you were grateful for the hand covering your lips, because without it you certainly would have woken the whole crew. As it was, Capa had to press his palm a little harder to muffle the moans that escaped. You were shameless; couldn't think about anything but the way his cock was stretching you out and spearing into you. It was more than enough to make you forget where you were.

“Not that I don't normally love hearing you get off,” Capa whispered, “but if you keep doing that, we're gonna get caught.”

Had he heard you the other times you'd touched yourself? You thought of him, silently palming his cock in the next room over, listening to your soft moans and breathy sighs as you tried - and failed - to stay quiet. 

Capa, unlike you, still had control of his voice; never letting it rise above a whisper. You wished you could hear him - how you were really making him feel. You bet he would make the prettiest noises if he'd let himself.

“Gonna be good?” Capa asked as he sped up.

You nodded, and he removed his hand. Instantly, the way his cock hit a spot deep inside of you made you hiss with pleasure, teeth clenched as you fought to stay quiet. 

“Fuck, Capa - driving me crazy,” you breathed.

“I know,” he agreed. “Feels good, doesn't it?”

“Mm-hmm…”

“If you can stay quiet, then you can cum on my cock.”

The way it felt like he was giving you permission sent another wave of heat through your whole body. You wanted to come for him. The feeling that had been steadily building now felt like it was nearly about to flow out of you; you could so easily let yourself fall over into oblivion.

“Can’t stay quiet,” you whined. “God, you feel so- ah!”

You gasped as Capa’s cock twitched inside of you, his hips continuing to swirl against yours. He was almost there, too; you could feel it. And the realization only pushed you closer.

“Shit,” Capa swore.

He was clearly at odds with himself, over whether to cover your mouth again so that the two of you wouldn’t get caught, or give in and let you scream for him. His hips faltered, and you moaned again. He was running out of time to make a decision.

“Bite down on my shoulder,” he said, finally. “Fuck - I’m gonna come.”

He didn’t have to tell you twice. You had thought very often about what it would be like to sink your teeth into his skin. Seeing even an inch of it peeking out from behind the collar of his shirt or on display in one of those fucking tank tops was enough to drive you crazy. You bit down, just in time as you finally let yourself give in to the building pressure.

As you bit him, Capa swore again, and scrambled to pull out of you, as best he could with your bodies still pressed together. He was coming, white ropes painting your stomach as you came down from your own high. 

You wished you had gotten to squeeze him more. The idea of him emptying into you as you milked his cock was almost too good to imagine. As your senses returned, you realized that Capa was speaking to you.

“So… Did you enjoy me teaching you about physics?” He was panting, but there was still light in his voice as he teased you, echoing Cora’s words from last night.

“Stooop,” you protested.

“If you didn’t, we don’t have to do this again,” Capa teased.

“Noo,” you mewled, voice still weak from your orgasm. “Can’t go back to fucking my fingers now…”

“Yeah,” Capa agreed, bringing his lips down for another rough kiss. “Me neither.”

The next night, Cassie proposed taking out the vodka again, and the three of you met in the canteen, as usual. Prepared for another late night of gossiping.

“You seem brighter today,” Cassie noticed, facing you.

“Yeah,” you replied. “I’m feeling a little better.”

You left it at that. You weren’t sure how long you and Capa could keep your new arrangement a secret, but you also weren’t rushing to tell the girls. The bottle of vodka made its first round, and the three of you started to speculate about which member of your small crew was most likely using up all the hot water. You’d all been taking freezing cold showers for weeks.

Only a few minutes passed before Capa came sauntering into the room again. Just like last time, he glanced at your group before reaching up to get something out of a cabinet.

“You three never learn, do you?” he commented.

You felt your cheeks start to heat up again. His eyes focused on you, briefly, and then moved on to something else. Cassie puffed up, straightening in her seat as she faced him.

“Go away, Capa,” she huffed. “This is a private conversation.”

Capa came over to lean on the table, glaring down at your small group.

“Oh yeah, I’m so interested in your riveting conversations about how I get off and roll over.”

Cassie’s face turned red. Corazon glared at him. And you felt your soul fully exit your body.

“You were eavesdropping on us?” Cassie shrieked.

“No - you just weren’t being quiet,” Capa corrected.

“The walls here are too damn thin,” Cora muttered.

Capa had a small smile as he straightened up and walked off, pausing just before he exited the room. He turned around, staring blankly at Cassie as he spoke.

“I’m not upset or anything,” he said. “And besides, your friend over there knows it’s not true, so…”

He left, taking with him all the air in the room. Cassie and Cora stared at each other, eyes wide in disbelief, and then pointed their gaze at you.

“You fucked Capa?!” Cassie shouted.

“Cassie, hush,” Cora snapped. She leaned in. “But seriously, we need all the details. Spill.”

You buried your face in your hands, trying in vain to hide your embarrassment. Your two friends badgered you relentlessly, begging for the whole story behind how it happened.

Somewhere else in the ship, Capa smirked.

[bluee08]

Astro Observations 《2》

Disclaimer : I am not an astrologer so please take these observations with a grain of salt. Plus I have noticed, I ranted a lot here so please bear with me. It's only for fun.

♦️ Mercury could indicate what kind of genre/content you like to read. For example:

Mercury in Taurus/2nd – Cookbook, rom-com, finance, fashion magazines.

Mercury in Leo/5th – Children's story books, Tales, quizzes, riddles, Adventures books.

Mercury in libra/7th – Romance novels, fashion magazines, pamphlets, brochures.

Mercury in Scorpio/8th – Non-fiction, Thrillers, mystery, smut.

Mercury in Sagittarius/9th – Encyclopedia, Rom-adventure, historical books, Atlas.

Mercury in Pisces/12th – Spiritual books, inspirational, Autobiographies.

♥️ Pluto in 11th house is a big Best friend crisis placement, if you ask me. In this, you can never be anyone's only bestfriend and no one can be your bestfriend. Friends are a lessons in your life. They come, you transform each other in some way, they go. Nobody stays long enough. Their definition of best friends is tricky, because– "We have known each other for 6 years but we haven't talked since 3 years, are we still besties?" To these people, Instead of feeling betrayed or petty, accept it and move on.

♦️ People with Asteroid hobby in their 11th house might like to do coding or other technical work. Technology and social media plays a major role when they are free. They might even share their hobbies with others on social platforms.

♥️ No matter what the reputation says, Sagittarius venus are the most hardcore lovers. They also don't mind a bit of possessiveness in the relationship. When I say possessiveness, they don't want to hear how you will lock them up in a castle for the rest of their life if they try to run away from you. Whereas, that might be a fantasy for some but its not for Sag venus. They will purposely take the next immediate flight and be gone for good. What they actually want to hear is how you will chase them to the moon and back. And no matter where they go, you will always be there to embrace them with your open arms. All we Sagittarius people need is to feel grounded not caged.

♦️ Asteroid Lie aspecting Neptune could make very imaginative and fluent liars. Sometimes it won't make any sense but you will still believe them because they lie with such a honesty and projection that you are forced to doubt your own judgment. Their lies are very descriptive and they make them on the spot. They appear dreamy as if they are not lying but living their own reality. Sometimes it comes handy to them but sometimes it backfires when they forget what they lied about for no reason.

♥️ Aquarius Rising got nothing on Uranus conjuct ascendant. Look, I get that Aquarius is ruled by Uranus but honestly I can't relate to the stereotype when they say Aquarius risings have a unique fashion sense. Being a Aquarius rising and having Uranus in first house I personally think it fits the Uranus conjuct ascendant more. Yes, I like to stand out but my fashion sense is not that unique. I like it different but simple. My brother has a 12th house Uranus conjuct ascendant and he is a uranian more than me. He wears the most unconventional outfits at very wrong timings. He has a very unique fashion sense and he remains fixated on it until the last moment. Man... and he still pulls it off effortlessly. I could never do that.

♦️ Asteroid Sharp (5426) true to its name could indicate the area of your life where you excel the most and are quite attentive. You also learn and grasp those parts quickly. For example: Asteroid Sharp in Aquarius means you are good with electronics,technology, innovating things. In 2nd house could mean you handle money matters very well. In 10th house, you make profitable business deals, bargains and have a good eye when it comes to trading something.

♥️ Have you seen a Mars in 4th house getting angry? They are never angry. Well, never angry enough to be angry. But be careful just because they are not saying anything for the past twenty minutes while you are chewing their head off doesn't mean they are calm. It means either you are someone they can't cross with for the time being or they are thinking of hundred ways to kill you without getting into jail. Good luck bby, these people are damn calculative and smart. They will let you walk all over them for a moment but later.... oh boy you will not even realize what hit you. And trust me, they will have a strong alibi.

♦️Venus in 10th house 🤝 Get them a man/woman with financial stability. They themselves prefer to be independent and classy in a relationship. But no matter what financial stability is a must for them. Maybe not the first but definitely one of the top priorities.

♥️ Virgo Mars people are really fond of ropes, handcuffs, belts, elastic things and all. Idk why my brother keeps checking their strength when he encounters them. Hmm...sus

♦️ Saturn in 1st house could mean you were forced to grow up too early. You had many responsibilities on your shoulders at a young age and faced a lot of difficulties expressing your weaknesses. You might also be the person in the family who is looked upon and respected the most. No decision is taken without your consultation because you are considered to be the wisest of all.

♥️ Pluto in 3rd house, don't tell me your school life was easy. Either you failed a subject, were bullied for no reason, had abusive teachers, teachers who always picked upon you, unstable attendance or your family could hardly afford your studies.

♦️Scorpio/8th house Mars and their gazes. God, please don't stare at me like that. I get chills. There was this girl in my class. She used to stare at people a lot, that too bluntly. We thought she was creepy. But later after knowing her, she turned out to be really sweet and pretty decent girl.

♥️ Moon in 3rd house, very very curious people. They need to know everything there is in this world until they are emotionally satisfied. My 8 year old cousin asked me where do babies come from? She also added, don't say from God.

♦️I don't know about other Pisces placements but Pisces venus, they do have a thing for foot. Trust me on this, I had a deep conversation about this topic with my cousin who is a Pisces venus and because I didn't want to go with stereotype judgment, I had to make sure it was true. But it can vary from person to person tho.

♥️ Saturn in 2nd house people could come from a poor household or used to be financially unstable. But trust me it doesn't stay this way throughout. They usually face many difficulties with money until they don't at all. Karma always pays off and most of the times they live a very satisfied life. Very down to earth people. They don't fear poverty either.

♦️8th house Virgo are suckers for hygiene and perfection. But can be quite freaky in bed. Or the complete opposite of both. They can also have a guilty conscience after sex or masturbation.

♥️ Chiron in Capricorn/10th house can be very hard on themselves. These people often feel incompetent when it comes to their professional life. They can be insecure and anxious if things don't go their way. For them being unemployed is much worse than being heartbroken and it can be destroying.

♦️ Saturn in 6th house placements have an unimaginable disturbed mental health. They don't show and it seems as if no one sees it either. They pretend that everything is okay and no one can tell that it is not. Sometimes they are not even capable to share because people around them make them feel as if they are not supposed to. They often feel restricted when it comes to their emotions.

♥️ Now this is kinda funny but I have noticed some of the people having Sagittarius in fifth house or prominent Sagittarius/Gemini placements come off very lively and enthusiastic when it comes to kids. They also have a thing for irritating kids in a funny way to the point they start crying. Then they laugh it off.

[eatmangoesnekkid]

THE WOMB REQUIRES US TO LIVE NON-VIOLENTLY Most of what I see going on with those of us with wombs is that we are still looking at the world as 15 year old girls. We are looking at the world through old timelines, archaic imprints or predictive religious programming. The latter is lovely if you are religious, but most of us are unconscious that what we actually believe is true has been adopted from religious teachings taught by people who are no longer alive. Women have been taught to assume that anything related to their arousal is about sex and men because we don't have the proper perspective on how our female bodies truly operate. These deep foundational misalignments are subtle forms of violence internalized from patriarchy that hold us back from thriving in our magical female bodies in this 3D reality, elevating our consciousness and mitochondria, regenerating our cells, and transforming this world into the brighter—other women, men, children, all people, nature, and the like. It is your birthright to have ease, to feel safe, and experience heaven on earth. But so many women are doing the same thing year after year, lifetime after lifetime, and do not do anything differently in a radical way in order to create a new imprint. We must go deeper into what it is actually required in order to come fully alive in our bodies and transform our health, lives and this world's reflection. Principles, values, and rituals are essential and I will share an example of one of mine. Before I fly, I stretch a few times a day and fast on juices, water, and teas a week before to raise the quality of my light body, that internal halo, the mystical sacred lubrication which I know has contributed to me having beautiful easeful travel experiences. And what would register to another person as “annoying” or “messed up” resonates to my tissues as gratitude or a blessing. When your divine energy is flowing, you naturally integrate well into a new climate and culture and won't have to worry about getting sick so easily. I also pack early so that my tissues can be relaxed and thereby energy flowing even more. I cover my head with fabric or a divinely prayed over ribbon or scarf before boarding the flight. I stretch during long flights to keep my energy flowing. In other words, I am mindful not to live in my body violently-rushing here and there, staying up late, and packing at the last second. All the qualities and actions that make us come fully alive in our bodies and be more naturally radiant and beautiful have been dismissed and downgraded for the quick, fast, and convenient. The rise of health issues in the female line is devastating. What we have done to the female body is a tragedy and we have have to be better, less violent to ourselves by moving lower, taking our time, and being gentle with the discomfort that comes up as the universe catches up to our new frequency and brings more harmony. We need real philosophies, belief systems, and practical actions that actually work for our bodies and not against them. I mentioned recently how "lubrication" is my #1 core value. I didn't say that for giggles; I really meant that! I am deeply feminine woman but I'm also a strategist who knows that the female body works most magically and optimally when our energy is flowing -which naturally means that our tissues will be lubricated. Lubrication, libido, or the flow of fluids are certainly more than about sex, as lovely as sex can be. First and foremost, they are about strength, health, wellness, longevity, and mental clarity. How can you be a little more attention to your body? What are your core values? What are your principles for living in your body? What violent belief systems do you need to let go of? As we continue to wake up to the fact that the world is not what we've been programmed to believe it to be and the divine feminine continues to break through the ashes, messages like what I am saying will become more popular and less radical and jarring. If you are reading this, you are already ahead of the game.-India Ame'ye, Author

Tumblr won't let me edit post but should read: "Women are generally exhausted and bored which is why constantly consuming/taking information and shopping all the time is so attractive. The qualities and actions that make us fully alive in our bodies and more naturally radiant and beautiful have been dismissed and downgraded for the quick, fast, popular or convenient. "

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Reference: 5 Symbols

for your next poem/story (pt. 1)

AESCLEPIUS WAND

The Wand or Rod of Aesclepius is a symbol of the medical profession.

The symbol belongs to the Greek God of Healing whose name it bears.

Although the origins of many symbols are indeterminate, there is a theory that the Aesclepius Wand came about due to the method of removal of a certain parasite that was drawn gradually from the body by winding it around a stick.

However, the serpent is a powerful symbol of healing, despite its toxic nature.

In general, the symbol of the serpent rising up toward the top of a pole or tree is representative of matter transforming into spirit and of enlightenment.

AKWABA

This is an African fertility symbol belonging to the Ashanti tribe.

The Akwaba is a doll, usually carved of wood, which commands the same attention as a real infant.

It is dressed, washed, and even “fed” until the human child is actually born, an example of sympathetic magic believed to ensure the arrival of the true baby.

AMULET

Although it is worn on the body as a piece of jewelry, the amulet is different from “normal” jewelry in that it holds a magical significance that is peculiar to its owner or wearer.

Generally, the powers of the amulet fall into two specific categories, either to bring luck or to avert evil;

either of these qualities arguably reflect a positive or negative attitude on the part of the owner.

The talisman is effectively the same thing as an amulet although its name derives from an Arabic word meaning “magic picture.”

A charm made specifically and inscribed with the names of the spirits, the Seal of Solomon, and other mystical symbols is more likely to be referred to as a talisman.

Significant symbols for use as amulets include birthstones (or other gems according to their magical powers), astrological signs, specific symbols such as the Hand of Fatima or the cornus, and symbols specific to the religious and spiritual beliefs of the wearer, such as the cross, the star, words, names, and numbers.

Incidentally, both amulets and talismans are referred to as “charms;” the origin of this word has the same root as the Latin word for “song,” indicating the link between a magical sound and a magical intention.

ANKH

Essentially the tau cross surmounted by a loop or circle, the ankh is a prominent feature of Ancient Egyptian reliefs, artworks, and funerary paraphernalia.

Like the tau, the ankh is a letter; specifically, it is a hieroglyph meaning “life.”

The volume of meaning that can be squeezed from such a simple symbol is awe-inspiring.

The ankh represents the male and female genitalia, the Sun coming over the horizon, and the union of Heaven and Earth.

This association with the Sun means that the ankh is traditionally drawn in gold—the color of the Sun—and never in silver, which relates to the Moon.

Putting aside the complexities of these separate elements, though, what does the ankh look like?

Its resemblance to a key gives a clue to another meaning of this magical symbol.

The Egyptians believed that the Afterlife was as meaningful as the present one, and the ankh provided the key to the gates of death and what lay beyond.

Powerful symbols frequently stray across into other cultures despite their origins, and the ankh is no exception.

Because it symbolizes immortality and the Universe, it was initially borrowed by the 4th century Coptic Christians who used it as a symbol to reinforce Christ’s message that there is life after death.

The ankh is used by the Rosicrucians too.

Even though its actual invention is shrouded in thousands of years of mystery, the ankh symbol can be bought in any high street jewelry store anywhere in the world.

ARROW

Symbol of flight, penetration, and direction.

As a weapon, the arrow is a symbol of the power of the person who carries it, along with the bow.

As a sacred symbol, it is the attribute of the Goddess of the Hunt, Artemis/Diana, as well as of Eros, who uses his arrows to pierce the people’s hearts with love.

The arrow also serves as a phallic symbol and an emblem of masculine power.

The symbol of the heart pierced with an arrow, popular on Valentine’s Day cards, is a covert symbol of sexual union.

As a symbol of direction, it works on a physical level and a metaphorical level.

The arrow that shoots high up into the sky is an emblem of the link between Earth and Heaven, a symbol of an idea, or of a message being carried directly to the Gods.

The arrow is used, too, as an analogy for swiftness and sureness, since the arrow travels in the direction in which it is shot.

The astrological sign of Sagittarius, the hybrid creature that is always depicted in the process of shooting an arrow from his bow, has a Latin root, sagitta; this means “arrow” and is derived from a verb, sagire, that means “to perceive keenly or quickly.”

Therefore, the arrow is symbolic of quick-wittedness and intuition.

Arrows were used by the ancient Arabians, Chaldeans, Greeks, and Tibetans in a form of divination called Belomancy:

This was practiced by shooting arrows in the air and reading a meaning from the direction of the arrows or their positions in relation to each other.

For example, crossed or touching arrows meant “no.”

Later, the arrows had words written on them to make any answers even more definitive.

Source ⚜ More: On Symbols ⚜ Writing Notes & References

[devilfic]

❝small favor❞

V. the christmas special.

parts: previously / next plot: it's the most beautiful time of the year. pairing: mcu!peter parker x gn!reader. cw: christmas shenanigans, alcohol mentions, harry gets drunk for norman osborn related reasons, peter is a little ball of anxiety because he likes you, can I share with you what jobs I think ned and mj got after graduation. words: 8.4k.

a/n: this was gonna be a two-parter but I thought. no. so instead it's just super long :D

Peter has started visiting more.

There were the surprise visits on weekends. Something was just too important to wait a week, and too important to give you a call, and you liked that he made a note of bringing you food for the trouble. Then he was popping in on Wednesday nights—sometimes Friday mornings—because he'd forgotten to tell you this or he just couldn't wait to tell you that.

And he has texting you more, too. Not super serious things either, and after a few days of it, you had worked the fight or flight reaction to his ringtone out of your system. At some point, you had started feeling like this was becoming... a genuine friendship.

"I mean... I... yeah. We talked about it, didn't we?" Peter stops pouring, brownie batter dribbling off the lip of the bowl, "Friends. I- I think of you as a friend. If you think of me... as a friend."

You gnaw on your pen as you study him. It's another weekend surprise visit, and this time he's brought you boxed brookie batter as an olive branch. You'd actually been busy this time, and so you'd put him to work baking it while you made your vacation list, "It's just... crazy. I mean, we went from being strangers to only seeing each other once a week—purely professionally—and now you bake me things. And we hang out."

"What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing! It's just weird," he continues to pour as you talk, "I used to see you as this unattainable hero. I couldn't believe you trusted me, felt comfortable enough to tell me your name, to care enough that even EDITH knows who I am. And now we're friends."

Peter's nose scrunches at that, and you've never wished more than now that you could see the rest of his face. He starts placing balls of cookie dough in the batter, "You talk about me like I'm Beyoncé or something."

"You're the Beyoncé of superheroes."

"Hey, that is not true. That title goes to Captain Marvel."

"Not to me."

"Well, of course not to you. You're my biggest fan."

"Wow, demoted to a fan already."

Peter slides the pan into the oven, "You know what I mean. You're biased."

"You're starting to sound like Jameson now."

He kicks the oven door closed and hops up onto the kitchen counter next to you, nudging your knee with his knee, "Oh, you haven't heard my Jameson impression. Watch this." Peter clears his throat, clenches his fist, and shakes it in the air, "Spider-Man is a menace and should be charged with domestic terrorism!"

You giggle, "Do more."

"5G isn't giving your kids cancer, it's Spider-Man leaving his webs all over the city!"

"More!"

"Spider-Man is laying eggs in our city's sewers so that one day, all his freaky spider children will rise up and take over New York!"

"Please, keep going."

Peter groans. You see his head tilt toward the notepad in your lap, "How's the vacation going? Or vacation planning, I guess."

You sigh. Your list to pack kept getting longer, and yet, anytime you tried to focus on what to bring, you would just remember something else you needed to do before leaving New York. "How do you think, based on my utter lack of excitement?"

Peter raises a brow, "Whaaat? You're not excited for Miami?"

"I was, but... everything in the world is happening at the same time. Jameson wants me to get two more articles out before I leave and my family wanted me in Florida three days ago. At this rate, I'm just barely going to make it there before Christmas. Not to mention..." You trail off as you look to Peter, whose mask eyes have gone comically wide in interest, "I don't want to leave you all alone."

"You know I've been Spider-Manning since I was like, 14, right?"

"Well, yeah, but- wait, 14?" Peter grimaces. You gloss over it before he can worry himself about it, "Anyway, I just worry. I mean, with Fisk turning the PR tide and God knows what he's planning, I don't wanna just fly to the other side of the country. It feels wrong."

Peter smirks, "Nah, nah. It's fine. I can take care of myself."

"Don't make me remind you about how all of this," you gesture between Peter and the oven, "started." He looks away from you, sheepish. "You know what I mean, right? Maybe I'm overestimating my worth to you, but-"

"You're definitely not. You have no idea how much you mean to me." That stuns you. It stuns both of you, clearly, if Peter's frantic peek at your face was anything to go by. His mouth gapes like a fish out of water for a moment, "I just mean that... you've made being Spidey... easier on me. It's nice knowing someone's actually on my side in this city. So yeah, it will feel really weird without you being just a swing away."

"You can still call, Peter. I won't mind."

"And when your family asks who's bothering you while you're sunbathing on the beach?"

"I mean, my little cousins will be impressed if I name drop Spider-Man."

He smiles. He kicks his feet out, heels bumping the cabinet doors beneath you while silence settles. You take this chance to examine a slight fraying on the fabric of his suit, a hole beginning to form on his upper thigh that you could just fit your pinky through. You remembered a time when his suit was made out of sweatpants and a dream.

He was 14 when he first started all of this. When you were 14, you were stressing over high school essays and alien invasions. You couldn't help but think that maybe he'd lost his youth to this thing. This thing that brought you together.

Spider-Man who, back then, was really a kid. He'd had to grow into it. You couldn't imagine having to grow into that. "Well, that's enough about my holiday plans. What about you?" Peter prepares to answer, then deflates. "What's up?"

He bites his bottom lip, "I don't... have any."

Your heart sinks, "What? Why not?"

"No, no, it's fine. I'll probably be out on patrol making sure everybody else is having a safe, criminal-free winter break."

Sliding off the counter, you come to stand in front of Peter with your arms folded, "Absolutely not."

"Okay, before you say anything-"

"It's Christmas, Peter! You're supposed to take time off! Be with friends and family. If you never take a break, you'll wear yourself out."

"Just hear me out-"

"No! I won't have it. You're not the only hero in New York. You're taking Christmas off. I don't care if I have to stuff you in a carry-on and take you with me but you will not be working-"

One hand clamps around the back of your head and the other silences you, turning your complaints into mush, "If you would let me finish..." you huff indignantly against his hand, "you'd know that a friend of mine is throwing a Christmas party and I was invited. There. I have plans."

Your face softens. "Really?" You ask, but the sound is muffled and it comes out more like, "Will-ee?"

Peter laughs, hand slipping from your mouth, "Really. I'll at least take a few hours off. Maybe more if I fall into a food coma."

Peter's other hand is still cradling your head, but you don't bring it to his attention. "You promise? I won't have to fly back early and check up on you, will I? 'Cause I'll do it."

"I wouldn't stop you." You glower, making Peter's mask eyes squint with amusement, "I promise."

"Sometimes I think you like making me worry over you."

"Would you believe me if I said that I'm just this awful all the time?"

"Yes, but that would make me worry even more."

The hand at your neck gently curls around the side of your throat, Peter's thumb angling your chin up to his own. The brush of it makes you tremble just slightly.

Was he trying to make you dissolve into a puddle?

"I'll be okay. Just... come back to the city, will ya? Don't fall in love with Miami."

You place one of your hands over the hand on your throat. The other hovers somewhere near his knee on the countertop, unsure of yourself. When you admire his exposed mouth, you think of Peter. Parker.

You remember you hadn't actually talked about that since it happened. It was Peter's intention to skirt around Parker, regardless of how certain you were that they were the same person. It was all in jest, sure, but some small part of you (some incredibly small, minuscule, microscopic part of you) wondered if your reporter brain just fit the two pieces together because it wanted them to fit.

Perhaps he wasn't Peter Parker. Perhaps this really was all a coincidence, and perhaps aliens didn't fall from the sky and gods didn't save the world.

You wouldn't push him on it. You wouldn't look into it either, because reporter brain be damned. You cared more about the Peter you knew than the Peter you didn't.

You smile up at him, "How could I? Miami doesn't have you."

"Nice to see you could finally make it, kiddo." Jillian is grinning at you when you arrive, her baby tucked at her hip and her wife entertaining the little monster over her shoulder. She sees the winded look on your face and immediately motions you over, pressing a hand to your cheek, "Did you crawl out of a snowdrift? You're freezing!"

You lean into it, chasing the warmth in hopes that it would restore some feeling to your skin, "The storm's getting awful out there."

"Came outta nowhere, didn't it?" Jillian's wife snorts, booping the baby's nose. "We almost didn't risk coming with the little one, it was so bad."

Said little one looks perfectly warm wrapped up in her blanket, an envious sight as you shiver and shuck off your coat to hang. You would offer the kid a boop on the nose yourself, but with your fingers frozen solid around your offering—a plate of sugar cookies—you don't want to make her cry. You give her a smile instead.

"Oh, and would you believe it?" Jillian whispers, sidling up to you, primed for gossip, "We've got a real treat here tonight. Take a wild guess who decided to show up."

"Jonah's wife?"

Jillian cackles, "God no. The stalker."

As soon as she says the name, your eyes zero in on him.

He's wearing that plaid shirt again, but the collar and cuffs are all that peek out from underneath a wrinkly blue sweater. His hair is free and gelled back, revealing his nervous expression more clearly. Nursing a cup of apple cider, he just barely looks like he wants to be here. But then he catches your eye across the room.

And he waves.

"Oh my," Jillian teases, "you must've left quite the impression if he came all this way just to see you."

"He did not come just to see me." You reply in a hushed tone, but she laughs at you all the same.

"Sure. And that's not him heading over right now, even though he's been hugging the wall all night."

You jerk your head to where Parker was standing, and, sure enough, he's pursuing you.

You part from Jillian before she can get the chance to embarrass you (she accepts your cookies as payment), and so you all but jog to meet him halfway.

He doesn't get the chance to be polite before you're interrogating him, "Where did you go?"

"Uh... What?"

"At the gala. When I ran back inside the ballroom, I couldn't find you anywhere."

Peter's eyes slowly widen, "You went back inside?"

"Answer the question, please."

"Wh- I... I was there. You didn't see me?"

"No, I didn't."

"It got crazy after Fisk rushed the stage. I got swept up in the crowd. You must've missed me."

"Really? 'Cause I was with the crowd, you know. In front of the building? Where Fisk was giving his big speech about how he saved the day? I didn't see you anywhere."

Peter blinks, then gasps as if he'd just remembered something important, "You know what? That's right. I went to go find Harry. I wanted to make sure he was alright, and then I couldn't find you in the crowd so I just assumed... I'm sorry for leaving you back there all alone." You watch as he fumbles for something convincing, "I texted Spider-Man about it, though. He said you were safe."

You fold your arms, "...Is that all he said about me?"

"Well, that. And something about your conspiracy theory?"

"Conspiracy theory."

The topic change gets some of the tension in Peter's shoulders melting away, replaced with a smile faint enough to not pass as overtly smug. He waits for one of your co-workers to move out of earshot before continuing, "You think... I'm Spider-Man."

Your jaw tightens. You know that anyone would draw the same conclusions you did after that night. You also know that no matter how logical your reasoning is, you sound highly illogical when you admit to it out loud. If you brought up the same accusation to Jillian or Jameson, they'd both laugh you out of the office.

You have to stand your ground, though. If there was one thing you were learning about Peter, it was that he was easy to fluster, "And if I do?"

"I'm flattered, really, but I don't really have the hand-eye coordination."

You know it's bullshit. He should know you know it's bullshit. If it hadn't been for his quick thinking, you and Harry would've been trampled under the masses at the gala. It's bullshit and he's waiting for his checkmate that will never come.

You do not give it a second thought. You toss your phone at Peter's head.

And he catches it. Of course he does. He stops it mere inches from his face.

If anyone saw you try to give him a concussion, they don't come over to question you on it. "Can you..." Peter starts after a breath, a bit dazed, "...can you stop trying to hit me?"

You go to defend yourself because, at the very least, you hadn't meant to try to punch Peter—which meant it didn't count—when someone barrels right into you.

And, to prove you right twice in a row, Peter is quick to catch you. He scoops you up into his arms before you end up a reporter pancake on the floor. One of your co-workers, already blitzed off spiked eggnog, had bumped you on their way to the drinks table for what looked like the umpteenth time tonight, and didn't have enough marbles to apologize before bumping someone else.

Peter is careful in how he holds you. There's that unmistakable strength behind his grip, but also... he was gentle. He felt safe.

You don't make to escape just yet, all your bravado knocked right out of you. "Jesus, you okay?" His eyes dart over to your co-worker and a scowl turns his expression sour, "Jonah should put a cap on the drinks."

You feel more than embarrassed stumbling to your feet, even more so when Peter still coddles you after you're standing upright. "I'm fine. Thanks." Peter's looking at you, brows drawn together, with so much concern it makes that second thought from earlier come in hot with a sizable topping of shame, "Talk about instant karma."

Then it's gone. Peter laughs and... it sounds just like your Peter. Undeniably. You can't help but give in. For a fleeting moment, the question of secret identities has melted away and it's just the two of you, giggling about something silly.

You're ashamed enough to apologize for throwing your phone at his head when the laughter dies down. You succeed in stealing it back and lead him over to the windows, far away from any more drunken disasters, "It's alright. I've had worse thrown at me before."

You raise an eyebrow, "Oh? Like what?"

His voice catches in his throat at first, "A... carton of expired milk. High school bully, Flash Thompson. We were both on the same academic decathlon team but he never gave up on his dream of professional baseball."

"Flash Thompson? You mean, Silicon Valley, MIT grad, tech startup millionaire Flash Thompson?"

Peter winces, "The one and only."

You frown at the distant look on Peter's face, aware of some regret there at the mention of Flash. "You and Harry went to ESU together, right? Is that where you always wanted to go?"

Peter shakes his head, but a smile comes to his face regardless, "MIT was my first choice, actually. But... even with a scholarship, I just couldn't imagine leaving New York behind. So I stayed. Went to ESU. Helped my Aunt May with the mortgage on her first house since my... my uncle passed. And now I'm selling pictures of Spider-Man to pay my rent."

You can't help the way you soften. "I'm so sorry about your uncle, Peter. Your Aunt May is lucky to have you around."

His eyelids flutter closed for a breath, and his smile grows wider. If it were even possible. "I'm lucky to have her."

You stand there together in silence after that, but it feels more comfortable than before. All the scrutiny and speculation you'd come in with had faded away, and now you were left wondering more about Peter. His hopes, his dreams, his life before all of this. What would it have been like if he'd gone to MIT? Where would you be? Or Spider-Man?

Peter's eyes peel open, "So, what about you?"

"Oh. Well, I took a shine to my school newspaper. After... everything in 2012, I knew the world would never be the same. So I had dreams of becoming a journalist, covering the street, being the first on the scene. Took my ass to college on part-time jobs and a dream, and interned at nearly every newspaper in the city before Jameson gave me a shot here. As much as I can't stand the way he talks about Spidey... he's not that bad of a guy. All things considered."

Peter agrees, "He did hire you, so..."

"Yeah, well," you lean your cheek against the window, glass cooling your blush, "At least Spidey doesn't hold it against me... but, I have to ask: why the Bugle? I mean, with photos like yours, you should be fighting off every publication in the city. Instead you turn in these... absolute masterpieces, freelancing, for a guy who can't even give you due credit, and you only stop by for a paycheck."

Peter looks to the window, the wind howling over a crooner's cover of Santa Baby. The storm was still raging on outside, and you dreaded the thought of having to walk through it to get back home. The taxis wouldn't have much luck either from the looks of it. "I... like my job, but it's not what I wanna do forever. I don't care about fame or Pulitzer prizes. It's always been about taking care of me and my Aunt May, and Jameson is a lot of things but he's always understood that. He pays me enough that I can have a place of my own and a little leftover for my aunt, and he doesn't ask questions.

"I don't need to be seen. And that's the whole point, isn't it?" His expression gradually warms as he recalls something, "It's not who's behind the lens that matters, but who's in front of it."

Your expression warms too, "I can see why Spidey likes you."

A notification disturbs the moment. Raising a finger at Peter, you check the latest notification... and your stomach drops.

Peter takes a step forward, sensing the change in atmosphere, "What? What is it?"

"My flight's been cancelled. I was leaving tomorrow for Miami but the storm..."

"Oh. Man, I'm sorry."

"I should've left sooner, I should've left when my family..." You lose the motivation to even finish your sentence, feeling exhausted all at once, "It doesn't matter anymore. I'm stuck here for Christmas."

Peter stuffs his hands in his pockets, rocking back and forth on his feet as he searches for something to say. You're about to tell him not to worry about it when he speaks up, "You know," he starts, the uncertainty in his voice giving you pause, "it's no... Miami, but my aunt throws this Christmas party every year? For Christmas Eve. We invite a few friends over for dinner. She'd love it if you came."

"Oh, Peter, that's sweet but... I don't really want to intrude on a friend thing-"

"No, no, it's okay! Anyone can come. It'll just be my aunt, some of her co-workers from F.E.A.S.T., a few of my friends, my ex-girlfriend-"

"Your- what?"

"Oh. Well, I mean, we were friends before we dated. Well... technically? She sort of just... hung around me and Ned in high school and then we started dating for a while but then we broke up in university. But we stayed friends. Became better friends, actually. So, she's my ex but also a really good friend. I promise it's not weird or anything. She's super cool about it. And I am too! Her name's MJ. I think you'll like her."

You stare at Peter. You think you see a bead of sweat twinkle on his forehead underneath the Christmas lights above.

He insists that you're welcome to come, and staying home alone for Christmas would be pretty hypocritical after your argument with Spider-Man.

Spider-Man.

"...and Spider-Man will be there."

Spider-Man?

You abruptly lock eyes with Peter. "Spider-Man?"

Peter's smile is tight-lipped, "Yeah." His voice cracks. "I mean, he's just stopping by real quick, but I invited him. He might not come. But... he also might."

Was this the friend of his throwing a Christmas party? Why in the world would Peter (Parker) invite you to the same party Spider-Man would be at, unless he could stand in the same room as him at the exact same time? There'd be no other way to convince you otherwise, and you'd be forced to accept that they really were two completely different people.

Yeah, right.

You'd go to this party and suss it out for yourself.

And it wouldn't hurt, would it? Peter was nice, if not the most awkward person you've ever met. To offer you a place at his aunt's Christmas dinner not long after hurling an object at his head was a sign of true Christmas spirit. You could learn a thing or two from him, "Okay. You've convinced me. What's your number? You can text me the address."

Peter blanks for a moment, "Um... yeah, um..." You watch him flounder, growing increasingly suspicious, "Can I see your phone?"

You drop your phone in his hand. His fingers move quickly across the keyboard before returning it to you. Peter Parker is now in your contacts. You check the number against Spidey's but there isn't a match. "Thanks," you glance at his wobbly smile, "I sent you a text."

Peter gestures behind him, "Oh, cool, awesome. Will you excuse me for a sec? I gotta use the restroom." And he doesn't wait for you to affirm before he's rushing down the hall and out of sight.

A full minute passes before you receive a text back from Peter.

15 Amfan Ave Forest Hills, NY 11375 7pm :) Hope you can make it! He never shuts up about you *I *shut

Hm.

So... I hear you're throwing things at people now Who told you that? You lose one phone, then you try to bludgeon an innocent man with another. I should lock you up and throw away the key I wasn't trying to bludgeon him, because I knew he'd be perfectly *fine*. And he helped me prove a point Which was... That the chances of him being you are more likely than either of you would have me to believe Could it be that you just have a thing for attractive, masked men? That is That is irrelevant to the conversation HA you so do Literally nothing to do with anything I just said It's okay. The mask makes it really easy to project one's ideal man onto me. Or so I've learned through Twitter I'm not projecting *anything* onto you Do you picture Ryan Reynolds when you talk to me? It's okay if you do Peter, shut up Maybe someone more boyish like Timothy chalet Timothee Chalet Timothee Chalamett I'd say you just like hearing yourself talk but this is a textual conversation I like that we can talk like this :) I like it too :) What about Tom Holland? We've got the same jaw If you think me accusing you of being Parker is me projecting a handsome man onto you, I can only assume you think he's hot. Which means I can assume you have a thing for him. Because I can also make things up Like Batman and Clark Kent? Are you saying Parker is the Clark Kent in our fictional relationship? More like Superman and Jimmy Olsen And you're my Lois Lane? ... Goodnight, Peter

Aunt May's home is beautiful. There's a lovingly sculpted garden out front that has since given into the snow, but you can tell it's a sight in the spring. For now, the Christmas garland lining the doorframe—wrapped in a rope of rainbow lights—brightens up the porch. As does the collection of little striped sweater-wearing gnomes gathered around the front door.

There's a commotion of voices behind it as you approach. You shift your plate into one hand, pressing the doorbell with the other, and the voices get louder. You swallow down your nerves when the door is ripped open by a stranger.

The stranger in question is staring out into the dark at you like they weren't expecting you. Your eyes quickly dart to the plaque beside the door and see a bold "15" emblazoned there. Nope. This is the house.

Their eyes zero in on the plate in your hand. Smiling, they open the door wide and step back, "Sweet! Peter said you'd bring dessert."

You kick the snow off your boots before stepping inside. The stranger shuts the door behind you before any more of the cold could get in. "It's peppermint bark," you explain, returning a smile of your own, "but I hear May's making a cake."

"May and Peter. May's great with everything but the oven- don't tell her I said that. I'm Ned, by the way." Ned holds his hand out for a shake.

Ned is really talkative, you find out. He holds your peppermint bark as you undo your boots and coat at the door, rattling off about how Peter and he had been friends at Midtown. He tells you about his job as a cybersecurity specialist, a job he'd naturally floated toward after graduating from MIT, and how he'd stayed with the Parkers for a few months after moving back to New York. It's how he knows that the downstairs bathroom door won't close unless you lift up when you shut it. You only remember about half of what he says by the time you get to the living room.

There are considerably fewer people than you expected, one of which makes his way over the minute you catch his eye.

"Hey," Harry grins. Unlike the nice suit he'd worn to the gala, he's dressed down in jeans and an ugly sweater with "I've been naughty" printed in big letters across the front, looking a lot less tense than when you'd first seen him, "Fancy seeing you here."

"I could say the same." You can't help but ask, "Don't the Osborns host Christmas Eve at Oscorp tower every year?"

Harry's good mood fizzles out right before your eyes. You feel pretty awful about it. "Uh, yeah. Norman does. But it's more business than anything, so I dipped. I'd rather be here watching Pete fuck up a perfectly good cake."

"I heard that!" Peter's voice calls from a room away.

Harry's good mood returns, "Well, it's good to see you at the annual Parker holiday celebration. And I'll forgive you for poking into my family business if you hand over those treats."

Bashful, you let Ned pass the plate into your hands before passing it to Harry, "Sorry. Reporter brain."

Harry's nose scrunches up, "Don't apologize. Unless these taste like ass."

"I promise they taste better than ass."

"Good enough," he backs away, turning his head to shout down the hall, "Peter! Get in here already!"

When the redhead is immersed in a game of UNO, you turn to Ned, "And that doesn't... feel weird? Having Harry Osborn at family dinner?"

"There are weirder things about Peter. Speak of the devil."

The ugly sweater is the first thing you notice. A companion to Harry's, it is nearly the exact same design, except for the "I've been nice" where the "I've been naughty" had been. He's dusting his hands of something when he comes around the corner. His eyes soften when he sees you with Ned, "Hey, you came." He says in a much too gentle voice. Harry and his opponents nearly drown him out with their cheers and boos.

Unlike at the office party, you notice, Peter's hair isn't tamed by hat nor hair gel. Instead, it curls incessantly around his flushed cheeks. He looked like a damn Keebler elf. It was frustratingly adorable. "Of course. I heard there'd be cake."

"How is that cake, Peter?" Ned pulls on a piece of the ugly sweater as he walks by, and you realize that some of the red had been singed. You follow Peter's frantic gaze from the hole to you.

"This was unrelated to the cake."

"You burned something else?"

"No! One of the stockings fell into the fireplace and I-" Peter trails off as you begin to smile, "you don't get to laugh at me if you didn't bring sweets."

"I did! Harry stole them." You nod over to the coffee table where the group is devouring your peppermint bark with reckless abandon. At least you knew they didn't taste like ass. Peter rushes over to steal the plate before they could polish off the last handful, much to their protest.

"Dinner's almost ready, I swear. You've met Ned, uh, Harry..." Peter scans the group, using his free hand to point out people, "...that's Yolanda, Katie, Lexie, Eduardo: all May's friends. May's in the kitchen but I'd stay out of her way until the ham comes out unharmed."

You notice that out of everyone gathered in the house, he does not mention his ex-girlfriend. "And MJ?"

You wait for an answer. Instead, something heavy shakes the house from above. It doesn't sound like it came from outside, but rather somewhere in the house. Not quite above your head. Weirdly enough, only you seem to be concerned about it.

Peter just glances at the ceiling, "And MJ."

MJ is tossing an empty storage bin to the side when you crawl up through the floor behind Peter. She's crouched on the balls of her feet, shoulders slouched, the sharp bones of her back poking through her tight graphic tee. Her head snaps toward you both when she hears you grunt up the last rung of the ladder. Her eyes narrow on you, then Peter, "I can't find it."

Peter offers you a hand to hoist you further into the attic, "Did you check the-"

"Yes. And I checked the one next to it. And the one next to that."

You look at Peter for an explanation, but he doesn't provide you with one. He walks over to where MJ has now fallen back on her ass, rifling through one of the bins. His mouth twists to the side. "Maybe she meant the box next to her old CDs?"

"There's like 15 boxes in here, Peter."

Off to the side of the room, where MJ was currently facing the mysterious dilemma, were about nine—not 15—storage bins in disarray. Two were off to the side, emptied of their contents: there were piles of men's clothes, women's clothes, baby blankets, and more. The third box that MJ was poring over had Halloween decorations in it.

"Well, you're getting close." Peter encourages.

The way MJ grumbles resentfully has you squirming. As time ticked on, your presence unannounced, you were starting to feel like an intruder. You clear your throat and MJ looks over at you for the second time, "Maybe I could help?" You offer.

At this, MJ brightens. "Finally! Someone cares about my plight. I don't know you, do I?"

You crawl over to where MJ is sitting and Peter gestures to you, "MJ, I told you about the reporter from the Bugle, right?" You give your name for good measure, and MJ's eyebrows raise. She gives a quick, indecipherable look to Peter. He returns it. Then she examines you.

After a moment, she dusts her hand off on her khakis and holds it out for you to shake, "Michelle Jones. Call me MJ." You repeat her nickname warmly. "Peter never shuts up about you."

Peter chokes on his spit.

"He... he does?"

MJ continues shaking your hand for longer than necessary, smiling secretively now, "Oh, yeah. He's got your blog bookmarked too. Post notifs for your Twitter, the works." You cut your eyes to Peter, appalled that he'd ratted you out to someone else, but MJ is quick, "I figured it out on my own ages ago."

"Is it really that obvious it's me?"

"No." And she smiles wider.

Peter is about to cut in with something when a woman's voice rings out, shrill and clear despite two layers of flooring in between you. He's needed with the ham. He looks between you and MJ, reluctant, "Look, if you can't find it-"

"We will." MJ's reply is confident, leaving no room for failure. You feel a little pressure applied to "we".

Peter nods. He mouths an apology at you and skitters out of the attic.

Left alone with MJ, you notice that she is staring at you now. You feel like you've been left alone with an oracle, prepared for your innermost being to be laid bare before you: past, present, and future. She looks like the type to know what makes people tick.

"What are you looking for?" You try to break the silence, though your voice comes out meeker than you'd have liked.

She doesn't look away from you as her fingers grip the container in between her legs, "Uncle Ben's favorite Christmas sweater. All I know is it has a reindeer holding a beer on the front."

Reinbeer. You almost laugh at it. You imagine it would tickle an uncle pink too. "Then I'll get to looking."

You've only just crawled over to a bin of your own when MJ asks you outright, "You like Peter, right?"

Your hand stills as it pries the top off. You feel her eyes burning into your back. "He's... nice, yeah."

You can hear how unimpressed she is with that, "I don't know if it's obvious, but Peter isn't exactly popular." You think that's kind of a cruel thing to say about someone you consider a friend, but MJ keeps going, "All he had was Ned back at Midtown. And me, eventually. I've known him since high school and he's made maybe a handful of friends, maybe less. The last time he invited someone new to Christmas dinner was Harry."

And that had been at least a few years, judging by how long Harry had been away at Oxford.

But why was she telling you this?

"He likes you." You yelp when you realize MJ's voice has gotten close. You turn, and she's kneeling behind you with no interest in your fear. "But do you like him?"

In her hands is a faded, toy Iron Man mask. "I... I think he's nice. I mean kind," you correct yourself when MJ frowns, "but I... I don't really know him. I mean, I don't think I do. I've only actually spoken to him twice and one of those times, there was a gun involved. Everything I know about him is through his pictures and Spidey, and I trust Spidey. So, I trust Peter."

"And Spider-Man?"

"What?"

"Do you like Spider-Man?"

You swallow. Like didn't really sum up how you felt about him. He was a hero, an inspiration, a friend, and also... yeah, you felt something more there too.

You think about why she would ask. Why it would have anything to do with you liking Peter or not. You look at her and it feels like she hasn't really asked you that different of a question at all. Your answer is much more definitive this time, "I do. I like him more than I know what to do with."

MJ leans back on her haunches. She appraises you, "He's pretty great, isn't he?" Her tone is considerably softer.

"Yeah. He really is." You smile.

MJ hands the mask to you and you take it, admiring the chips in its paint and the lovingly worn edges. She scoots between you and the bin you'd been looking into and pops the lid off. Almost immediately, she swears in relief. Sitting folded on top is the most gaudy sweater you've ever seen. A deformed reindeer is embroidered on the front, and sure enough, holds a can of beer in its hoof. When MJ shakes it out, little specks of dust fly everywhere.

This, too, she hands to you. You look at her in bewilderment. "You'll wanna make a good first impression with May," she advises, "just be prepared for the water works."

And there are water works.

May throws her arms around your neck and just about sobs her thanks to you, squishing the sweater between your chests. You note that she smells like candy canes. When she draws back, her glasses are all askew, "And I'm so glad you could make it! Peter wouldn't shut up about you. Isn't that right, Petey?"

Peter's eye twitches. "I'm gonna set the table. Ned, you wanna set the table?" And he scoots past you and May without waiting for a response.

"Don't mind him, he gets testy when he's cooking. Did Petey give you the tour?" You shake your head and May kisses her teeth in Peter's direction, "Okay, this is the kitchen, around the corner here is the dining room. You've seen the living room and the attic. The bathroom is by the front door, and the bedrooms are upstairs. If someone's in the bathroom down here, do not use the bathroom by the stairs. That's Ned's favorite when he gets bubbly guts, and he will get bubbly guts."

Ned complains under his breath as he walks by.

"If you need somewhere to get away from the festivities for a bit, backyard's that way and my room's upstairs, first door to the left. All good?" She pets your shoulder. Then, she looks down at the sweater still in your hands and takes it from you, tenderly. "I'm gonna go change into this and then dinner is served. Help yourself to anything, okay?"

May leaves you in the kitchen with that. Around the corner, Peter and Ned are fussing over where to put the ham and sides. Around the other corner, Harry is drunkenly singing Christmas carols with Yolanda. MJ watches on from the corner of the room, recording on her phone. She catches your eye and mouths, "For blackmail."

You peek into the dining room and Peter is worrying over one of the chairs. You can hear Ned scold him, "Sit next to them. You don't wanna talk over the ham. It'll kill the mood."

"But how do I... subtly get them to sit in this chair and not next to MJ or something?"

"Tell MJ not to sit next to them."

"But what if-" You jolt a little when Peter suddenly spots you eavesdropping. He straightens up with a death grip on the chair he'd been messing with, "Hey! Hi. This is your chair by the way." And he tops it all off with a smile.

It's warm in May's home.

You don't even register the cold at first. You do register Harry's frenzy, the way he grabs far more napkins than he needs to, pressing them to your stomach where the majority of his spilled drink had gone. When you finally do comprehend what just happened, you place your hands over his, "How long have you been plotting your revenge?"

Harry is red-faced. He lets you hold the napkins there while May rushes to find a towel, "Sorry. I wasn't looking where I was- sorry."

You don't get to dwell on the déjà vu of it all. May is ushering you up the stairs with a beach towel pressed to your front, muttering about how she'll have to put Harry on ginger ale for the rest of the night. She guides you into what you're certain is Peter's old bedroom.

It's been cleaned out, and most of his personal belongings must be at his own place, but there are still old posters on the wall, and a calendar dated in April, two years ago. His bed is ruffled like he'd slept overnight. It's neat, and looks like it usually is neat, but there are traces of him everywhere, like picture frames with Peter and May and a man you don't recognize.

"Peter probably has something here you can wear. It's all stuff from college." She digs through the top drawer of his dresser, finally stopping on a sweatshirt with Empire State University in college block across the chest. "Here! You think this'll fit?"

She stretches it out and you nod, thankful, "Yeah, thank you so much, May."

She smiles, "Okay. Bathroom's across the hall if you need to wash off. I can run your shirt through a wash while you're here if you'd like. Just let me know, okay?"

May is, perhaps, the sweetest woman on earth. She leaves you with a thumbs up and shuts the door behind you, reminding you to lock it after she leaves.

Your shirt had absorbed most of the drink, and you're relatively unscathed besides some sticky residue. You wipe at your stomach with the towel she'd given you and slip Peter's sweater on. It feels... odd, wearing it. It smells like May's house with little traces of Peter.

Your eyes drift back to the picture frames.

One such frame sits on top of the dresser, a photo of Peter and the man who you assume is Uncle Ben. He holds Peter in a headlock but they're both smiling at the camera. You smile too, tracing a finger around the wooden edges.

Another picture is of Peter and MJ and Ned, standing outside of MIT with their fingers pointing at the school. Another is of Peter and MJ sharing cotton candy at Coney. Another is of Peter as a little boy, with two people flanking his side that you do not know. You realize you'd never asked about Peter's parents.

There are other photos of him around that age with May and Ben, and as you piece together what feels like an undoubtedly tragic story, you catch something outside the window.

A person. Hanging onto the side of the house.

Your heart hammers in your chest as a hand pushes the window up, and then, "Did I scare you?" Spider-Man perches on the sill with what you can imagine is a shit-eating grin.

You stomp over to the window and shove at his shoulder, but he doesn't budge in the slightest, "You almost gave me a heart attack! Were you watching me get dressed?"

The mask's eyes blow open, "What? No! I swear I just got here."

"Do you ever use the front door?"

"Not if I can help it," he crawls in, staying planted by the window, "don't tell me you're snooping through Parker's things."

"I was just... looking. At the pictures. And Harry Osborn spilled his drink all over me so I had to borrow Parker's shirt."

"Hm. ESU looks good on you."

You look up at Peter, who keeps his hands tucked behind his back, leaning against the wall by the window. "Aren't you gonna say hi to the party? Make Parker look cool?"

"Eventually. Maybe. Might just watch from afar."

"No, nuh-uh. You said you had holiday plans and that you were going to a party. That doesn't count if you're watching from afar."

Peter's head sways to the side, "I never said this was the party I was going to."

"Is there another?"

"Well... maybe. Maybe not."

"Peter-" You whine, but he cuts you off.

"I'm not a party guy! Sue me."

"Well, then Parker's got you beat two for two. Unless you're lying, since I haven't given up on my conspiracy theory."

Peter presses himself off the wall, sauntering toward you in a zig-zag. Your eyes follow him, back and forth, back and forth, until he's a step or two away. His hand reaches out to play with one of your sleeves, its seams resewn with mismatched thread, "Leaving a party as Peter Parker to come back as Spider-Man. Give Parker some credit. That's the kind of plan you come up with in high school."

You shrug, trying not to act like Peter playing with your sleeve wasn't giving you goosebumps. "You never know."

Peter nods, "Yeah, you're right. I mean, he was really excited to see you."

"Oh yeah?" You swallow.

"Yeah. Was kind of pathetic, actually."

Peter shoots a web at the ceiling and twists, catching the web between his feet so he could hang upside down. The suddenness makes you stumble back with a breathless laugh, "That's not a very nice thing to say about a friend."

"Weren't you the one who said he'd be shaking and crying if you yelled at him?"

You sigh, "I was... I was teasing you."

"Because I'm Peter Parker."

He says it matter of fact. You stare at him, "Yeah," you whisper, "that's right."

He pulls himself up the web until he's face to face with you, "Then that wouldn't be very nice to say to a friend, would it?"

"No, it wouldn't. If you were Peter Parker, I guess I'd have to apologize to you."

"Yeah? How?"

You breathe deep. Everyone is still laughing downstairs. You become hyper-aware of the fact that you hadn't locked the door. At any moment, someone could walk in and...

Peter waits, curious.

Your fingers trace the lines of his jaw, pressing into the fabric of his mask, feeling over the ridges where black lines broke red. You know what you want to do. And you also know that there is no going back if you do it.

Your fingers reach the place where the mask meets the rest of his suit. Hooking two fingers under the fabric, you pull.

Your fingernails trace over the curve of his Adam's apple as it bobs, over the jut of his chin. Peter's breath is heaving. One of his hands releases its grip on the web and you see it glide toward yours out of the corner of your eye. You just feel the skin of his bottom lip under your finger when you realize how this might look. What he might think you're trying to do.

Mask in hand, questions of his identity hanging in the air, your curiosity and his vulnerability. You release the mask, awash with worry. You want to get it out before there's any misunderstanding, but as your hand drifts back to yourself, his catches it. You would give anything to know what he's thinking right now.

Peter lets your fingers fall. Silently, he drags the mask over the tip of his nose and leaves it resting there. An invitation. "I trust you." He promises. And kisses you.

He has to stretch a little to reach you. You understand this and press closer, taking the back of his head in your hands and holding it steady for you, but you know you're trembling. You curse yourself for how much your body reacts to this, how uncool you must look, how you shake with all the excitement and terror of this. You kiss him and feel silly about how you claimed to know his lips so well before now. That was nothing.

This is everything. So many things. Each time you go back in for more, you lock away some new little detail about him.

Peter places a hand against your neck and tugs you even closer, but the momentum makes him swing a little bit so his nose bumps your chin. You're too stiff to laugh, but he does, "Sorry," his voice is raspy, "this looked cooler in my head."

You lean into him, dizzied, "Was this... did you plan for me to kiss you? When you got up there?"

"I've wanted to kiss you plenty of ways." Peter's admission is followed by a sigh. He presses a hand to your chest and nudges you back a step before he's dropping to his feet and advancing upon you once more, bumping you against the dresser as the picture frames rattle. Your fingers sneak under his mask at the back of his head so they can sink into his silky hair.

He probably kisses you a hundred more times after that. Every kiss you think might be the last, but then you feel a tug in your chest and go in for one more. An itch that no scratch can soothe.

Peter's mask starts to slip and you feel one of his hands leave your waist to fix it, but the warmth your fingers had snuggled into disappears and-

You keep your eyes screwed shut, "Peter." You gasp against his mouth. Your fingers twitch in his hair, finding no resistance.

"It's okay," he nudges your nose with his, still pressing kisses to the corner of your mouth, "it's okay."

"But-"

"Don't you wanna know if you were right?"

You squeak when his lips find the underside of your jaw, "I don't need- you don't need to-"

"You're always right," Peter interrupts you, kissing down your neck, "I was never fooling you. You're so smart, you know that?"

"Peter." You say his name with no real plans for it to do anything, letting your head fall back.

"Please." He says back. Urging.

You lift your head, heart hammering away, and meet the eyes of Peter Parker.

[drconstellation]

Judgement Day

Aziraphale's Edinburgh Journey: Part 4

Aziraphale's trip to Edinburgh - and most of S2 - is filled with hints and references to the Second Coming. Once you are clued into this, they are everywhere, with some clues more obvious than others. Gabriel's statue is one of them, but it has another role as well (and it's not for hiding anything under, sorry.)

We also have a lot of references to the Freemasons in S2, particularly in Edinburgh, but you can see related symbolism elsewhere - they use some of the same symbolism used around Memento mori, and they also believe in working towards upholding values in life to be rewarded in the afterlife. Judgement Day looms large for all, not matter what their belief.

Judgment in the Tarot

Judgement is the penultimate card of the Major Arcana in the Tarot - the final card is The World, where the journey ends and everything comes together in harmony. But first, one must be summoned to their reckoning, and the past weighed up. It marks the completion of a karmic cycle; its time for renewal.

Three naked figures, a man, a woman and a child, rise out of the darkness of the underworld. Their nakedness denotes their spirituality, they have thrown off the clothes and material things of a physical life. An angel in the sky with a trumpet summons them to be reborn.

But which angel is it on the card? The book I'm favoring to do these card interpretations says its Michael. The information I have about cemetery angels (below) would indicate it to be Gabriel, who is sometimes depicted on headstones blowing a horn. Yet other lore says it's Raphael/Israfel that will blow the horn to start the Day of Judgement. And reading further, on some texts it just says it will be an archangel, they don't specify which one.

Cemetery Angels

The statue of Gabriel in the Edinburgh cemetery is an example of a cemetery angel. The type and pose of the angel is supposed to give some indication of the life that was lived. Small cherubs for children, a lily held for purity, a circular wreath for everlasting life, for example.

Gabriel's statue is doing several things at once: its wings are open, indicating its ready to take flight upwards for the resurrection, and its holding a cross. This is because this statue is a replica of one of the angels on the Ponte Sant'Angelo in Rome and they all hold something relating to the Passion. A cross is probably the most recognizable symbol of all, and instantly connected with Jesus. Everything here is pointing us to the Second Coming.

The Missing Cross

But the cross isn't there in every scene. It's been pointed out that its missing when Gabriel shows his statue to Beelzebub in the present.

This only appears to be the case when we view this scene from a distance. When we see the statue from between their shoulders, the cross is still there.

This is an inconsistent message, and casts some doubt on what its trying to tell us. Can Beelzebub see the cross or not? It can't be a demon thing, as Crowley has no problem seeing the cross in 1827. Is it instead a comment about Gabriel and Beelzebub as a pair?

There are a multitude of meanings that could be applied here around that missing cross: is it do with death and resurrection or is to do with having your sins forgiven and achieving eternal life? If its the latter, then the demons have always been excluded from that, right from the start.

Gazing in Parallel

Then there's this parallel in acts of admiration of the statue:

The very first time I watched S2 and I heard Crowley say "he probably comes here to stare at it," I knew yep, he sure does, and so he did.

Parallel pairs like this usually give us a nugget of information about the characters or story, and this one seems to be another thing pointing us to Gabriel being the peacock mentioned in the Job minisode (i.e. "Did you give wings to peacocks, Job...") An old slang definition of a peacock is "a person, especially a man, who is arrogant or likes dressing or behaving in a way that draws attention to themselves" and "a man who is very proud of his appearance and gives a lot of attention to his clothes and the way he dresses."

Let us not forget at this point that Crowley is linked to Gabriel in S2 as both a parallel and foil, and he, too, takes some pride in his appearance. But while Gabriel admires the creation that is himself, Crowley tends more to admire creations that he has had a hand in working on himself.

But there is a curious moment here that links us up with a scene from the beginning of S2, in Before the Beginning. Notice how Aziraphale looks back at Crowley as he he says Gabriel "Probably comes here to stare at it. Marveling at his own beauty."

Aziraphale has the same jealous look on his face as angel!Crowley marvels at the beauty of his newly created nebula and stars.

We have to remember that Before The Beginning was one of the last parts of S2 to be written, even though its at the start, but it includes a repeated parallel to the dates at the statue - angel!Crowley admires his creation, and Aziraphale looks a little jealous that he's not getting that same attention from Crowley.

Demons in the Mist

There is another, larger, parallel sequence that the statue plays a part in as well, and this connects us to S1, and I suspect to S3 as well. This is one of the mobius strip parallels that I sometimes talk about, where the story history repeats itself ad infinitum. Notice the misty nature of the present day scene below; this is an indication we are seeing more than two times and places at once.

It starts here, as we switch suddenly from 1827 back to present, just after Crowley is sucked down into Hell, leaving Aziraphale gazing up at the statue.

The parallel scene to this is the sushi restaurant in S1E1.

In that scene Crowley has been summoned to the cemetery to receive the antichrist and start Armageddon. He was supposed to be on a date with Aziraphale at the sushi restaurant, but Gabriel turns up instead, on the other side of Aziraphale - the same side the statue is on in S2.

Next, there are two demons. The first time, Crowley was summoned to meet with Hastur and Ligur to start Armageddon. Only this time, in S2, its Aziraphale talking to the demons, not Crowley.

We have an indication that the Scottish pair are demon-related with the taller one having a misspelled tattoo on his forehead (and aren't there many stories of badly spelled tattoos?)

I think they also roughly match the height and size of Hastur and Ligur, too. And it's the Ligur-parallel that offers his phone - just like its Ligur that chats to Michael on the back channels that don't exist in S1.

Free phone call? Not a problem. It's been pointed out that when Crowley hangs up the phone handset in S1 after calling Aziraphale you can hear a coin falling into the coin return box - apparently there was a thing done in the old days of leaving some change in the coin return for people who didn't have any money and needed to make a call; a kindness for strangers, if you will. So it's not a worry that there is no credit on the phone when Aziraphale needs to make the call.

Lastly, we have some S3 foreshadowing, because this an Aziraphale scene and he connects us with the future. The old phone is looking worn and tatty, with the Union Jack on it, a sign of the Empire that is slowly fading, and is well past its peak. After he hands it back with a blessing, it looks renewed, with the St Andrews Cross of Scotland on it. I might live on the other side of the world from the UK but even I'm aware of the political debate around Scottish independence that has been ongoing for, well, many years now.

I can't help thinking we are going to see a parallel to this scene in S3 as well, with Aziraphale demanding some form communication from Hell or some demons for which he does "ask nicely" about. This is all working towards a change in the way the authoritative structure works for the angels and demons (the death and rebirth theme.)

Masonic Symbols

We are alerted to the presence of the Masons when Aziraphale does his detective cosplay and speaks to the barman in the Resurrectionist pub. If you are quick, you can also notice the square and compass symbol on the windows next to the pub as Aziraphale approaches, although most of us are looking at Jesus on the sign (and a reminder that we are looking out of a deliberate copy of the Eastern Gate of Eden here on the sign, too, into the deserted distance.)

The square and compass are a reminder of balance - the square at the bottom is about honesty and integrity, and the compass at the top represents wisdom and keeping one's desires within reach.

But why are we looking at Masons? I think this is because they represent a similar but different alternative to the Abrahamic religions the Good Omens AU is built around - they believe in a Supreme Being (God) and they believe in upholding certain virtues and doing good deeds in life so that they will be rewarded in the afterlife, and that there is an eternal afterlife; they just don't believe in going about it in the same way the church does.* The Catholic church doesn't allow one to be a Mason and a member of the church at the same time because of this clash in ideologies.

The other thing to note about Masons, is that Masons wear black tie evening dress to their Lodge meetings, like the corpse in the next image below. The barman in the present even says to Aziraphale "It's the first time I've seen one in a fancy grey suit, though." This is a big Clue - but you all missed it, because you latched on to the fancy grey suit part of the sentence that screamed "GABRIEL WAS HERE!!" at you and didn't hear the silent part that the barman was saying - that the other person that was with Gabriel was wearing a black suit.

Hello? Anyone paying attention here? No? Just me shouting into the void...right, well, carry on then.

We see three dead bodies in the Resurrectionists minisode, much like the three bodies on the Tarot card for Judgement. The first is this Mason, clearly identified by the apron he is wearing (the other two bodies are a priest and wee Morag.) The decoration on it would indicate what rank or degree of mastery he held within his lodge. The background was always white, for purity.

Coffins were a reminder that one day every one would die and return to dust. They were also a sign of leaving their previous life behind from before they joined the Masons and taking on their Masonic duties.

Skulls and cross bones were part of Memento mori - reminders that life was short. They also appeared on Mason tracer boards.

The hourglass was a particularly special symbol. While it, too, was a reminder that life was finite, it was also a reminder that life and death was a cycle. By turning the hourglass over, one started the cycle again. This also demonstrated the need at times for one to turn one's thoughts and actions around on their journey through life.

It was also a reminder that time was the great equalizer - it didn't matter your station in life, time always moved forward, and death would come for us all.

Onward to Part 5, dear readers! Time to see if we really know where we're going with all this!

Thanks once again to @vidavalor for pointing out the parallel between the statue of Gabriel and the sushi restaurant in S1, where Crowley is pulled away by Hell both times and Gabriel appears on Aziraphale's right.

@kimberleyjean has also put together a collection of all the infinity loops and mobius strip references in GO here.

*I'm not sure what it was like in other countries, but I know in Australia during the mid 20th century to get anywhere in certain jobs and industries you either had to be a Catholic or a Mason. Without the backing of one of those organizations you wouldn't get far. My grandfather was a Mason, but not religious, and consequently rose quite high in the government dept he worked for - took me a long time to put all those pieces together, because it was never talked about in my family. I just knew he went to Lodge. It was only listening to some podcasts about history that I was able to work it out.

The other posts in this series can be found here:

Part 1: Detective Aziraphale Part 2: Aziraphale-Beelzebub Parallels Part 3: Stocktaking in the Basement Part 5: I Know Where I'm Going

[evolutionsvoid]

I broached the subject before on the unflattering things associated with dragons. Mainly because they are often buried underneath horror stories and grand legends that make people forget they are living beings like us. Don't be mistaken in thinking this is me trying to cast shade on these representations, that I want to "knock them down a peg" as humans may say. No, what I aim to do here is just remind folk that dragons are mortal (until you get into the crazy magic stuff that isn't my specialty) and help crack away at the notion that they are some godly alien beasts that we can never relate to. Because they do have the same wants and needs as us, and they suffer like we do too. The Dragon Leech was an example of a parasite that feeds exclusively on them, showing that they too befall icky things. So here we are with another example, but this time it is internal!

The subject of this entry is the Dragonspawn Fungus, a fungi I am sure not a lot of folk have ever witnessed. I don't blame them, because the place they are found isn't typically visited by humans or dryads. Where they grow isn't any specific ecosystem, like a forest or jungle. Instead, Dragonspawn Fungus emerges where dragon flame has scorched the earth. From the ashen remains of a dragon's breath weapon, a pale pod will eventually rise. Its body will swell and bulge until it rips open into a cluster of crimson stalks. Their strange cap shape with its split head gives the impression of a reptilian maw, creating a sort of "hydra" look. On top of that, the burst pod sort of looks like "wings," thus people creating the name "Dragonspawn" for this fungus.

Now, supposedly, legends claim that people originally believed that these strange growths were indeed the young of dragons, who are birthed from the earth their parents destroyed. From devastation and flame, the dragons are born! However, I think these tales were more for folklore and imaginative stories, and not so much that people believed this was entirely true as how dragons are born. I feel those cultures way back when weaved these legends more so in wonder and flights of fancy, rather than not knowing how dragons actually reproduce. I mean, folks knew about dragon eggs! But of course, I already can hear others say "people back then didn't know what we know now! So thus they had to craft stories to explain things they couldn't understand!" Which, yes, that does happen and can be found in any culture in the world. But at the same time, there is a fine line between what these ancient folk believed in their folklore was actually true and what was more story telling and their own imagination. There are some cases where that argument works, and other cases where saying that is you essentially calling these ancient people idiots.

But back to the actual fungus! Now you will see that they grow where the earth has been scorched, rising from the ashes. A pretty good place, since all your competition has been reduced to dust! But how do they do it? Originally, it was believed that Dragonspawn Fungus lay dormant in the soil, waiting for intense heat to "awaken" them. The theory was that they were designed to grow from forest fires, but dragons wound up being coincidental catalysts. However, this fungus has been found in places where fires don't normally occur. Plus, banking your entire future on the hope that a random fire will burn your patch of earth seems a bit odd. It was until further research and communication with the dragons themselves that we learned the incredible truth! Dragonspawn Fungus isn't waiting for dragon fire, it is the dragon fire!

This species isn't a random pyrophyte fungus that just happens to thrive from the presence of dragons, it is actually a parasite! It actually infects the dragons themselves! Their spores are inhaled and will develop inside the reptilian host, but they are looking for a specific spot! They will travel through the airways until they reach the organ that produces the fire breath of certain dragons. There they will grow into a different type of fruiting body, one to develop another set of spores. While the original spores were meant to be airborne, floating upon the wind til finding a host, these ones are meant for intense heat and one fiery journey! They can survive dragon flame, and are shaped in a way that they cut through the air like arrows. This is because they are meant to ride the dragon's breath and plant themselves the same time the flames are cleansing the earth for them! Incredible!

So inside the flame sac is where the spores are developed, and once they are ready, they need flame! Now you figure they would just wait fro the dragon to use its flame breath, but why leave it up to chance? Instead, this version of the fungus will grow to infest the flame sac and cause irritation. Veins of fungus induce swelling and pressure, digging in so the organ becomes uncomfortable. When this happens, the dragon themself will be quite irate, not enjoying this annoying feeling. The one way to relieve themselves of this irritation is to spew fire and empty their flame sac, which will eject large portions of the responsible fungus. And so the released spores will ride the fire and embed themselves into the burning soil, where they will grow into the recognizable form of Dragonspawn. With the land now cleansed, they can grow will little issue, feeding on the ash. And when they do, their hydra-like stalks will spew the airborne spores that will go on to infest more dragons. As for the individual host, the remaining tendrils of fungus in their organ will slowly begin to regrow, building up to start the process over again.

While this species is indeed parasitic, it is by no means dangerous to a dragon's health. It certainly doesn't want to kill its host, as it needs them to spread. Instead, it acts more like an irritating infection. Dragonkind certainly doesn't like the feeling of their flame sac swelling and itching! It typically drives their host to burn things to soothe this ache, which some believe it may be the reason why some dragons go on "rampages." The irritation and discomfort makes them angry, and if something else triggers their aggression, they may find it the perfect target for their pain relieving fire purge. Thankfully, dragonkind is aware of this infection and the culprit for their pain. They have found certain plants can be ingested to kill the fungus within, though it takes weeks of frequent consumption to fully eradicate it. If the availability of these plants is low, then the regional dragons may be far more irritable than usual. Thus, some dryad settlements near heavy dragon routes and territories will grow gardens of these plants to provide as medicine. On one hand, it is a sign of kindness and giving, while also serving as an incentive for dragons to not burn down their village.

One final note I want to throw in is that some folk get the strange idea that this fungus can parasitize other beings. Humans mainly have made this thought, seeing the infectious nature and the arrow shape of the fire spore. If it can infest one animal, surely it can infect all? Well no. Parasites and diseases are not always capable of hopping between different species, especially ones so finely tuned to a specific biology. A human huffing those airborne spores would not be in danger, as their body temperature and general makeup would not allow it to grow. But then they point to the fire spores, and how they are like tiny arrows that embed and feed on their surroundings. Surely they could pierce flesh and find the nutritious meat to be a good growing medium? I mean, maybe? But here is the thing: how does the fire spore spread again? Now stick your meaty body in the middle of that "dispersal method," and then tell me what is left to infect. Remember, the spores are not the part you have to worry about!

Chlora Myron

Dryad Natural Historian

[bi-bard]

If I Could Leave, I Would've Already Left - Luca Imagine [The Bear]

Title: If I Could Leave, I Would've Already Left

Pairing: Luca X Reader

Based On: Paul Revere

Word Count: 1,413 words

Warning(s): mention of breakdown/mental health issues

Summary: When Luca left for Copenhagen, he didn't mean to leave (Y/n) completely on their own. After years of not talking, he finally finds that nerve to reconnect with them, deciding to invite them out to visit. At first, all seems well, but something is clearly off... Luca just has to get (Y/n) to admit that.

Author's Note: I changed who this story was going to be about so I could give y'all this. Don't say that I don't do anything for you.

NOAH KAHAN - STICK SEASON [WE'LL ALL BE HERE FOREVER] WRITING CHALLENGE MASTERLIST

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I felt a pit in my stomach as I walked to the door of the restaurant.

This wasn't even my place of employment. I had no obligations or expectations here, but I still had raging anxiety sitting in my chest.

Maybe it was the association I had with early rising and restaurant doors. Maybe it was the memories of yelling and pressure and intensity. Maybe it wasn't related to any of that. Maybe it was all just fear over seeing someone that I hadn't seen in a while that meant the world to me.

I shook my head, trying to calm myself down. It wasn't successful.

Once I accepted that I couldn't just dismiss my anxiety, I picked up my hand and knocked on the door.

I stepped backward, taking a few more deep breaths.

The front door opened suddenly. I felt a need to collapse to the ground when I saw Luca in the doorway. I fought that need.

"Hey," I said awkwardly, messing around with the strap of my duffel bag.

"You made it," he replied happily, stepping forward to hug me tightly. I closed my eyes as I hugged him back. "I told you to call me when you were on your way. I would have made plans to get you settled."

"I know, I know," I muttered as I stepped back.

"I'll call someone in, so I can get you set up in the guest room-"

"No, no," I shook my head. "I came here to see where you're working. That was your offer."

He chuckled. "Well, come on in then."

I followed him into the restaurant. I looked around at the sparkling location. Shining counters, organized inventory, the blue sign just under the clock that read 'Every Second Counts'.

"What do you think," he asked.

"It's beautiful," I mumbled, still looking around the entire building.

"Oh, believe me, this is nothing," he waved it off. I looked back at him. "Well, nothing when compared to the quality of the food."

I chuckled. "Impress me."

"I always do."

He tapped a part of the steel tabletop so I could stand across from him. He continued working while I put my bag down next to me.

It felt weird to watch someone else cook. I had grown so accustomed to running around the kitchen and getting as much work done as physically possible. But now, I was standing there, twiddling my thumbs. It just felt... wrong.

"Do you... Do you need help with anything," I asked.

"No, no," he shook his head. "I am making something for you. You are on a trip."

I held my hands up. "Alright, alright."

The silence after that was nice.

It was the first time since getting on the flight that I didn't find myself fixated on the work that I was missing. I was finally letting myself breathe. I couldn't relax fully. I don't think that I had the ability to. It was still momentary bliss.

"How've you been," Luca said after a while.

"Good, good," I replied, playing it as polite. Like I would speak with my relatives at big family dinners and shit like that.

"You're still working in Chicago?"

"I haven't worked there in a while," I explained. "I moved to New York. Carmen Berzatto apparently mentioned my name a while ago."

"He did?"

I nodded.

"I don't remember him ever being that kind... did he have a change of heart?"

"Honestly, I think it was an accident."

Luca laughed, having to stop what he was doing for a few moments. "That sounds more like him."

I chuckled with him.

"But New York is good?"

"Yeah, yeah. It's the dream, right? The big-time restaurant and the fancy guests."

"I guess so."

His eyes moved to me. I saw them trace me, looking for a sign of... something. I shifted a bit in my spot, grinning at him. I wanted to know what he was looking for. I wanted to know what he was thinking of me.

"How are you doing," he said.

"You asked that already."

"I know but you told me that everything is good yet you're sitting in front of me on a very sudden trip to a different country."

"You invited me out to visit-"

"Yet you didn't tell me when you were on your way."

I froze. He was right.

"What's going on?"

I took a deep breath. "I... I took a leave of absence."

"What," he asked. "Can I ask why?"

"I... I broke," I confessed.

Admitting it felt like some kind of betrayal to myself. I was already dealing with enough guilt from running away from work, but now there was even more guilt because it wasn't just because of my own weakness.

"I was in the kitchen, in the middle of dinner rush, and then everything felt like it froze," I continued. "And I... I couldn't move or talk. I was just... gone. And then, it all hit me at once. I couldn't breathe. Nothing made sense. Everything was going too fast. It just... it wouldn't go back to normal.

"If it had just been that once, then I could have explained it away as nothing. But it just kept happening over and over.

"I could hide it for a while but then, I just kind of snapped. I ran out of the kitchen; I hid in the alley out back and just sobbed. I just remember thinking that I had to get out. So, I decided to take the leave of absence and try to figure out what the fuck was wrong with me."

"I'm sorry," Luca said. "That sounds terrifying."

I just kind of shrugged.

"Are you... Are you seeing a therapist at all?"

"I have an appointment set for when I get home. I just... I needed something- someone familiar."

Luca stepped out from behind the counter so he could drag me into another tight hug. I closed my eyes, hiding my face in his shoulder. That was the most detail I had told anyone about how I had been feeling.

"Can I ask you something," he asked after a little while. I hummed. "Why don't you just leave entirely?"

I scoffed as I stepped back. "And go where?"

"I don't know... here?"

I shook my head.

"I could put in a good word-"

"I can't do that," I stopped him. "I can't just run away."

"Why not?"

"Do you have any idea how hard I have worked for this?" I snapped. "How much of my life has been dedicated to this?"

"That doesn't mean that you have to end up hurting yourself!"

"You don't get it!" I stepped even farther away. "I don't just do this for me. New York is the best place for me to make everyone happy. It's for my family whether it be supporting them or giving my mom a chance to see her dream that she didn't get to pursue or for my dad to get the chance to be proud of me. All of this goes so far beyond me! It's not that I don't want to leave! I can't!"

Luca didn't reply.

"I... I look at my parents and all I can think of is how disappointed they'd be if I didn't keep going, keep pushing myself."

"I'm... I'm sorry."

I looked away before stubbornly wiping away any tears that found their way to my eyes. "I'll... I'll leave it all one day. I'll leave all of it behind and find something that doesn't terrify me as much, but I just... I can't yet. I can't."

"I shouldn't have pushed so hard," he replied. "I... I'm so sorry."

"It's okay," I mumbled, running my hands over my face. "Can we just... Can we focus on literally anything else?"

He nodded, going to step around the counter again. "I've thought about you a lot over the last few years."

"Really," I asked.

"Yeah. I... I always felt... wrong for leaving the way that I did. I felt like I had abandoned you."

"If it helps, I never thought that. I just hoped that you were happy."

He offered a grin in response.

He started working again.

As silence surrounded us, the air seemed to shift. The weight wasn't gone. I don't think it ever would be. But it was lighter. As if I wasn't holding it on my own anymore.

And maybe that extra pair of hands was all I needed for now.

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[heckling-hydrena]

I am with you at being constantly frustrated with the FR community's insistence that people are being censored when staff deletes forum posts about moderation. I've been on FR for almost 6 years and during that time they've always deleted moderation related posts, so why must people freak out and act like it's a brand new thing thought up to silence people every time it happens?

I believe that it's possible to criticize staff over new rules without developing weird conspiracy theories whenever they direct people towards the correct places for feedback

I feel like there's a certain subset of flight rising player whose god-given mission is to formulate only the most bad-faith interpretation of anything staff says or does and then spam the flight rising tag with their entirely unconstructive and needlessly vitriolic knee-jerk response to it. And it feels really fucking mean to say that but it's been my consistent experience in the fr tag for years now.

And listen I love being a hater I love criticizing this game I also get mad at staff when they do and say stupid shit (which happens disappointingly often) but those weird conspiracy theory posts are just. Soooo tiring. Consistently witnessing people just outright refuse to use the communication method that staff directly fucking links them to instead go on about how staff doesn't listen to them is slowly turning me into the joker.

[shreddedleopard]

Kaiser’s Ego

I’ve been thinking a lot about Kaiser recently, and why I both love and hate him, and why his character rings so true.

This is mega rambling and repetitive probably, so apologies in advance, but I had to get my thoughts down.

I believe that Kaiser’s ego is broken. To explain, first let me share a definition of ego spat out by Google:

Three phrases stand out to me in relation to Kaiser:

Superiority to others

Self-respect

Personal worth

Kaiser is a character who seems so desperate to cling on to that first thing - superiority to others.

When faced with Isagi, Kaiser immediately works on destroying Isagi’s own personal worth. Kaiser quickly recognises that Isagi has a very similar skill set to him, meaning he has the potential to surpass and even replace Kaiser in his specific spot in the team (that position being the game master, mainly). He has literally made himself the king of this BM team; the director of his very own show; he is in control and occupies the central spot. But the player most likely to dethrone him is Isagi, and because of that, immediately Kaiser knows he must show this threat his rightful place.

It’s interesting to me that Kaiser so quickly goes into fight or flight mode when faced with Isagi. It’s not just friendly competition; at times, it doesn’t even feel like a healthy rivalry. It’s absolute war - Kaiser is obsessed and unhinged, and deals with Isagi like his personal well-being is under threat.

I think this might be because it is. This is all speculation but, for Kaiser, it’s not about a love of football. It’s about being the best at something. We’ve yet to see Kaiser’s back story, but I think whatever it entails, he grew up with the mentality that love is conditional. It’s my theory that he had parents or guardians who were only ever present or interested in him when he was able to beat his competition and rise to the top in something. This is both similar and different to Hiori’s backstory. Hiori has parents who are pushy and overly-invested in Hiori’s sporting career. They lavish him with attention; it’s just the wrong sort; it’s pressure. But it fits Kaiser to have had parents who were either absent or disinterested, and for a young Kaiser, it became a fight for attention or recognition. His existence might only have ever been acknowledged when he beat the competition, surpassed expectations, did something exceptional. He had the idea reinforced that to be worthy of anyone’s time or attention, you have to meet certain conditions. You are not just born deserving of anything; the only way to receive it is to fight for it, and to come out on top.

If we look at Kaiser through this lens, so much of his behaviour suddenly makes more sense. He is so aggressive towards those who threaten his position because in his eyes, they’re not just competing for his spot as the best at football; they’re competing for the basic human needs of love and respect. If he is beaten, if he is not literally the best on that field, then he will be shut out by those around him, left unwanted and unworthy of love.

So let’s link back to that last phrase - personal worth. Kaiser’s personal worth is not something that exists in and of itself. Personal worth is not something he naturally has - it is tied to his performance; in this situation, it’s football. Compare this to someone like Isagi, who we saw way back at the start of the manga being welcomed home by supportive parents who showed him love and respect and gave him a warm meal despite the fact that his team lost. Isagi therefore knows he is worthy of these things despite his performance in any sports or school etc. As opposed to Kaiser, who in the same situation, would return home only to be ignored.

As a child, parental love is vital for someone to develop self esteem and personal worth. If Kaiser was made to compete for this, then his whole concept of self esteem and personal worth are linked to what he does, how hard he fights, what he can achieve. As opposed to Isagi, who will have a sense of self esteem and personal worth regardless of his position or performance on the pitch.

Therefore, we can surmise that Kaiser fights for his position as the centre of his team from a place of fear, in contrast with Isagi, who fights from a place of passion and love of the sport. They may appear similar in their grit and determination - their drive to win - but that drive doesn’t come from the same place. Isagi doesn’t view others as dangerous threats to be scared of. He’s not venomous and obsessed the way Kaiser is both on and off the pitch, because after the game ends, he can still walk away from a match with his self - respect and personal worth in tact, ready to fight again, whereas for Kaiser, these things are both made and destroyed on that playing field. He simply cannot afford to lose in a way that is different to Isagi.

His sense of self worth and self esteem is in tatters beneath this outer illusion of confidence and disdain for those around him. In the above art, he’s watching Isagi, who has his sights focused ahead of him. This is because Isagi is focused on where he’s headed, while Kaiser is obsessed with comparing himself to those around him - this is how he measures his own worth. If he’s not better than all of them, then he’s worthless. He’s surrounded by material displays of importance, love and affection, and yet the football at his feet is battered and barely patched up. Kaiser plays for these displays of love and adoration, because he believes this is the only way to receive them. He’s trying to patch up what’s missing for his battered inner sense of self, just like the patches on his battered football. Compare this to Isagi, who is only surrounded by the basic items he needs to play the sport he loves, with a shiny, fully intact football. Isagi plays simply for his passion for football, not to make up for anything lacking in his life outside of it. Ignore everything else that’s going on in this artwork; focus on the footballs. They represent the egos of these two players who, on the surface, might seem almost identical in their drive to win.

‘Ego is the only weapon that lets you fight back.’

‘The haves and the have-nots.’

Whilst on the surface it may look like Kaiser is all ego, in actuality, it’s the very thing that will be his downfall, because it’s what he lacks compared to Isagi. It’s broken.

This idea of the ‘broken’ or at least very much ‘breakable’ or ‘fragile’ ego of Kaiser’s is repeated on his volume cover:

His collar and chains appear to be made of very breakable glass, as opposed to other player’s metal. If the chains do represent the idea of the ego, then this imagery for Kaiser fits perfectly.

We can also see why he’s branded himself with that crown - another illusion of importance when inwardly he’s always chasing that feeling of mattering somehow. The blue rose sprouting from it - representing the unobtainable - is symbolic of the fact that Kaiser will never be able to find that feeling of self-worth and importance when he seeks it externally, because it has to come from within him. He has to understand that he is worthy and important simply for existing, not because of anything he does or achieves.

[anobody277642]

Rafal vs Rhian’s Flying

In Rise, Fall, and TLEA, there are clear differences between the way each twin flys, and I strongly believe that their flying is related to their souls.

First, I think the whole concept of adding flight to Rafal specifically, was that it was an extension of his soul. What I mean, is that when Rafal is flying, it’s his way of setting himself free a little bit, (as free as Rafal can get). Also, he’s cooler, calmer, and more controlled than Rhian is in the air.

Ex. “gliding over the moonlit bay and slipping through the window of the school master’s tower” and “rising into the air… like a bat stretching its wings.” And comparing that to Rafal’s and Rhian’s souls, “a frosty calm so different from Rhian’s hot, hungry gaze.” Even James says, “I have no control over your brother’s soul. It’s not like yours, which felt warm and welcome. Rhian’s scares me. It has a mind of its own.”

Now, theres not many examples of Rhian actually flying except for one specific scene in TLEA. A scene that I am OBSESSED with btw. I love absolutely everything about it. And while it is told in Sophie’s POV, it’s similar to how James describes Rhian’s soul in Fall. “She let herself go, gasping as Rafal slipped-turned like a hawk with dangerous speed…With a full somersault, he rocketed back up…Rafal shot across the bay like a fireball.” See how it’s different from the way the real Rafal flys in Rise/Fall? The words Soman uses are also not the same, as well as the tone and mood he creates with his wording. Rhian’s soul is very similar in the way that Sophie can never predict where or what Rhian is going to do next during his flight, Just like James Says! Rhian flies recklessly, hot, and fast. If I’m going to be honest, The Real Rafal would’ve NEVER taken Sophie for a joyride in the first place. Rafal is shown only using his abilities for specific purposes, like replacing Marialena. This is definitely something only Rhian would do.

Anyway, What are your thoughts on this?

[mythos321]

part 4 of my Wof x Persona au

Chapter 4:Rising Waves

Clay awoke from his dream, though, he was much more sure it was real than before, realizing now it’s connected to the castle, and are related to his persona. Though he had a million and one questions, Clay knew he needed to most importantly focus on one thing, that damned school.

He prepared to leave the cavern, and saw Kestrel wasn’t around this time, likely still resting at wherever it is she sleeps…that or she died, admittedly, the former was more realistic. Clay then exited the cavern, making sure to flip the sign to Open, and headed off, enjoying the rain as it landed and slipped off of his scales, he wondered if Rainwings liked rain even more, though, from what he remembered, it actually stood for Rainforest, so maybe they didn’t like rain.

As he flew, Clay also decided to listen in on a conversation between two seawings, talking about the recent crash flight, which Clay found boring for the most part, though a part that slightly freaked him out was that these had been so common that they could be small talk, in fact, this crash might’ve not even been the same one he and Kestrel had seen!

He tried to pay less mind on it, and simply soared back down with some other students, one that caught multiple peoples eyes was a pale orange, almost yellow colored skywing, whose scales were similar to the inside of a sweet peach, with a blank but innocent stare to herself, almost like she didn’t have a single thought in her head. Part of what interest Clay about her though was a small pouch around her neck, wrapped by a gold chain around her neck that looked like it was practically glued to her with how tight it was on her long neck.

“Isn’t that her?” whispered a student, bad enough for Clay to eavesdrop but seemed to be good enough for the skywing to not notice.

“The one with the nosering and brown pouch?”

“Yeah, her. Ugh, she’s so thin, it’s not fair!”

“I don’t know, I think thicker is-“ It was at that moment Clay decided to tune them back out and simply continue back on his walk down towards the school, accidentally bumping into the skywing as he did.

“O-oh! apologies I didn’t mean to bother you sir! I’ll slow down so you can get more up ahead if you’d like! I don’t want any trouble, really!”

“Woah woah woah, hey, it’s fine, I just accidentally bumped into you, you don’t have to change your pace up, just keep it how you’re going! Besides, it’d be my fault if anything!” Clay reassured her quickly, slightly weirded out at the skywings skittishness, since he had heard they were mostly prideful and confident.

“guess ya shouldn’t believe l stereotypes, hm…guess I’m not much different…” Clay thought to himself, feeling kind of like a jerk for his mental assumptions

“Oh, you look sad, I’m sorry! really, um, I should be going fast now! You go to the same school, right? I’m a second year myself. Okay BYE!” The skywing then ran off, as Clay wondered if he scared her that badly to where she’d decide to run away.

“Ugh, I’m terrible at this! I wouldn’t be shocked if she heard the rumors about me to…probably thinks I’m some psychopath…just push it down Clay, just push it down, and get to school…”

**

Clay entered his first class of the day, which seemed to be taught by a man named Webs, who was teaching general pyrrhian history. Clay had a feeling he would start by teaching about The Scorching and so decided to stare outside of the classroom and look around at the view.

He saw large growing tree in the distance behind some of the schools trails, nicely made caves that could fit a surprising amount of dragonets inside, a near pitch black Nightwing that seemed to be staring directly at him while perched on the side of a cave, a river that led into the ocean and seemed to be the Seawings main traveling point, a nice cloudy sky, and the now processed fact that a Nightwing was stalking him.

Clay tried to look around for his little Nightwing stalker again, trying to make them out, but they completely blended in, like a bark of wood in a pile of mud. Even so, Clay kept trying to focus, a little more and more, until finally he thought he found someone-

“HEY MUDWING, ARE YOU EVEN LISTENING?!” Webs yelled, as he then tossed the chalk he was using at Clay, who without even looking caught it midair, but had now had his concentration completely disrupted in the process.

“Here’s your chalk Sir, sorry for not paying attention.” Clay told the baffled Webs as he handed him his chalk before walking back to where he was sitting.

“Y-yeah, you better be…” Webs said in a failed attempt to reassert dominance, as multiple dragonets could now be heard snickering at Webs’ humiliation, assuming they weren’t in awe at Clays casualness in catching the chalk.

“Best case scenario, I was seeing things. Worst case scenario, that teachers now the death of me.” Clay thought to himself, before focusing himself on Webs’ history lesson.

**

“Have you heard about that Skywing girl?”

“Didn’t she get hand chosen by Queen Scarlet herself? She must be really special, I wonder what for though?”

“I heard people saw her get harassed by that criminal! poor gal, having to deal with pieces of crap like him.”

“Assault, Blackmail, Drugs, I bet he’s done it all!”

“I hear he’s ready to bite people if you just look at him funny…”

**

Classes were over for the day, and Clay decided to use his time looking for that Nightwing he saw before. He was to vivid for him to be fake, but Clay could tell they didn’t wanna be found so easily.

“Are they a stalker? An assassin? Someone who has a hard time talking with people and stares at them instead? Okay probably not that last one, or at least unrelated to that if they did have that problem? I wonder if I’m like that, I mean, I mainly just talked with my sibs and aunt so maybe my social skills aren’t as good as I expect. Wait, I’m getting off topic here! Focus on finding the Nightwing, and don’t let any Seawing distract you-”

“Yo!” Tsunami rushed over, making Clay jump for a moment in shock

“Jeez! ya trying to ambush me or something?!” Clay said, completely losing his train of thought

“Oh come on dude it wasn’t that big a deal! ugh, look, I wanna talk about that castle from yesterday alright?” Tsunami explained, as her and Clay began to walk away from the school for a moment and stand on the outskirts with some rocks in the forest for them to sit on an talk

“I mean, I tried telling myself it was all some weird shared dream… But I couldn’t do it. I can’t act like nothing happened! It’s all connected to that smug bastard Whirlpool after all! I wanna find out more about that place, no matter what… and well…you’re the only person I can rely on for this. So, you in?” Tsunami asked him, and Clay felt something inside himself warm up hearing how she truly does trust him…it was nice, he didn’t know how to put it into proper words, but he did know his answer to her request

“Let’s do this!” Clay affirmed with passion, holding his tail as Tsunami intertwined it with her own

“Sweet! glad we’re in this together man! I think our best course of action right now is to retrace our steps from before. In the meantime, you’re flying home right? should we go our separate ways in the investigation?”

“No no, if ya want we can walk together instead!” Clay told her, as Tsunami suddenly beamed with a smile

“Sweet! keep an eye out for any strange buildings while we walk!”

“Tsunami seems like a pretty decent gal. I don’t see anything wrong in going along with this, even if we don’t end up finding the place, having someone to talk with just feels nice anyway!” Clay thought to himself, as he and Tsunami began their walk around to investigate

**

“Let’s see, if a castle like that really exists, we should find it in no time… When they’d even find time to build that big thing though?” Tsunami wondered aloud, as she and Clay kept looking around

“We walked that way from here, right?”

“Yeah! That’s when ya got up in my face and began your rant to me on Whirlpool and stuff.”

“Good to know! Ha! I did get in your face didn’t I? I think I saw the color of your eyes at the time. Brown, right?”

“Yeah, yours are translucent green.” Clay told her, which Tsunami was surprised at, since she didn’t think someone would just know a persons eye color shade off the top of their head.

“Ha! neat! Well, lemme know if you notice something!” Tsunami told him, as the two walked through, and saw…the school

“Huh?”

“We’re at school???” Clay questioned, as surprised as Tsunami was at what they weren’t seeing.

“There wasn’t anything out of place along the way, right? I didn’t see a castle either…Did we make a wrong turn?”

“I feel like we’d have noticed it along the way right? It’s weird…”

“Let’s just keep looking around! we’ll find something, for sure!” Tsunami stated confidently, as the two retraced their step, and ended up eight back at the school

“For real?!” The duo said simultaneously

“What the hell’s going on…hey, you had a book on you right? back then at least.” Tsunami asked, and a lightbult went off in Clays head.

“Oh, yeah! Maybe it can get us to that place!”

“Yeah! mind if I look at it?” Tsunami asked, as Clay got it out of his bag and handed Tsunami the little book, as she snatched it and began taking a look at it.

“What’s this eyeball-looking thing anyhow?”

“I think it’s a cute logo honestly, can’t seem to get rid of it though.”

“I think it looks creepy- wait really? man, what a weird book, if not for current situations I’d tell ya to get an exorcist, now let’s see here…BOOYAH! written in right here! nice hindsight Clay!”

“…hehe, yeah.” Clay said, knowing completely well he didn’t write that in, but not wanting to freak her out.

“Ah man, we’re geniuses! Let’s do this!”

“Do you know how to?”

“Not at all, but I think I can do this! maybe I just gotta push down and!…” as Tsunami pushed down, the Book began to react

“Beginning navigation. Whirlpool… Academy… Abuser… Castle… Beginning Navigation.”

“Alright! and then we go a certain direction and-” before Tsunami could finish her sentence, the area suddenly began to shift around them both

“What the hell???” Tsunami said out loud, as Clay and her kept next to each other as the book floated into the air, and reality distorted around them, with the schools grounds rising to massive heights in the shapes of a castle, until Tsunami and Clay suddenly stood on top of a drawbridge

“It’s the castle from yesterday! We made it back after all!” Tsunami said as she and Clay rushed through the bridge and the to the front of the castle, looking in the sky as they saw dozens of puppets like dragons guarding the higher parts of the castle to prevent anyone from just flying in.

“So, seems what happened yesterday was for real after all- WOAH, YOU GOT THOSE CLOTHES ON AGAIN!” Tsunami pointed out, as Clay realized he was in his nearly all black attire from when he used his Persona. “That happened last time too, huh!? What’s with that outfit?!?”

“I have no idea! It’s pretty cool though!…you jelly?”

“HELL YEAH I AM, why can’t I get a cool suit too?! Man even without that this makes no sense at all!” Tsunami yelled out, as the two then saw a pair of familiar green and golden eyes that revealed itself as Turtle, still in his attire from before and slightly strange form.

“Hey, can you quit the commotion you’re making? !”

“What the, you? what are you still doing here?”

“Shadows started acting a little different, as though something had changed for them, so I came back to investigate. What are YOU two doing here? you barely managed to escape last time!”

“as I recall, you didn’t do much better, no?…Ya mind explaining what this place even is? Is it the school?” Clay asked, and Turtle nodded his head

“Correct! It takes the form of a castle in this place, hence why it looks like this and not like the school. Basically, it looks like a castle to its ruler!” Turtle detailed

“Its ruler?” Tsunami questioned

“If I remember right, his names Whirlpool, correct? This is how his distorted heart views the school.” Turtle stated

“Whirlpools distorted desire?…Ugh! can’t you just explain it better! I’m so lost!” Tsunami demanded, as Turtle sighed

“I shouldn’t have expected a moron to get it anyway.” Turtle said, rolling his eyes, as Tsunami then began to march at him

“What did you just say you little weirdo?!” Tsunami said through gritted teeth, until they all suddenly heard pained cries from inside the castle

“What was that!” Clay demanded, wanting to help whoever that was as fast as possible

“It must be the slaves that are held captive here.” Turtle answered, simply opening up even MORE questions of what was happening.

“For real?!” Tsunami asked, as she suddenly heard even more pained cries, “SHIT, it’s for real! Damn it, I saw some people held captive here yesterday… probably some of Whirlpools students…” Tsunami mentioned

“It must be a representation of how he treats his students in real life, bruising and abusing them to massive means without a care of their wellbeing.” Turtle added on, as Clay remembered Anemone from the day before, and how hurt she looked

“Damn it…was that what was happening to her?! I knew Whirlpool was awful but…damn it, she barely even looked two years old!” Clay thought to himself, wishing he could do more for her, that maybe he could do something about her “teacher” especially if Coral was going to just ENCOURAGE it instead of stop what was happening to her own daughter…

“What’s more, because of your guys escape yesterday, he must have lost his temper, and is taking it out on his prisoners in here.”

“THAT SON OF A BITCH!” Tsunami yelled, as she swung her tail against the castles large door, shaking it in as she did it, “YOU HEAR THAT WHIRLPOOL? THATS GONNA BE YOUR FACE WHEN I GET MY HANDS ON YOU.” Tsunami yelled as she continued to bash on the door, Clay was honestly tempted to join her

“Doing that isn’t gonna open it, but…I can see you have your reasons, so I won’t budge you on it.” Turtle said, as Tsunami calmed down

“Hey, Turty.”

“Turtle.”

“Do you know where those voices are coming from?” Tsunami asked, and Clay showed interest in it as well

“You want me to take you there?…Well, I don’t see why not, though, only if he comes with us!” Turtle said, looking at Clay

“Let’s go.” Clay said without any hesitation, wanting to help these people as fast as possible.

“For real?… thanks man! I knew I could count on you…” Tsunami said, as she and Clay shared a smile

“Alright, let’s do this! follow me!” Turtle said as he walked over to a small familiar opening on the side to the castles door.

“This, is our infiltration point!” Turtle explained

“Ain’t that where we busted out from last time?” Questioned Tsunami.

“That’s right. Not barging in through the entrance is one of the basics of phantom thievery!”

“How exactly were we supposed to know that?!” Tsunami questioned, as Clay nodded in agreement

“I’ll teach ya the ropes as we go. Come on now, follow me!” Turtle told them as he jumped to surprising heights, as Clay and Tsunami were left alone to talk to one another.

“So, uh… sorry for draggin’ you into all of this, you really don’t deserve to be wrapped in my shit…But, UGH! I just can’t forgive that bastard for doing whatever the hell he wants! And I hate that my mom just lets it happen because he kisses her ass, they’re both the worst!…Really, though, thank you for comin’ along, I owe you big time man!” Tsunami told him, as Clay smiled back at her

“Hey, I wouldn’t have it any other way! If I gotta fight 50 castles worth of your problems, I’d still help you out, what else are friends for?…so…do you want to hold onto me while I make that jump?” Clay asked, as Tsunami snorted for a moment, before answering

“That would be appreciated, yeah.” Tsunami said as she went onto and held onto Clays back, and he jumped through into the castle, keeping himself steady to keep pressure off Tsunamis wing.

“Man, this place is almost as creepy as last time…” Tsunami stated as she hopped off of Clays back.

“Mm-hm, just make sure to do as I say, all right?”

“Gotcha!” Clay and Tsunami stated simultaneously as they followed behind Turtle into the Castle.

[liketwoswansinbalance]

What Rafal's Physical and Immaterial Coolness Could Represent

❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️

As a forewarning, this post is more... observational and has less of a singular, hard-hitting point to it. (Also, see Conan Gray's "Fight or Flight" song for reference, as, most of this post occurred to me in relation to that very song, if you interpret parts of it as representing Rafal's internal monologue on the subject of Rhian's substitutes during Rise.)

Also, this is a long post, so it's going under a cut.

⸻

Why is Rafal's immediate response to personal hurt avoidance of all things? Isn't that kind of a heightened, overly instinctive, clearly "uncool" reaction to have?

And yet, strangely, we still classify it as in character for him. His leaving was, arguably, the most iconic and true-to-self thing he did across both prequels. So, I want to ask: why is that?

That he just up and left seems apathetic and could be construed as part of his cold, cool nature, of course, but still—when we look at what his reaction truly is: he chose flight.

(Flight as opposed to the alternative fight, freeze, or fawn responses.)

FLIGHT! Like, can you believe it? This man, who's so headstrong and willing to stare down anything, chose flight. Let that revelation sink in. (Maybe this is more obvious than I think, but I can't believe I hadn't thought of this weird discrepancy before. Flight!)

Anyway, to explain Rafal's reaction to (potentially) having been emotionally hurt by his argument and corresponding bet with Rhian at the start, I'm going to reference a theory from an old post, as it has suddenly become relevant once again.

In short, the idea is about how Rhian's expressions of authority are personal while Rafal's are nearly always impersonal. Rhian is a master of social dynamics, considering how deftly he lies in Fall to gain favor from others and influence their views of him. And, this makes sense because he once cared so much about how he was perceived, as we take into account his original self-consciousness and his high-minded, conscionable tendencies from Rise. He is the one who wields interpersonal power as Rafal, correspondingly, wields impersonal (often more tangible and brutish) power.

If anyone would like more elaboration, here's an excerpt from that old post:

The strange thing is, in Fall, Rafal admits to having conceded a lot of the time to Rhian in the past, in the face of smaller, pettier arguments, a trend which also represents his yielding to Rhian's (supposedly nonexistent) authority in the early days. That tendency seems self-contradictory of Rafal, but perhaps, even Rafal's authority is situational. He's capable of exercising it over everything and world, but not over his own brother. He can't rein Rhian, the inevitable force, the "fatal" (to invoke both death and "fate") tides of change, the Prime Mover, in. Meanwhile, Rhian is the inverse of that. Rhian cannot exercise authority over everything and the world, but he can do so over his own brother. Besides, Rafal, often by sorcery or by outright manhandling, manipulates and exerts his physicality over others and his environment while Rhian rarely does. And yet, Rafal (from what I remember) never so much as lays a hand on Rhian during Rise (in Fall, everything changes and escalates). I don't yet know why this is, but I think this observation is true most of the time. At least, I haven't thought of any exceptions yet. The working hypothesis I have is that Rhian (being the brother who chose to stay in the comfort and limited confines of the home, according to the Bettelheim text's ideas) only initially felt comfortable to do anything there. To act, and exercise his authority in an intimate, narrow, personal way. By contrast, Rafal (the more worldly, well-traveled, and inconstant brother) wants to gain independence from their stifling "home" life, under the Storian, and, as a result, upon his return, could've felt like a stranger in his own home and with Rhian (who's also changed in his brother's absence regardless). Thus, while Rafal can certainly exercise his authority impersonally, he doesn't feel at ease exercising authority over the familiar because it could be too close for comfort, too unsettling, unsettlingly different and the same, like he can't shed the disbelonging that drove him out of the fairy-tale construct of the "home" as a safe, childhood refuge in the first place—when Rhian first questioned his very core purpose and Evil's existence.

Thus, again, Rafal's ability to wield power is, without exception (I think), always impersonal.

The closest he comes to Rhian's brand of power, which involves acting on a smaller scale or more on an individual, one-to-one level and being intimate, are his interactions with Hook and Midas. And, despite those seductive instances, Rhian is still the master of all the smaller scale exploits, like with Hephaestus and the Pirate Captain rescuing him from the Doom Room where he'd been "abandoned," whenever these acts are in fact intentional.

Yes, Rafal possibly unwittingly, by being more open with his victims, has broader appeal, but that side of him isn't all pure strategy, done with intentionality. Part of it is just how he is. Rhian, unlike his brother, strikes at something inside people that doesn't just rely on scare tactics and classic, one-dimensional intimidation. In Fall, he gains a creepiness factor and the ability to lie convincingly, importantly, without blushing.

Also, I want to commentate a little on Rafal's novel instance of blushing during Fall, which was quite unlike his usual self.

First, here's some context about physical coolness, the socially-perceived "cool factor," and how blushing can only ever be sincere and is valuable because it is involuntary from Quiet by Susan Cain:

I suspect Fall aimed to establish Rafal as more "trustworthy," and as more subject to having humility thrust upon him, than he had been in Rise, when he had previously been insurmountable.

Yet then, after that "invulnerable," unaffected precedent he set about himself, he started blushing, signaling that he suddenly began to care, and that the opposite was true of Rhian as Rhian changed throughout Fall and became more immune to his old, constant feelings of shame that originally must've formed his moral compass.

Also, Rafal gets more points towards being an actual sociopath! He just partially lost his former, low-reactive temperament when he turned "Good."

One other thought of note:

Has anyone ever headcanoned Rafal as having an avoidant attachment style? To complement that, Rhian would probably have an anxious attachment style.

Essentially, the traits of these attachment styles are Rafal and Rhian personified.

Rafal:

Rhian:

[aroaceleovaldez]

Not ask-blog related, then, but how would you get into role-playing?

honestly, just find an RP space/community (that's accepting new members) and hop right in. If you're nervous about your writing not being up to snuff, RP spaces are in my opinion the way to build up your writing. We all start somewhere and RP spaces are a great place to start and often full of beginners. You will pick it up and improve very quickly, have no fear. The general rules to be aware of in any RP space is basically just be nice and don't powerplay (which means don't do stuff like start controlling other people's characters, or deciding things for other people's characters without their permission, don't make everything in the RP about only your character, etc etc. Generally just treat everybody else and their characters with general courtesy). Also if everybody else in a space is doing only script or only paragraph format rp, try to match that. And try to make sure your writing is legible as a general courtesy cause otherwise people will have a hard time joining you in RP even if they want to - so avoid letter replacement/typing quirks (unless it's specific to the RP - see: Homestuck, though even with HS rp there is sometimes a site toggle to turn typing quirks off or similar) and do a quick scan to make sure your posts aren't super full of typos or etc.

more advice below the cut cause whoops this got long:

The finding the space is really the hardest part - RP-designated spaces are becoming more difficult to find since forum boards have started disappearing (though they have also started making a resurgence!). My old forum stomping grounds have since become an adoptables pet game site - though I do know a lot of online pet game sites have very active forum communities that usually had plenty of rp. I know for a fact Flight Rising has an active RP community. Rarely you can also find some other forms of RP-designated sites, like MSPARP used to be the big one for Homestuck and had some pan-fandom offshoots, but I don't know exactly what the status is for that stuff over there. I believe MSPARP doesn't exist anymore and I don't know anything about the rest of all that.

I used to also play some RP-dedicated multiplayer games and those can be a great option, depending on the game and your personal tastes. The main one I used to play a.) i would not recommend to people lol and b.) i'm pretty sure is very dead anyways so I don't have any exact recommendations there. I hear Roblox is a good place to find RP servers in a similar vein to that type of stuff but I never got into Roblox so I cannot confirm/deny that. You can sometimes find public Minecraft servers that have rp spaces but those are harder to find nowadays. There's a ton of discord RP communities you can join though. It's a bit more difficult to search around and get a feel for them just with how discord is but there's definitely plenty of 'em.

And I am not very in the tumblr RP community spheres (or other social media rp spheres - though i have dabbled) but to my understanding with those you either find an active group and ask if they're open to new members/if you can join, or you just jump right in to making your own blog/account/etc for it. Make some prompts/rp starters for people to potentially hop in and join you with or otherwise just kind of find you and rope you into their rp group or whatever. And of course you can always start a group with your friends.

The major things with RP is just kind of figuring what type of RP you want to be doing cause that informs everything else. Do you want to do script rp (usually formatted along the lines of [CHARACTER]: *runs around*) or paragraph/prose rp (the "[Character] ran around in circles before coming to a halt before the door." type format)? Do you want to do more of a video-game type rp where you have an avatar? Do you want to do something more like a TTRPG/D&D? Do you wanna do just straight up LARP (i can't really help you with that one much that one. you'd just have to search for local LARP groups - sometimes you can find them at your local conventions)? All those things are going to point you in different directions for what you want to do. In general, if you can find RP forums you can usually find both script and paragraph rp though paragraph rp is more common. Chatrooms and video games are more likely to lean script rp format due to chat limitations though this is not always the case. Social media rp is kind of it's whole own beast and everybody does it differently or different groups do it differently but if you want to do RP stuff primarily on your own and maybe pick up a group as you go then in-character social media can be a fun route for that. Or if you're not particularly looking for collaborative RP but want to do some interactive story stuff in a similar vein, then making an askblog might be more your style.

In general right now though, looking for RP discords is a relatively easy one or you can start your own and advertise it. Tbh if you find Warrior Cat RPers they may very likely have a designated area for non-WC rp (in the past Warriors RP sites/groups/etc ive been a part of, this has been the case in all of them). Also Warriors RP is like, everywhere. You will find it. It's like a constant of the universe or something. Actually doing a quick search i found some newer WCRPG forums and they look beautiful and yes, they do have non-Warriors rp sections. Idk much about RP communities in other fandoms but you can always count on Warriors. And as mentioned before, social media RP is an easy one.

Hopefully something in all of that helps a lil bit.

[warningsine]

Earlier this year, TIME wrote, "'Yellowjackets' — like so much recent TV about young women, matriarchy, and the mixed blessing of personal empowerment — also forces us to consider whether its girls might have been better off in the off-grid society they created for themselves." And given those themes, the friends I mostly discuss the show with, trading theories and memes over long message threads, are women. Some men I've tried to share the Showtime hit with have been less than enthusiastic, which has occasionally been mirrored in critics' responses, especially when the show first aired. 

It's unclear if their reticence is old-fashioned sexism, an unwillingness to engage with trauma and its aftermath, or something else perhaps related to the show's centering of women, girls and violence. Matthew Jacobs called the show "inessential" in his review for TV Guide, while Brian Lowry of CNN described it as "a disappointment" though its "stars still merit a look." 

Good news, men. A hero has arisen from the ashes of Flight  2525 (well, technically he arose from the smoldering home fires back in New Jersey, where he was left). He's ordinary and he's awesome. It's Jeff! And he's here to elevate white man mediocrity. Look out, guys. There's someone new, supportive and extraordinary just by being ordinary in town. 

"Yellowjackets," now in its second season, follows the high school girls of a champion 1996 soccer team whose plane crashed in the Canadian wilderness. The survivors turn to desperate measures to make it through the harsh winter, and the show follows two main threads: the 1996 woodsy trauma and what happens to all the survivors later as adults. Spoiler alert: they don't feel or do so great.

As the husband of our main Wiskayok star, Shauna, Warren Kole is Jeff. He runs a furniture store. He married his high school sweetheart. Well, technically he married the girl he was cheating on his high school sweetheart with. But he did marry the mother of his (possibly multiple) children. He married young and has stayed married in the face of difficulties. He has the floppy hair of a YA love interest (perhaps a nod to Shauna's teenage dreams), despite being in his 40s. Jeff is the definition of peaked in high school, the golden boy who never left town and never did much. He's also done everything. 

Jeff is every man. Specifically, he's every man in a TV show led by women. He's Dean Boland to glamourous criminal mastermind Beth Boland of "Good Girls," Rob to mayor Margot in "The Power." Jeff is not the main attraction. He doesn't get the teary, intense, Emmy-worthy speeches (that's Melanie Lynskey's Shauna). He doesn't get to wave the gun around (OK, that's Shauna too). He's not the action star or any star. His attempt to do crimes ended badly, and with him covered in glitter. Shauna thought he was cheating on her (Jeff would never), but he was simply fumblingly trying to blackmail her friends. It didn't end well. Nothing Jeff does ends well but he keeps on trying, the Energizer Bunny of husbands.

Jeff is a simple man. He works out at the gym. He's excited about making sales at work. When he gets upset, he deals with his anger by listening to Papa Roach alone in his car and violently air drumming. He enjoys eating dinner with his family, and when the women in his life, Shauna and defiant teen daughter Callie (Sarah Desjardins) tell him things, he believes them. Jeff is a believer. His exterior of tanned, floppy commonness conceals a steadfast heart of gold. He's pure. If you tell him you're going to book club, he believes you're going to book club. Why would you lie to him? Why would you murder? (If you do, though, he's got you.)

Jeff supports his wife through an avalanche of devastating revelations. She had an affair. She murdered a guy. Not only does he not leave Shauna upon the news of her cheating, he doesn't leave after the killing either. He does what he can to support his family. He's read her teen diaries, trying to understand the most difficult and life-altering trauma of her life, which not every man would do or care to know about. That trauma includes Shauna eating his high school girlfriend. Again, not every man is going to get over that.

But Jeff's got Shauna's back. And in doing so, perhaps he understands more than any male character in recent memory: trauma changes you. Violence is forever. Shauna is the way she is (secretive, hypervigilant, occasionally violent and cold) because of the past, and the past is always with her. Jeff accepts her for who she is, not the idealized way she could have been if only those terrible events hadn't happened, if only that plane hadn't crashed and everybody got real hungry. Jeff is the evolved man, the ally who has done the work (reading the diaries! Burning the diaries! Cleaning up the murder/affair evidence!). 

He's willing to try new things, like strawberry lube. He's amendable to change, to doing the work. He wants it all to work out, and he loves Shauna because, as he says, she's the smartest woman he's ever met. Jeff is a blueprint for a way to be a good man. Rise himbo, rise. Not all heroes wear capes. Some of them wear sleeveless hoodies.