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astroboots · 2 years ago

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Every You Every Me #8

COLLABORATED WITH @THIRSTWORLDPROBLEMSS

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x female reader

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

Word count: 6,600

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And so you find yourself back at work.

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, isn’t that Spiderman?”

Huh?

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

Oh, it’s Spiderman alright. Your Spiderman.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

In fact, he’s just plain always there.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

'A Cosmic Masterplan to survive' - Phase one

Step 1: Personal history:

Identify past wrongdoings

Determine if they could explain cosmic retaliation

Step 2: Analyze incident patterns:

Study recurring near death incidents

Identify commonalities and patterns

Determine strategies to stop or prevent future occurrences

Step 3: Research genealogy:

Explore family history

Investigate any ancestors who may have incurred celestial grudges

Determine if these grudges extend to descendants

Step 4: Examine past life wrongdoings:

Establish if reincarnation is real

Investigate potential past life transgressions

Assess if they correlate with current cosmic retaliation

Step 5: Seek cosmic expert assistance:

Consider approaching Dr. Strange for guidance

Request expertise in understanding cosmic phenomena

Things had started out okay.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Are they petty? Oh yeah.

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

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

Step 3 of your plan? Another dud.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His justification?

"Hate that guy."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Too busy stuffing his face with crispy wontons.

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

“Expertise, my ass,” he retorts.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You leave the restaurant frustrated.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What else do you propose we do?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That was easy.

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

“Twenty?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Your husband is tall.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh wow, grandma is really dissing you right now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You sigh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Are you just going to sit here doing nothing?

Are you going to di–

Screeeeeeeeeeeeeeech.

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

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

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

It’s coming closer.

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

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

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

Maybe you need to give up too.

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

You dart upright in the bed, outraged.

“What are you doing!?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then why Cielito?”

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

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

What a dork.

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

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

He hasn’t given up on you.

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

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

~ Next Issue

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

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

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

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

#miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara fic #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara fanfic #miguel o'hara fanfiction #spiderverse #oscar isaac #across the spiderverse #marvel #spiderverse fanfiction #miguel ohara x reader #miguel ohara #miguel ohara x you #marvel mcu

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fowlfics · 5 months ago

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OP Age Comparator

Hello OP writers! Have you ever wondered, "how old was this character when X happened?" or had to do the maths on the ages of a cast of characters at a specific point in time?

Would you like to simplify that process to a mere few clicks?

I have created a google sheet which contains the data of the 432 characters with canon ages*, allowing you to compare any set of up to ten people at once!

*I might be missing some minor characters who had their ages shared, but all the major ones should be available.

How it works is quite simple:

Use the dropdowns in columns E, H, K and cell M2, as needed. These only contain the letters of the alphabet

Use the other dropdown to select the character you want. This dropdown will only list characters whose name starts with the letter picked in the first dropdown

That's it!

Column A lists "years from current canon" (as of August 2024, in case Oda blindsides us with another timeskip lol)

Column B lists some major events that happened that year, up to 38 years before canon. For more events check out the World Timeline on the wiki

Column C lists the in-universe year

The link provided above (and also here) only allows for using dropdowns. Please feel free to copy the entire sheet into your own drive if this is something you would find useful!

If there are any errors you find, or something runs wrong, please do let me know and I'll fix it ASAP!

I cannot guarantee the sheet could run in excel or anyplace outside of google sheets. I can guarantee the sheet won't run if you only copy the visible tab or its contents alone xD

Edit Aug 20th, I slightly optimized the layout of the dropdowns due to a sudden "hey i can just do it like this" realization haha

Please enjoy!

#one piece #fowlficsrandom #writing resources #I spent a fairly long time on optimizing the formulas used #and like 3x that on harvesting the data off the wiki LOL #so now im going to inflict it upon all of you #please enjoy <3

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nenelonomh · 8 months ago

Text

the charting method, note-taking

the charting method (also known as the matrix method) is a structured approach to note-taking that involves organizing information into charts. this method is particularly effective for condensing and organizing notes that can be divided into clear categories.

this method is best for subjects that involve factual or statistical information, or when you need to compare subtopics directly against each other it's also handy when the information naturally fits into a tabular format.

various tools can be used for charting, such as microsoft excel, google sheets, or even pen and paper. microsoft word is also a popular choice, especially if you're using a stylus pen, as it integrates well with such devices.

this method of study has several advantages and disadvantages.

advantages:

organised information,, it helps in organizing notes systematically,, making it easier to track conversations and dialogues.

efficient review,, the chart format allows for quick review and comparison of facts, concepts, and relationships.

reduces writing,, this method can decrease the amount of writing necessary, as it focuses on summarizing information into categories.

visual aid,, it provides a visual structure that can be helpful for tracking important details like dates or numbers.

disadvantages:

learning curve,, there may be a learning period required to effectively use the system and determine the appropriate categories.

not suitable to all subjects,, it's not easily applicable to subjects with complex equations or detailed analyses of concepts that don't fit well into tables.

limited detail,, while it's good for factual information, it may not capture the depth needed for subjects requiring detailed explanations.

overall, the charting method is a powerful tool for note-taking when dealing with subjects that have clear categories and factual information, however, it might not be the best choice for more conceptual subjects or those that require extensive written explanations. it's important to choose a note-taking method that aligns with the nature of the material and your personal learning style.

examples:

source: e-student.org

let me know if this post is helpful! ❤️ nene

for further reading: e-student.org, charting method of note-taking: a beginner's guide the university of auckland, charting note-taking method

(header image source: pinterest)

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siremasterlawrence · 5 months ago

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Client’s Choice: A Night With Andrew Garfield

Meet Cute 1-4

Andrew Garfield anxieties are going through the roof as he exits his car descending onto the red carpet waving his hand, shining with a white teeth shining within in the light as the fans watch on. He hates these type of nights so many fans align the gates screaming so loud in a panic as he stops to conduct an interview with odd young guy and this man has managed to be able. Some how I caught his rare attention on me in one fowl scoop he became deeply obsessed with me the a great love, he is taking me to the side of the red carpet after my interview concluded stoppingshy of kissing me. His eyes are lockingonto me like a dart or a heat seeking missile attacking me head on as our kiss press together and we begin to mash ourselves together and we make not crazily.

“Mr. Garfield? Hello?”

“Call me Andrew “

“What can I do for you?”

“You just did “

“Are you gay?”

“No! I kissed you though”

“Why Andrew? Why?..”

“I felt compelled!”

“What do I intrigue you?”

“You enthrall me”

“What vocabulary !”

“Oh God! You turn me on”

“Excellent! Love to hear it”

“Let’s skip this shit and go”

“Is this not your premier?”

“Who fucking cares”

“Are you emotional?”

“You have seen me “

“Lest dance babe”

“On the red carpet?”

“Are you shocked?”

“I want to show you off””

“Fuck off!”

“Yes Master”

Andrew woke me up the next day laying in his bed as the covers flow off be crawls on top of me spreading his entire body like a bed sheet covering every inch of me like a blanket. We both get up hitting the shower kissing on our way we bump and grind on everything in this universe as his back hit the wall and I held his hand upward very tightly slithering into the shower kicking the door closed. We to the switch as the lights come on flowing into the room we now exposed to the world for a lifetime at this point I am everything to him he can not deny it and we both fall deeply in love with each other. The shower is getting hotter and hotter covering the place up in a blanket of steam heating us in as he grabs my body playing with my the slave has surrender to me.

“Hello Everyone! I can’t believe this”

“Andrew stop “

“Why Master?”

“God! I love you “

“I love him”

“I am his slave “

“ANDREW”

“Forgive me Master”

“I am his property, his slave and he is my all”

“You have blow it all up “

“The world needs to know “

“Know what?”

“I am proud being me”

“Slavery and my inferiority is all that matters”

“You are black god”

“I know, I know “

“Serve me forever “

“With pleasure “

The end

#andrew garfield #body possession #male concubine #male transformation #male body possession #client list #hypnosis #mind control #reprogramming #hypno slave #hypno submission #mind control slaves

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clarkes-and-god · 2 months ago

Note

do you have any tips on a fundie save? also what’s your fav place to get fundie gossip? I am engrossed now!

oooh i think my tips would be:

1. i would recommend doing a LITTLE research if you’re not sure on something so you don’t accidentally do something weird that you then have to live with. for example, why is ANTONIO RICCIARDI baptist? that is a very catholic name! are italians just not predominantly catholic in my universe or is his family very upset at him? i really don’t know because i just picked a name i liked.

2. don’t do storylines you don’t find interesting. you won’t like doing them and then it’ll drag on forever and you won’t want to write the story. and you don’t have to give every child a story if you don’t want to.

3. planning is good even if u don’t really like it. i get weirdly embarrassed about writing my plans down so i don’t do much physical planning but i make sure i at least have an idea of how i want a storyline to end. it helps avoid the same issues as point 1. some people are crazy and do excel sheets and shit but i personally love my badly organised obsidian file.

4. these have all been about story writing and i’m realising u said SAVE and not story so for the actual game, i recommend using clubs if you have get together. it makes it easier for sims to make friends and hang out and tbh i should use it more. i dont use it much atm so most of my sims don’t know their extended family 😭

5. i like taking screenshots of all my sims eating together for the aesthetic but honestly don’t try doing that if it’s not for a screenshot. employ the teenage daughters/mom to make tons of cheap party sized meals so you can put them in the fridge and take one out when u need to feed a crowd of hungry children. unless your fundies are lucky and live in a mansion then they’ll probably need the extra time to get everyone to use the bathroom and shower.

6. infants are weirdly easy. out of all the kids that have been born in the game, iva is the only one who got the bad infanthood trait and she was really difficult and also a twin. as long as they’re fed and you sometimes pick them up for a cuddle they should be good. they can sleep on the floor in the day at least. tbh i wish bad infanthood was easier to get because my sims should not be doing this well.

i don’t really keep up with irl fundies that much but when i do it’s mostly via reddit or fundie fridays on youtube. i do follow a bunch of blogs here who talk about it which is good for letting me know when something crazy happens/a baby is born.

#asks #fundie sims #quiverfull sims #fundie snark #fundie simblr #modest sims #homeschool sims

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adding-descriptions-to-media · 7 months ago

Note

https://www.gofundme.com/f/ne9gzx-help-them-to-survive?utm_campaign=p_lico+share-sheet-first-launch&utm_medium=copy_link&utm_source=customer

Dear Friends,

I hope this message finds you well. I am writing to share an urgent plea for help. Due to the ongoing conflict in Gaza, my family and I have been forced to flee our home and seek refuge in Khan Younis. My mother, who is pregnant, is in critical need of assistance to ensure her safety and the safety of her unborn child.

We are facing severe hardships and are struggling to provide her with the necessary medical care and basic necessities. I have launched a campaign to raise funds for my mother's survival during this perilous time.

Your support in sharing our campaign on social media could make a life-saving difference. Please help us spread the word and gather the support we desperately need.

Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

Sincerely,

Please help us by sharing the post on your page so that we can collect donations and get out of the war. You are our hope. I will be very grateful to you . ❤️🙏🏼

"this fundraiser is vetted by nabulsi, fallahifag, el-shab-hussein, ibtisams, sayruq"

After some research (I do not/can not personally vet campaigns), I do believe that this is legitimate

Do help, if you are in the position to do so

GoFundMe description under cut

I am Ahmed Shaqqoura, a resident of France, the only hope for my brother and his family, I tell you his story after I stood helpless to do anything.

In the chaos of displacement and the exhaustion of fleeing from death, between the jaws of this insane aggression and genocide in Gaza, I could not immortalize the story of my tired engineer brother Bassam Shaqqoura, and did not allow him and his young children to grieve sufficiently for the pain they have been forced to go on living. I will tell you Bassam's story, which is one of the truly painful stories in my miserable city of Gaza.

My brother Bassam graduated from the Faculty of Agricultural Engineering at Al-Azhar University in Gaza in 1995 and was one of the most qualified agricultural engineers in the Gaza Strip and graduated in his life until he was able to build a beautiful family that seeks to be always perfect by excelling his children in their studies and reforming those who use sophistication as their platform in life

All this came before the Israeli army planes came to steal the smile from my brother Bassam's family after they targeted his wife's family on July 20, 2014, killing 9 martyrs, most of them children, and this news was all over the newspapers after Israel admitted to killing civilians at that time.

Among the heartbreak, my brother Bassam was able to overcome this pain and began to raise his children again, hoping that they would forget this loss and compensate his wife for the feeling of orphanhood.

He has five young children who love life and have a bright hope in this world, for example, Laila, eighteen years old, has a talent for drawing, she wants to be a dentist and a collection artist at the same time. And Baraa, who tells everyone that he will become an agronomist. Each of them had their own little dream that they wanted to grow up with. Until October 7th and their dreams were shattered.With the start of the Israeli military operation in northern Gaza, Bassam, his wife and young children were forced to leave their home in the Al-Saftawi area of Al-Malash tower "North Gaza - Jabaliya", leaving behind them dreams that were built with years of hard work and effort. Leaving behind dreams that were fought with years of hardship and unparalleled effort, under the sound of bullets and with the intensification of the fire belts on northern Gaza on foot, these young children and their tired mother headed through corridors prepared by the Israeli army called the corridors of escape from death, they settled in Khan Younis, where they were welcomed by a Palestinian family there after they sat down. A Palestinian family there after they sat on the side of the road looking behind them at the columns of smoke rising from northern Gaza and at their homes that were bombed and the children's crying did not stop at that time, I remember that I was trying to call them and the communication was cut off there, and my brother Bassam's voice was repeating that death is chasing us and we will not survive.

They didn't expect that Khan Younis would turn into a war zone like northern Gaza. On November 6, 2023, Al Jazeera's camera documented the targeting of a house for the Shaqqoura family in Khan Younis, which killed many of our family members in Gaza, and death began to loom over Bassam and his family again when they decided to go to Rafah. The suffering did not stop there. On February 7, while they were sleeping, the Israeli army planes bombed the building next to them, the building was destroyed on their heads and they were pulled out from under the rescue by the civil protection crews there, and after several hours of the targeting they remained under the rescue, but they still had a chance to survive. They will settle in a tent on the shore of the Rafah Sea, fleeing from death and suffering all kinds of oppression and pain. They have no shelter, their home was bombed, their lives were destroyed, and the symptoms of death were drawn on their faces. They look sadly at the Egyptian border and have a glimmer of hope to cross that border to safety, but this matter is expensive, as they did not have their daily sustenance after the famine hit their intestines, they competed with animals for food due to the severity of hunger and the child who has not yet seen the light of day is crying with hunger. They competed with animals for their food out of hunger, and the child who has not yet seen the light of day is crying with hunger, and here I stand helpless to do anything, I cannot help them to get to safety through the Rafah gate, and it is not for the evil people to leave us to suffer all these woes of genocide and psychological warfare.

Rafah is no longer safe, the sounds of shelling are intensifying, the Israeli army is threatening to enter Rafah overnight, and there is no time to escape death.

The idea of exiting to Egypt through Yahala agency, the agent of the Egyptian authorities, the ticket costs 5000 dollars for an adult and 2500 for those under 18 years of age.

That's all we're asking for, just to stay alive in a place free from bombardment and death.

#free palestine #free gaza #palestine #gaza #gaza genocide #donations #fundraiser #gofundme #go fund them

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bonzos-number-1-fan · 11 months ago

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TMAP 4 Thoughts

Spoilers for Ep 4, obviously.

So that's it? What we're some kinda...Magnus Protocol?

Big thing up top; Tim Fearon's Augustus is fucking excellent. The Lovecraft inspiration was very on the nose in both prose and theme but it was also a really good take on that style. Not surprised this was a guest writer too given that style. Tim Fearon really nails the cadence and intonation needed for this sort of thing and I'd love to see him narrate some actual Lovecraft sometime. The Music of Erich Zann obviously would be a good place to start. Anyone that doesn't think this is Jonah at this stage is just out of their mind.

The incident is also interesting in that it's the most straight TMA Fear we've seen so far. It's just a Slaughter ep through and through really.

Creepy cursed item pedlar feels like a recurring character to me. I expect them to show up again. Which makes for 3 non-OIAR characters we can expect back.

For an additional ARG detail or two; Starkwall is a reference to Starkwall Protection Services that we know from the ARG used to be associated with the OIAR. They announced the discontinuation of this association on Jan 3rd, 2000. Before that they were affiliated with Rightforce International, formerly Diligence Security Systems, if that proves relevant down the line. More interestingly the character Lena was talking to in that very end scene was named Klaus. Klaus provided us (the ARG solvers) with an excel sheet in German that was Freddy style case numbers and DPHW's. He also seemed to have set up the whole thing in-universe too. My pet theory was that Klaus was the German name for Freddy but it's an actual dude and it could be a couple of people from the ARG. Actually, I'm sticking to that theory. Klaus isn't actually called Klaus and assumed the name from kl4-u5, or kl4-u5 is named after Klaus.

DPHW Theory continuation: I honestly don't think much needs to be said. It's a pretty clear fit here. So it's 7494 and you've got music that makes people want to kill themselves and each other, the instrument through which that's achieved requires a blood sacrifice but it needn't be yours, you are however seemingly under its control in more than just the compulsion to play it, and it's got some elements of the uncanny in how it was manifesting. Nothing exciting but more evidence that I'm correct.

CAT#R# Theory: Apart from Sam messing it up and missing out the R again I think this mostly disproves the tria prima idea. I was willing to discount the last ep's case number because of how mistaken it all looked but without more to go on it's really hard to discount this one too. More data, or thought, required to link this all together.

Header Nonsense: Nothing much to say other than that "Collection (blood) -/- musical" is a very strange header in comparison to the others.

#the magnus protocol #tmagp speculation #tmagp spoilers #tmagp theory #“Consider me scared straight” *tape noise* - is that a Magnus Archives reference!?!#klaus = kl4-u5

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geekynerddemon · 9 months ago

Note

Wait I got another one: Steggy + your favorite AU

Hello Jim! I'm your Steggy Secret Santa! So I don't really have a favorite AU so I made an Excel sheet with every AU and went one by one with ideas for each one until something clicked.

I present to you a Bodyguard / Mafia AU. Ok, hear me out. This is very cliché, basic and I can't write.

The idea is that Steve is living with his mom in Brooklyn she gets sick, she needs surgery, but they can't afford it, one thing leads to the other and he becomes a Mafia Associate so he can pay for the surgery.

Peggy is the daughter of the Don, she hates the Mafia and wants nothing to do with them. Both she and Steve are like 22 ish. She is studying at a university (maybe law and maybe volunteers at the same hospital where Sarah works for story reasons) and Michael works for their father when an opposing Mafia makes a threat on both of their lives. So Don decides to have one of his associates protect Peggy who is Steve.

They instantly don't like each other. Peggy doesn't like him because he is in the Mafia and Steve doesn't like her because he thinks she is a spoiled college girl.

Their day-to-day is pretty much how much they can annoy each other. (Maybe you can add here that Sarah is complaining that she never sees her son anymore so he brings Peggy to his mom's and that's how Steve learns she volunteers there because she hasn't been there since the threat. They say to Sarah that Peggy's father hired him because a creep at uni or an ex scared her or something. After that Peggy learns why Steve joined the Mafia). They start to like each other more after that.

One day a guy tries to attack Peggy, maybe with a knife, they run away but Steve gets hurt. Peggy is really shaken by that.

She takes care of him while he recovers and well they were sharing a bed and here we are.

Link below leads to a spicy artwork.

I really hope you like it. I'm sorry it took this long ❤️

Thank you @steggyfanevents for asking me to pitch in. I clearly enjoyed this a little too much.

#steggy #**#steggysecretsanta #captainjimothycarter #steve rogers #peggy carter #i forgot how to tag things

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whalyrae · 2 years ago

Text

On the roof pt.1 | Niragi Suguru x gender neutral reader.

Word count : 2.4k

Trigger Warning : mention of school abuse, bullying, violence, death, maybe Niragi is ooc idk I did my best...

AO3 link

Author note : ok, I'm sooo nervous to post this...! this is the first time I post something on tumblr, it's no proofread at all and english isn't my first language so be kind please !

A second part will come, I don't know when, but there will be another part with... more action

Hope you'll like it...!

You were on the roof of the Beach. Thanks to Ann - you still don't know how she got there anyway - she managed to get a notebook, a pencil and an eraser, at your request.

Days at the Beach could be long and boring. Thankfully, you spent a lot of your free time in good company; Kuina was a lovely person, and even though Chishiya wasn't the most talkative, you managed to get along and have interesting conversations. Usagi and Tata were also very good companies. As for Arisu, you saw him as a big brother, you had the same centers of interest, the fictional universe as well as video games, you could talk about that for hours.

You were pretty well surrounded. But sometimes you felt the need to isolate yourself, to clear your mind. Living in this country was not easy, and every day was a tough and trying test for the physical, but also the mental.

The only thing that was able to relax you was drawing. Sometimes you isolated yourself on the roof of the beach, and you drew the landscape that offered itself to you, animals, you drew the portrait of your friends, or simply the first thing that crossed your mind. You were just alone with yourself, your thoughts, it wasn’t really healing, but for some hours, your only thoughts were turned to the strokes of pencils on this sheet of paper.

This time, you were drawing the pool beside you. There were a lot of people who were playing, dancing... having the time of their lives, like there's no tomorrow.

Your friends knew you had this habit of isolating yourself from time to time, and they respected that. However, today, someone you never expected came to disturb your moment of tranquility.

« Hey, what are you doing here? »

That male voice startled you, eliciting a laugh from the disruptor.

You had turned around to find yourself facing the right arm of the leader of the activists. The one everyone feared, always accompanied by his sniper taped to his shoulder.

Shoulder-length black hair, face and tongue piercings, a predator, ready to get rid of anyone who got in his way.

Suguru Niragi.

What was he doing here? What did he want from you?

« Saw you from the pool, so what are you doing here? He asked, approaching you, his free hand in his pocket. - I… hum, just drawing, you answered, showing him your notebook. »

He leaned slightly to take a look at what you were doing, then straightened up.

« Hm. It's not bad, he hummed, nodding his head. »

You looked up at him, surprised. Niragi giving you a compliment? It wasn’t something common. You felt your cheeks heat up at the compliment, a big smile appearing on your face.

« Really? Thank you! It's just a simple sketch I did it in less than an hour, and then I'm not excellent at all with perspective ... It has always been my weak point. I rather prefer to draw characters or animals... Ah, sorry, I have a bad habit of talking too much when it comes to drawing.... I can come down if I disturb here... »

He arched an eyebrow when he saw you get up, you didn't want to upset him or anything.

« You can stay. Just checked you weren't some weirdos who were up to something fishy. - Oh, thanks! »

You greeted him with a smile and saw him turn on his heels, already leaving. An idea crossed your mind. You knew it wasn’t good. Especially about him. You knew you were going straight into a wall, that he was going to snub you, probably insulting you. But your words went faster than your brain and your reason.

« Wait, Niragi! Can I … Can I draw you? »

He stopped. And you regretted immediately your request. He wasn’t that kind of type to just sit down and pose while someone drew him.

« I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to… Forget what I s- - ‘kay. »

You looked at him, again. You couldn’t hide your surprise, which made him laugh.

« I have nothing to do, my shift is over, and I’m kinda bored. Don’t fail me, though. - Don’t worry about that, you answered with a smile, showing him the last portrait you did, it was Mira taking her daily cup of tea, I don’t have many skills in life, I’m not beautiful, nor smart or even physically strong, but drawing isn’t a part of it! - What kind of bullshit are you saying. Seriously. He rolled his eyes, visibly annoyed, well. We’ll see. The result will decide whether you will live or not. »

Seeing your face decompose at his words, he bursts into a nasty laugh.

« Just kidding princess, relax. - Don’t call me like that. »

You frowned. You knew this request was useless, if he wanted to call you like that, he would, whether you wanted or not.

Minutes passed where none of you spoke. You were too focused on your drawing, he was probably lost in thought, or something like that. Niragi was similar to Chishiya on certain points. It was impossible to know what he was thinking, what his next words or actions would be.

« You were a drawer before landing here, right. - Hm? You looked up at him, nodding, I assisted a mangaka for the inking, yeah all that. My dream was to publish my own manga, one day, but… »

You let out a laugh, shaking your head.

« But what? Have you been refused? The world of drawing is as cruel as the world of video games, tho. - You were working for the video game's industry? - I was a game engineer. »

Wow. You were really impressed. You’d never thought that this man was doing something like that. Well, you never doubted that Niragi was more than that kind of person he was showing to everyone at the Beach.

Borderland was showing the worst side of every human. You weren’t an exception. You had to do things to survive. Things you shouldn’t regret, even if you did.

« Are we amazed, princess? He asked with a grin. - To be honest, yeah, I didn’t expect that from you, you answered, ignoring his surname, but you were wrong for something, I… you paused for a few seconds, and sighed, I’ve never submitted my project to any magazine or something. I never had the chance. »

You felt a gaze land on you. You looked up to meet Niragi's, but directly broke eye contact, shaking your head.

« It’s nothing, I’ve always been unlucky. »

You sighed.

« I agreed to hang around here with you while you draw me, you owe me few answers. »

He was kinda right. Even if he saw that those answers hurt you. This man didn’t really have any empathy ? Or maybe his need to know was hiding something else ?

Nice. Now you were curious.

« Fine, I’ll tell you. »

You rolled your eyes.

« I wasn’t that popular in High School, you started, focus on your drawing, sometimes, you gave him little glances, but only for your drawing, of course, my classmates loved to play with me. Hiding my class notes, my bag, my shoes, throwing food in my hair you know, like the teacher used to say… - Just children games, yeah, I know. »

You looked at him. Surprised. Was he… no, it was impossible. Niragi was so confident, so scary, so cool ? Yeah, despite everything about him, you always found Niragi kinda cool. Just like Chishiya, you admired his intelligence and self-confidence. He didn't care how people looked at him, what they thought of him.

So him ? Being bullied ?

« Niragi, you… - Shut up. Keep talking. - Fine, fine… So… I had this notebook, a pretty black notebook, which I’d decorated myself, all my ideas for my manga were there. It was a story in a fantasy world, all the ideas, the drawings about the world building, the chara design, the story was there… I had it since I was twelve. »

You took a small break. Those memories weren’t really that far. Maybe one year or two.

You inhaled deeply, without stopping your drawing. You had to stay focused on something. You felt Niragi's gaze on you, but you couldn't face it.

« Don’t know how this happened, but they found my notebook. One thing led to another, they reduced this notebook to ashes, your voice was shaking, like your hands, the pages torn, burned in front of me. All my life, all my dreams, hopes, flown, ruined. »

You made a pause, taking deep breath to not cry. You didn’t want to cry. Not in front of him. In front of anyone. You didn’t want to be that weak person you were in the past ever again.

« It could’ve ended like this. But no. They didn't have enough. I don't even know why they were like that with me, why they hated me so much that they hit me with that belt and broke that glass bottle on my head. I never knew why. But they did. »

Your eyes were burning. You did your best to hold back your tears.

« I spent weeks in the hospital, I had broken ribs and head trauma. After that, I finished my studies at home. - What did they have, those assholes who did this to you ? He finally asks, his voice seemed calm, but he was angry. - Nothing, just some few hours of detention, I think. Never saw them again. »

You shrugged, and took a deep breath.

« You wanted to know, happy ? »

Your voice was more aggressive than you thought. It wasn’t against him. You were just angry about those bullies, about your High School who did nothing, against the whole world for having made your life so complicated and shitty.

You didn’t know what he was thinking right now, maybe you suspected that talking about it had probably brought back painful memories for him, and you suddenly felt bad for not thinking about it sooner. But he’d insisted that you talk, and you hadn't connected the dots about his own experience as you told. He would have stopped you if it was too hard for him, right ?

« I’m sorry if I brought back so bad memories… you started, nibbling your lips, ah, there, I’m done, you added, giving him your notebook, sorry for the vent, I know you don’t care about my childish stories. - Shut up. I care. I’m angry, and I want to kill those bastards for what they did to you. »

You stared at him, meeting his angry eyes. Again, like for you, it wasn’t against you.

« Did you… take revenge on them ? You dared to ask, biting your lip nervously. - No, I didn’t. - I’m… sorry. You whispered, you didn’t deserve to endure all of that, Niragi. - You didn’t deserve it, you too. »

Your tears ran down your cheeks without you controlling it. It was the first time you heard these words.

It wasn’t your fault.

You put down the notebook, and turned your head slightly, lifting your hair and showing him a long scar on the back of your head, and you heard curses, maybe too many curses.

« I have more on my body, that’s why I’m always wearing a jacket, you gave him a sad smile, wiping your tears, ah, and I’m crying now, amazing. Don’t worry, I’m not gonna ask you a hug ! »

You chuckled and got up, tearing off the page containing his portrait, which you signed on the back before handing it to him.

« Take it, it’s a gift for thanking you. For this moment. It’s been a while since I hadn't spoked to someone who understood me… no, in fact, it's the first time ! Thank you very much, Niragi. »

You gave him the paper, and a warm smile appeared on your face.

You understood that he had gone through the same thing, too. The pieces of the puzzle had come together on their own. Why was he acting like this at the beach and with everyone.

He understood you. He was the only one who truly understood you.

Because he's been through all this shit, too.

That's why he made you talk, tell him what you had been through, why he didn't cut you off.

Why he didn't blame you.

Every person who heard this story did, the doctors, your parents, your therapist. In their eyes, it was your fault, you hadn't made enough efforts to socialize, drawing, videos games, dreaming about a fantasy world were weird hobbies.

You've been criticized more than once for not being "normal".

Your eyes had filled with tears that you couldn’t longer contain, your body had begun to shake, and you hated it for abandoning you like this, for being so weak, so vulnerable.

Why couldn't you be strong and brave like Niragi was? Why couldn't you fuck the world off, too?

You felt a hand land on your head. Your eyes looked up to meet his again, while he was patting your head. You knew Niragi wasn't the kind of guy to be good at reassuring, consoling or god knows what else showing affection, but he had done something. You felt your face heat up, but it didn't last long. Something else took place in your mind, a thought you had once had, but always suppressed it because you were ashamed of it.

In this world ? In the Borderlands ? Being ashamed for those kinds of thoughts had no place, because there were very few consequences.

Revenge.

« I… you began, voice shaking, not very sure of what you were about to say, I want them to pay for what they did, they don’t deserve to be happy too… - Say it, it was an order, you could feel his hand running gently through your hair, which surprised you slightly, what do you want, y/n ? - I want them to die, Niragi. »

You heard him chuckle before patting your head. As if he was satisfied with your words. As if he’d guessed that you had always wanted him deep inside.

Of course, he knew, he had been through the same thing as you after all.

Maybe this world poisoned you more than you thought.

#alice in borderland #niragi suguru #niragi x reader #niragi fanfiction #niragi alice in borderland #niragi x you #niragi suguru x reader #niragi suguru x you #alice in borderland x reader #alice in borderland fanfiction #aib #aib x reader #aib fanfiction #aib imagines #aib x you #alice in borderland x you #imawa no kuni no arisu #imawa no kuni no arisu fanfiction

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volkswagonblues · 3 months ago

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JEJSJDAH HI making myself known is actually terrifying #socialanxietywhooop but here we go

I JUST FINISHED READING FIREBENDER'S GUIDE + DELETED SCENES AND OH. MY. LORD. quite literally obsessed I'm sitting here at work zoning out because it has left such an impact on me...where do I even start?

okay so I recently got back into atla because well I just started feeling so nostalgic?? and a zukka spiral later led me to your fic (one of my favorite jujutsu kaisen authors had your fic bookmarked. I knew I had to do it.) and well!!

the characterization. I'm absolutely obsessed. the way you wrote sokka as a cherry dude but he still has issues!! the depiction of said issues. zuko as he tries and tries so hard to do better even when he fails...personal favorite scene that made me giggle was when he ran back to apologize to li and lo btw cackled out loud on public transportation

but I guess what I'm trying to say is that firebender's guide, to me, feels like a really good depiction of how startlingly flawed and human we all are. like. not inherently bad but not all good, because no one is ever all good. it feels like such a good character study of zuko and all that he is since realizing only he can regain his own honor. it's just...how do I even express how lovely and raw and real it is in the best way?

AND THE WAY YOU WROTE ZUKKA. giggles. they're so!! even when they're mad at each other they have. a certain understanding. it's expanding on what we know about canon so beautifully. the gentle way sokka loves zuko while being mean enough about it because zuko just needs a little push when it comes to certain things. the desperate way zuko needs sokka but realizes that it can be gentle and fond. just. [incoherent screaming] THE WAY YOU WRITE YEARNING OHHHHH. MY.

and that's not even covering the wonderful way the plot took me for a ride. it was so beautifully crafted. I wish I could be you :") I was just as immersed in the larger plot as I was with the zukka dynamic. the worldbuilding ahdhajdj I respect SERIOUSLY respect the amount of research and dedication you put into this fic. genuinely. it all came together to craft such a beautiful picture and I'm HERE FOR IT!

anyhow. concluding what essentially became a rant. tysm for blessing the world with this fic 🙏

Hey! okay, sorry this has been sitting in my inbox for a week because it's such a lovely message and I'm so touched that someone is reaching out to me about this fic. It was my first proper, completed, novel-length fic and I wrote it during COVID lockdown when I like, jobless with no outlet at all for my mental energy.

The process of writing the fic taught me a lot about plotting--I went the screenwriter's route and used the Save the Cat beat sheet (you can google it, it's basically a screenwriter's tool for plotting out movies, which is a medium that doesn't take shaggy and meandering very well. There's an excel version for novelists here: Elizabeth Davis’s Save the Cat Beat Sheet Spreadsheet for Novels)

I didn't read this book back then, but a book that really helps with worldbuilding is John Truby's The Anatomy of Story. I think some of the best books on plotting and storytelling are done by screenwriters.

And about the fic in general--ATLA is such a beautiful show and the zukka summer of 2020 was SUCH a crazy time because everyone was so desperate for a mental escape, I'm happy it still holds up!! I love both characters. I love thinking through the moral implications of the history in ATLA's worldbuilding and playing with the fantasy rules of that universe. Thanks so much for reading and thanks so much for brightening my day by telling me about it <3

#atla #my fic

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megidonitram · 7 months ago

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Everyone's Running From Something

(ch. 6)

A Baldur's Gate 3 University Professor AU

Rating: M

Quick Summary: Astarion and Gale are two University English professors precariously mentoring a troubled 19-year-old and falling in love.

💖Main Pairing : BloodWeave,(Astarion/Gale) 💕Side Pairings: Shadowheart/Nocturne, Karlach/Dammon, Wyll/The Dark Urge, Tav/Tav 💔Past Pairings: Gale/Mystra, Astarion/Sebastian, Astarion/Tav

<=Previous Chapter | Master List | Ao3 | Next Chapter =>

**Please see Master List Entry for Full Content Warnings**

⏰Chapter Warning⏰

none

Gale stepped into the administration office on the second floor to find a severe woman with slicked-back auburn hair typing away furiously at her computer. Her attention immediately snapped to Gale when the door swung shut.

“May I help you?” She sounded pleasant enough, but Gale couldn’t shake the feeling that he was annoying her.

“Yes, I, uh, I’ve locked myself out of my office, I was told to come find…” Gale looked back down at his phone for the name “Mizora?”

The woman smiled like she had scented blood and rested her chin on her hand. “Speaking.”

“Oh, excellent. Can you help me then?”

“Hmm, I don’t know…” she slammed one of her desk drawers open and pulled out a ledger. “Name and office number?”

“Um… Gale Dekarios, office B126.”

Mizora gave him a dubious look as she flipped rather leisurely through the yellowed pages of her ledger. “Hmm… That name doesn’t sound familiar. What subject do you teach exactly?”

“English?”

Mizora nodded, skimming down a line of office numbers with her finger. “…B1 is the English office block, but I can’t say I recognize you.”

“Well, I just started this semester…”

"Likely story." Mizora looked up from her sheet with narrowed eyes. “I’ll need your faculty ID card.”

“I’m, uh, afraid that’s with my office keys…” Gale admitted sheepishly. He held up his briefcase. “I’ve still got a few syllabi with my name on them, that should prove-“

“As an employee of Balduran University, you are required to keep employee identification on you at all times.” She snapped. “I have to assume all other forms of ID are fabrications.”

“I clearly didn’t mean to leave it in my office.” Gale let out an exasperated sigh. “What if you came with me, and I showed you my ID once you left me in my office?”

Mizora put a hand over her chest as Gale had just said something absolutely precious. “Dr. Dekarios… If that is your real name-“

“It is.”

“We’ll see.” Mizora flicked her wrist dismissively. “But if you are who you say you are, then surely you understand the particular faculty member you're sharing a space with is… shall we say, rather prone to turbulent romantic entanglements.” Her eyes shined with strange glee. “Surely you understand that I can’t just let a stranger into his office- That could be incredibly improper.”

Gale flushed an indignant shade of red. His heart jittered with some strange emotion. He didn’t much appreciate hearing these kinds of things about Astarion behind his back- it felt indecent. “I don’t know what you’re trying to accuse me of exactly, but I assure you we are just coworkers.”

“Not that it’s stopped him before… but you’re right, I suspect you’re not much of his type.” Mizora looked him up and down with appraising eyes that made Gale feel wholly undressed. “… You seem a bit old.”

A strange pit formed in Gale’s stomach, something like shame. “I don’t see how any of this is appropriate or relevant to the matter at hand.” He huffed. “Can’t you just-”

The office door swung open, and a young man with neatly laid braids cautiously stepped into the room, a manilla folder in one hand and a coffee cup carrier in the other. Mizora’s demeanor somehow got even more foul at the sight of him- a feat Gale wouldn't think her capable of if he didn't see it happen.

The young man glanced over at Gale. “Am I interrupting?”

“Oh, no-”

“Well, you’ve already barged in, Wyll. You might as well get it over with.” Mizora snapped.

He held out the manila folder, and Gale spied a sticky note stuck to the top of it that said, ‘Distribute to ALL liberal arts department chairs.’ “Dr. Silverwarden just wanted me to drop off the schedule for the athletics study hall-”

Mizora curled her nose like Wyll had offered her a dead squirrel. “Oh, is that harlot making students do her busy work for her now? Had a baby, and now she’s too good to walk to another building?”

“I was just- I offered-” Wyll opened his mouth to stammer out an answer, but Gale stepped in between the two of them before he could chicken out.

“That’s hardly an appropriate tone to take with a student.”

Mizora’s eyes flashed incandescent, and she fixed Gale with a look that probably should have turned him into a pile of ash. “Oh, are you going to tell me how to do my job now ‘Dr. Dekarios’? After you locked your keys in your office like an utter moron.” She snatched the folder out of Wyll’s hand and tossed it on a surface behind her. “Why don’t you leave before I call security and tell them that a strange man is trying to get into a department chair’s office?”

Gale threw his hands in the air like he was being held at gunpoint. “Alright, alright, I’ll leave.” He exited the office with Wyll hot on his heels.

He scrubbed his hands over his face, daunted by the prospect that he would have to track down Astarion somehow when Wyll tapped him on the shoulder. Gale startled like a trapped hare.

“I’m sorry, but are you trying to get into a locked room?” Wyll asked a trimmer of something tentative and excited in his voice. “Because I can help with that!”

Gale raised an eyebrow. He probably shouldn’t be asking a student to break the school code for him, but it wasn’t like he had any other options. “Alright, do you have a spare key?”

Wyll smiled precociously. “Something like that.”

Ominous. But Gale led him back down to his office nonetheless.

“So, you’re the new English professor?” Wyll asked. He handed his tray of coffee to Gale as they reached the office door so he could rummage around for something in his backpack. “If I’d known I was going to run into you, I would have gotten you a coffee too!”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that. I can’t, with good conscience, ask a student to pay for my coffee.”

“I don’t pay for it!” Wyll assured him as he pulled a small nail file and a mangled bobby pin out of a side pocket. “I worked at the campus coffee house a couple of semesters ago, and the manager never deactivated my free drink code.”

Wyll wiggled the bobby pin into the lock, and Gale looked around frantically as he realized what was happening.

“Wyll, are you sure about this?” Gale muttered as a random student waiting in the hall glanced at them curiously.

“Yeah, it’s fine. Dr. Ancunín's the one who taught me how to do this!” Wyll stabbed the nail file into the lock and turned. There was a loud pop as the lock disengaged. “If you ask, he’ll probably teach you too. He says all the locks on campus were bought in bulk, so they all have a similar flaw that makes them easy to pick.”

“Why does Dr. Ancunín know how to pick locks?”

“He wouldn’t say.” He dropped his lock-pick tools back in their side pocket and pushed himself off his knees, brushing his pants off. “But it keeps me from having to ask Mizora when I need to get into a classroom.”

“She’s charming, isn’t she?” Gale handed the coffees back to Wyll. “Does she talk to everyone like that?”

A bitter laugh escaped Wyll’s lips. “No, I’m just her favorite, I guess.” He checked his watch and started a little bit. “Oh, I’m going to be late!” He slung his backpack over his shoulder and half-jogged back down the hallway. He paused before he stepped into the stairwell. “It was nice to meet you, Dr. Dekarios!”

***

G: What the fuck is her problem?

Astarion had to stifle a bark of laughter in front of the students trickling in. Xenia had slipped in at some point, settling in her usual spot: The back corner of the classroom, far from the notice of her peers or teachers. She was trying to skirt around Astarion’s notice too.

A: Did you get back in the office, at least? G: No thanks to Mizora.

Wyll stepped into the room with a sheepish smile and handed him a lukewarm to-go cup of coffee. “Sorry, I’m late.” He whispered.

Astarion took a long sip of his coffee. It was a blonde roast with a splash of milk -he wouldn’t usually bother with the milk, but the teenage baristas tended to burn their shots. “I suppose I can forgive you this once.”

Wyll laughed, but he was already scanning the classroom for someone else. Xenia looked up from the notebook she was pretending to scribble in and gave Wyll a little wave, a tentative smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

Ah, so that was it.

Wyll sidled past the students in the front row to hand Xenia the second cup in his Coffee tray. They beamed at each other the way only school kids could as they talked about something mundane, like the weather or the walk-up from the dorms. Xenia toyed with the end of her braid while Wyll leaned closer and closer over the desk.

He would be good for her.

Better than the crowd Astarion had thrown himself into the instant he got out from under his dearest father’s thumb, at any rate.

Astarion conspicuously cleared his throat and motioned for Wyll to take his spot at the front of the classroom. “This is 1204 Sophomore Survey of Modern British Literature.” He fixed Xenia with a hard stare that she desperately tried to ignore. “If that is not the class you are expecting to be in, I highly suggest you make a swift exit now.”

A different student dozing off in the back of the class startled and ran out of the room.

There was always one every semester.

Astarion went through the same monolog he did at the beginning of every class. The rhythm and cadence were as familiar as a hymn. He grew up in London and graduated from Cambridge. His office hours were posted on the syllabus, but please try to schedule appointments beforehand. This course required a textbook, but most of the readings could be found online for free.

He turned the floor over to Wyll for about five minutes so he could explain what a supplemental instructor was, then closed out by letting a few students speak on what British literature they were familiar with, and as usual, most of them grumbled about how they had to read Shakespeare in high school and how much they hated it because they couldn’t understand the language. One girl threw up her hands in despair when he informed her that she would have to read Romeo and Juliet for a second time, but she was placated when he promised her there wouldn’t be any Chaucer (He wondered what sadist of a world lit teacher she had in high school that made 16-year-olds read middle English). One boy had a Welsh grandmother who loved T.S. Eliot and read him Old Possum’s Book of Practical Cats when he visited in the summer. Astarion refrained from informing him that T.S. Eliot was actually an American.

But for the most part, the class had very little love for British authors—which wasn’t much of a surprise for a mixed major intro-level course—and nearly everyone was here because they had a humanities credit to fill. Really, the only one who wasn’t was probably Xenia… who was here because Wyll was here.

Astarion closed the class by assigning a short reading on the importance of literature studies that he already knew no one would read and dismissed the class. Xenia went for her usual speedy exit from the room, but Astarion headed her off at the pass.

“Just a moment Ms. Bellona, I need a quick word.”

She froze like a statue, and the football player behind her nearly tripped over her.

“I really don’t think I have the time,” she said smoothly. She was learning that she didn’t have to yield to her professors the way she did her high school teachers, but she didn't quite have the courage to openly disobey him yet. Ah, sophomores were his favorite.

“I won’t take up too much of your time.”

Xenia’s shoulders slumped, and she skulked over to his lectern, grumbling something under her breath.

“Oh, don’t be so sour.” Astarion scoffed. “You’re not in trouble.”

“Then why do you make it sound like I am?”

“That’s just his accent,” Wyll explained as he organized his stack of availability surveys to stick in his bag. “It makes everything sound more severe.”

Astarion rolled his eyes. “I will see you tomorrow, Mr. Ravengard.”

“Alright, alright. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Wyll made his way out of the room and paused at the door. “By the way, Lydia wanted me to let you know the study hall schedule is posted.” He said before disappearing into the hallway.

“Since when is he on a first-name basis with Dr. Silverwarden?” Astarion mused.

Xenia shrugged. “He calls Professor Cliffgate by her first name, too.”

“Yes, well, they’re technically colleagues now- It’s no matter.” He switched gears. “Xenia, dearest, why are you in another Sophomore literature class? You technically haven’t completed the first one.”

She went steely. “I’ve been thinking about picking up an English minor. My advisor said that it would go well with my current degree plan.”

“The advising office might be fighting over a singular brain cell, but I’m almost certain they would have told you to take a technical writing minor for a psychology degree.”

“What if I took up a literature minor because I like literature?”

“Then I’d tell you you shouldn’t waste your time.”

“Isn’t that a little hypocritical of you?”

“No, because I was already independently wealthy outside of my education choices. You should focus on a field where you can get a job.”

“Aren’t professors supposed to encourage students to follow their passions?”

“If you’re trying to follow your passions, my dear, there are easier ways to spend time with Wyll.”

Xenia turned red from her neck to the tips of her ears. “I- I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She huffed, zipping up her jacket as if Astarion could literally see into her heart. “We’re just friends- He’s helping me get back on the fencing team in the fall, that’s all!”

Astarion raised his coffee cup to his lips, swallowing back the dregs at the bottom. “Does he buy coffee for all his friends, then?”

Something vexed and nervous swam in Xenia’s dark eyes, and she hurriedly tossed her cup into a nearby trashcan. “He bought you coffee too, by that logic-”

Astarion held up a hand to silence her. “Don’t even imply that.” He scolded. “Wyll brings me coffee because I’m technically his boss, and he likes going above and beyond. I suspect he brings you coffee because he likes to see you happy.”

“I think you’re just reaching.” Her voice wavered in a way that made Astarion feel a little guilty for pushing.

“Maybe, but I’ve watched a lot of students catch crushes in my tenure.”

Her jaw tensed, and her gaze drifted out the window for a brief moment. “Is this all you wanted to talk about?”

“You’re already in a precarious situation regarding your student finances. I just thought I should say something.” Astarion shrugged. “I’m not trying to upset you.”

“Thank you for your concern, but I can take care of myself.” Xenia’s voice was flat and irritated. She slipped her finger under the pad of her messenger bag’s strap and adjusted it into a more comfortable position on her shoulder. “I guess I’ll email you if I have any questions about my work.”

“Alright, have a good afternoon.” Astarion let her leave, then let out a deep sigh.

Idiot kid.

He went to gather his lecture notes when Gale called. He thought about letting it go to voicemail -whatever it was could probably wait the 5 minutes it would take to get back to their office- but something about the situation nagged him a little bit.

He picked up.

“Do you miss the sound of my voice this much?”

“I- uh, what?” Gale sounded panicked on the other end.

“Is something wrong?”

“The faculty lounge is flooding.”

Shit.

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borninwinter81 · 10 months ago

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You ever get the feeling that sometimes the universe thinks the time is right for a specific project?

Earlier this week, heavily inspired both by @rattusrattus3 and their collage box youtube tutorial, and the gorgeous corvid boxes posted by @korva-the-raven, I decided to make something similar myself. THE DAY AFTER that decision was made I found this wooden chocolate box in a charity shop for £1.99. It could not be more perfect for purpose.

I had been thinking the collage part would be difficult as I "don't really keep interesting bits of paper." As it turns out, the hell I don't.

That same evening I found this stash in my old art folder. I thought all I had in there were a couple of greetings cards.

Of particular use were the William Blake and Exploring the Gothic art exhibition guides. These are both really high quality prints and contain some gorgeous artwork. Thankfully I have a paper guillotine so I could cut out the pictures really neatly.

This is what I ended up with. I could make several boxes just from these!

Korva's boxes have individual compartments made out of matchboxes which are also decorated. I don't have any matchboxes, but then I recalled that I know how to make an origami box - I had a friend in school who was Japanese and her mother taught me. So, what if I was able to find some nice paper and make small boxes to go inside? Again, the universe provided...

These are from a pad of scrapbooking paper, 24 double sided sheets, 30x30cm (12x12 inches) for £4. Very thick and high quality and excellent for making sturdy boxes that are fit for this purpose. I didn't love all of it but these designs are beautiful, and I will have more than enough for this project and tons left for the future 😁

I thought to save it looking too "busy" I would just use one plain colour and one floral. Since the internal boxes need to be quite small I thought a smaller print would work best, and paired that with a plain purple. I used the guillotine again to cut the paper into squares that were the right size (after a trial run with some cartridge paper to make sure they would fit) and...

This box is super easy to do, probably why I still remember how to make it after being taught at the age of 5! Here's a tutorial.

Meanwhile the outer box got a couple of coats of black acrylic paint.

Then it was time to decide how to arrange my collage pieces. I quickly came up with this for the inside (Edgar Allan Poe themed, the large picture is an illustration to "The Raven" which is super appropriate for a corvid box, and the small one in the top right has lines from the poem "Lenore"). I'm still unsure about whether I will also do the base as its going to be covered most of the time anyway. I may just line it with more of the floral paper.

The outside was harder, but I've gone with some anatomical drawings, plus a couple of space-fillers which look pretty.

The edges are a little narrow so I'm not going to collage those for now, but I might see if any of the charms from my shiny things box would look good glued onto the sides instead.

Unfortunately I can't finish it just yet, as the only thing I haven't been able to get is modge podge - every shop I went into said "we used to have that but don't stock it anymore". So I ordered some online and I should have it within a few days.

Then all I'll need to do is decide how I want to fill it, I have lots of items to choose from 😁

Huge thanks to those who inspired this, it has been a project that I've absolutely loved, and I'm going to be on the lookout for more nice boxes so I can make another, I still have plenty of supplies!

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promiscuouspomegranate · 1 year ago

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Illicit Ivories

TWs: Stalking, Manipulation, Carnell is condescending, bullying (sort of), forced kissing, and angst (kinda).

(There is so much tension between you two, and you are CRUSHING!.!.! This is softer, but if there was a part two.. you’d see 💀 Enemies to lovers enjoyers come feast !! Yet again, another sleepy write pasted from notes.)

Each callus on my hand faintly whispered a story of my musical past, from begging my parents to buy me a violin in 4th grade to my first piano solo in middle school and restless evenings rigidly practicing sonatas for Macherów’s entrance exams. Every little chipped fingernail, bloody finger, and tear shed was all I could offer to such a grand university. Yet–although I am not entirely loyal to any god–I found divine intervention, and an accidental performance with a professor allowed me into the school of my wildest dreams.

The campus was nothing to write home about, but it was the prestige and education that set Macherów apart. Many of the contemporaries graduated from Macherów–except for a select few who decided to dabble in the University of the Muses would help them excel. Yet, I firmly believed that only the world's elite musicians came from Macherów. Those who failed to get in were better off playing piano for an elementary choir recital or tuning instruments in a music shop.

I gripped my sticker-covered violin case and headed toward an empty practice room. For, I believe I finally found my Melpomene to my Thalia. Carnell was an ostentatious, melodramatic, and horrendously talented musician I despised more than any mediocre musical performance. He relished competing with me in every aspect of music and boasted whenever he bested me.

The professors must have been severely intoxicated or praying for my unraveling–perhaps a bit of both–when they announced a graded concert. I remember hearing people gossip and whisper amongst themselves when I saw two names written in bold.

“Carnell and Y / N – An original duet composed by both.”

“Fucking Cosend must’ve been behind this,” I mumbled and pulled out ink-stained, crumpled sheets of paper, “He’s a madman, but fuck.. he knows how to arrange a good performance.”

I heard the door open and rolled my eyes as Carnell entered, his glasses at the tip of his nose, his long, black hair pulled back with a blue ribbon, and his pristine clothes tightly fitting his scrawny body.

“Wait.. fuck no. No! Y / N, he is not fucking attractive,” I thought and glared daggers at Carnell.

“I hope you intend on putting more effort into your appearances as well as your playing,” He advanced to the piano and smirked at me, “Have you tuned your instrument yet?”

“I’d worry about your piano playing; try not to hit the C sharp key so much this time,” I took my violin out of its case and began to warm up. I slightly blushed when I realized it was out of tune, “Don’t you dare fucking say anything.”

“I knew you wouldn’t take things seriously, as per usual,” He hummed to himself and took out the composition he worked on, “Now, you need to start with an E. Do you need assistance finding the right fingering?”

“I will fucking kill you with my bow,” I grumbled and positioned my fingers, “I hate you.”

“Oh, but I thought I was the miserable wretch? You are quite amusing, Y / N, full of contradictions and lacking in musical proficiency,” He laughed the way he usually did and smiled his stupid smile. His laugh always came from his stomach but sounded elegant despite its volume.

His smile was always mischievous at first as if he knew something you would never understand. Then, he showed his teeth, and his nose slightly crinkled. It softens his rigid, upper-class ego and looks. It made him look friendly and…

“You played the wrong note again,” He chimed, and I snapped back to reality.

“Whatever,” I muttered and resumed playing.

•

I took a spoonful of fruit as my friend knowingly smirked at me.

“You love Carnell; you’re so in love,” They loudly teased, “At the end of the duet, you should confess your passionate, animalistic desires to your lover!”

“S– Fuck off! Don’t talk so loud,” I blushed and covered their mouth, “Fuck you so much.

“Not as much as you want to fuck Carnell. I wonder what he’d say if I told him that in class today,” They grinned and gasped, “What if I told Carnell for you?”

“Shut the fuck up,” I loudly whispered and glared at them, “Stop talking about Carnell, I don’t like him.”

They burst out into uncontrollable laughter, and I felt my face burning.

“Oh shit, he’s right there,” They froze and pointed behind me.

I jumped and turned around, seeing nobody there. My friend started laughing again, and I splashed my water at them.

“The way you jumped! You sprang out of your seat,” They fluttered their eyelashes and spoke in a high-pitched voice, “Oh, is that my dearest Carnell waiting for me? How I wish to kiss his chapped lips and play with his ugly hair!”

“His hair is not ugly,” I scoffed, “You should focus on Lila’s horrible outfit choices.”

“Lila dresses like a sexy librarian, okay? She wants me so bad,” They groaned and slammed their hand on the dining hall table, prompting some people to look at us.

“But.. does Carnell talk about me in class? Seriously, don’t tease me, or I’m telling Lila that you’re not interested,” I pleaded, “I will finish the rest of your theory work, please!”

“You are so desperate,” They smiled and leaned in, “But.. I might have heard that he got caught practicing a song with your name on it.”

“You’re fucking with me,” my jaw dropped, and I giggled, “No, you’re actually fucking with me.”

“It was so Carnell worded too,” They took a bite of their all-melon fruit salad, “To my dearest Y / N, or some corny shit like that. Anyway, let me know when you two make out during practice. I might’ve pressed my ear against the door once or twice, and oh my gosh… You wear your heart on your sleeve. Don’t worry, he does too. Normally, he’s an asshole to everyone.”

“I’m going to kiss him today,” I stood up and gathered my belongings, “I know I’ve said that a thousand times, but I’m going to do it.”

“Well, good luck with that,” My friend hugged me and dreamily sighed, “I wonder if Lila needs someone to massage her back after carrying your entire class.”

I rolled my eyes and hugged them back before going to the practice room. I was incredibly excited to work with Carnell; I felt my heart pounding as I reached the door.

“Carnell, do you like Y / N? C’mon, just tell us, dude,” I heard an unfamiliar voice say as I listened in on the conversation, “There’s a rumor going around you wrote a song about them.”

“Oh, you honestly believe I would dedicate one of my songs to someone so vulgar and disorganized? Please,” Carnell scoffed, and I could picture his eyebrows furrowing, “I would rather dedicate a song to bile than write a measure in her name. She’s a terrible musician; you haven’t had the displeasure of working alongside her. Her head is always in the clouds, which is probably why she’s so breathless and air-headed whenever we rehearse.”

I felt my heart sting as he continued.

“I look forward to the end of this concert so I can get back to focusing on real music,” Carnell sighed, “Her saccharine, sappy, and utterly abysmal compositions make me want to cut my fingers off and never play any instrument again.”

“Damn, that’s harsh,” The voice laughed, “You suck.”

I heard footsteps approaching and hid inside a different room. I waited until the person was gone and went into our practice room.

“You’re late, Y / N. Right when I assumed you were beginning to take our practices seriously,” He playfully teased.

“Sorry, I guess I’m too much of a fucking airhead to remember anything,” I felt my emotions get the better of me as I clenched my case, “Maybe if I weren’t so stupid, I’d do a better job composing.”

I could see Carnell was taken aback and dropped my case on the ground.

“You know, Carnell, I actually really fucking liked hanging out with you. I thought our dynamic was fun,” I felt hurtful tears trickle down my face, “You– Carnell, I can’t believe you’d say that shit about me. I.. I liked you in a stupid, high school crush way. I was going to buy you fucking fresh-cut roses for the concert and shove them into your hands.”

“Y / N, I–”

“No, fuck you. I don’t want this duet to happen. I’m going to Cosend and telling him I quit,” I stormed out of the room and slammed the door shut behind me.

I felt myself crying as people whispered and pointed. I pulled out my phone and called my friend.

“Pick up,” I muttered and shoved it into my bag when they didn’t answer, “Damn it, they’re probably too busy fucking harassing Lila.”

I stormed off to the school gardens and took a secret path my friend showed me. I sat under a massive oak tree, pulled out a sheet of music titled “To Carnell,” and began to tear it into pieces. I cried and felt an irrational hurt in my heart.

“Fucking prick,” I wiped my eyes with my sleeves and took a deep breath, “I’m never talking to him again.”

I heard frantic footsteps and poked my head up. I caught a glimpse of a navy blue vest and immediately knew it was Carnell. I gathered the torn-up paper and stumbled to my feet. He panted as he stood before me, gripping a bunch of papers.

“What do you fucking want,” I croaked and mentally cursed myself for sounding so pathetic.

“Y / N, please, listen to me,” He took a deep breath, and I noted that he seemed slightly manic, “There’s a confession I have yearned to tell you ever since freshman year.”

“That you despise me and think I’m stupid,” I mumbled and tried not to cry again, “I got the message.”

I looked at his face and felt shocked when I saw how wide his eyes were. I stepped back and felt like something was terribly wrong with him.

“Oh my word,” He laughed, not as he usually did, but breathlessly and erratically, “This feels so unreal. I can barely believe that you reciprocated my feelings. Obviously not to the intensity I have, but still, you love me.”

He shoved the papers in my hands, and I looked through them. They were dated back to freshman year and were all dedicated to me. The content varied from musical compositions, dramatic sonnets, and poetry to ink-stained confessions with details that sent shivers down my spine.

“You are my muse,” He took a step closer, “When I laid eyes on you for the first time, I thought that the heavens were deceiving me. How could someone so perfect be at this university? When I heard you play for the first time, I had to excuse myself from the classroom. I bit my lip so hard it started to bleed. The crimson red reminded me of your favorite pen–the one you still use despite it being taped.”

He grabbed my arm, and I saw an eerie smile creep over his paling face.

“Your conversation with your friend at lunch today, I overheard it,” He leaned in closer, “You confessed you wanted to kiss me. Well, let me confess something as well: ever since I’ve laid eyes on you, I’ve thought of ravishing your body.”

“Carnell, please stop,” I mumbled and tried to pull away, “You’re freaking me out.”

He feverishly placed a kiss on my lips, and I felt my eyes widen. He quickly pulled away and whispered words of excitement.

“Hah! This– You are so much better than I ever dreamed of, my beloved,” He tightly embraced me, and I could hear him smelling my skin, “I-I need more of you. We need to finish our duet, dear.”

#yandere #yandere writing #yandere character #yandere oc #yandere male #dark romance #☆–Carnell

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