#there was a parallel i hadn't considered before

[gideonisms]

every day I think to myself if the lobotomy hadn't happened. But the lobotomy DID happen. The lobotomy literally did happen

[lunahearts]

Okay I'm doing it. I'm chapter 96 posting.

This is not meant to be a big analysis post this is mostly just me sharing all the little moments that Marcille & Laios show their care for each other because they are SO beloved to me. Join me on the journey if you wish.

(but also the above statement may be a lie. I do have a point here, it turns out, and the point gets at some of my Big Feelings of what Dungeon Meshi has to say about the nature of friendship & living in the world)

So, first of all, the conversation about Laios being king at the start of the chapter. Just in general Laios insisting on presenting himself in his own way here is so good. Character development!!

Before the events of the story he hadn't shared his inner world with anyone but Falin. Now he's like Actually I'm gonna dress up in the discarded remains of my monstersona and that's just how it is.

And even though there are a LOT of parts of the story and bits of character growth that go into this, I think it specifically highlights some interactions from a few chapters ago.

After all, his initial reaction to having been in that monster form & coming out of it was trying to hide from everyone.

And I think everyone helping him put things in perspective here contributes to how he is able to present himself as king. They assure him that he is accepted, despite having just been seen by EVERYONE at his Peak "Weird Monster Guy" mode.

Highlighting what Marcille says here especially:

Going out to "face them with a smile" is EXACTLY what he does. Not right away. He's still pretty stressed in the following scene in this chapter. But he is able to face the crowds with a smile, eventually...

As king. Dressed in the memory of his most vulnerable moments, the most honest expression of his desire.

BUT I'M GETTING A LITTLE AHEAD OF MYSELF. Before the King Laios speech, there's a little moment with Marcille I want to highlight, because...

Did y'all know that by the end of the manga, Marcille isn't like... grossed out by eating monsters any more? Or at least, she's definitely changed her reaction to it. It's Namari who makes the "yeah it smells good despite what it is" comment, not Marcille.

We even get shots later of Tansu, Shuro, and Kabru being kinda grossed out by - but still going ahead and eating - the different Falin foods. Chilchuck also throws out a line about it being surprised that it's good.

But there's no disparaging comment from Marcille, despite the Everything of the situation. I just think that's also a nice little detail. She may not be as far in the monster eating game as Laios, but she's more willing to roll with the weirdness.

So after this little moment, this is when Laios comes out in his new regal outfit. And first of all...

This is such a good contrast to the moment when the group goes to save Marcille in chapter 84. The monsters had stopped attacking, and everyone's reactions to Laios and the others framed him as unsettling. Creepy. Maybe even traitors.

They even use some of the same labels (lord of the monsters/lord of the dungeon, dark lord/demon king)., but the context is that they are disgusted. The parallels in this manga....

Have a tendency to destroy me. What a difference in reception.

Anyway, after this moment, Laios stops to talk to the group... and I'd like to point out again: MARCILLE ISN'T FLIPPANT HERE EITHER!!

Chilchuck is still Chilchuck, of course, and I want to be clear I love that, too. Chilchuck is who he is to his core. His little jabs are very affectionate in this chapter.

But Marcille... Marcille only points to the Winged Lion symbol as being weird, not the monster bits. And like, considering what she's just been through with the lion, being skeptical of that part is... fair.

(don't get me wrong, her "that's fine and all" isn't exactly excitement. BUT the point I'm trying to make is less about her completely changing her feelings & preferences. It's more about how she expresses them, and how she treats Laios and HIS feelings & preferences)

And she continues to be so encouraging!! Wah!! Like, despite, all four of these people definitely caring about Laios, it's Marcille specifically who tells him to relax and just be honest. And you know what? I think that's what Falin would have said, too.

Please also note how cute everyone's little faces are in the crowd:

(see, Chilchuck loves him too!! Look at that fond face, and the cheer. and Senshi! and Namari! They really are such a family)

Laios' short speech actually has a little bit I'd like to highlight as well, since I think it is a nice little reflection of his choice to keep the lion insignia on his new outfit:

"Eat to your heart's content," he says. Not just "enjoy," or "let's eat."

Dunmeshi does such a wonderful job of framing so much about the Winged Lion with nuance, and this is a good example of that. Desire is not bad! Craving and consuming is beautiful. As Laios says when explaining the lion insignia...

It's not just something to get rid of.

So then... on to the feast!

And not only does Marcille not express any grossed out feelings, as I mentioned before... she even helps to gross out Chilchuck!!

Her weird girl powers are only just in their infancy. She will only grow more powerful in time...

As the feast goes on of course we get the group's realization about her hair, and I'd like to point out:

I really feel like they have such similar reactions to finding out about how the other has been affected by the Winged Lion

Just... the quiet concern. Not making a huge fuss, but... worried. Understanding. A little heartbroken for each other.

SPEAKING OF HEARTBROKEN REACTIONS THOUGH. WHAT COMES NEXT REALLY GETS ME.

After Chilchuck braids Marcille's hair for her, the topic of her needing to leave everyone comes up and...

God, these expressions. Every Time I see these panels I think about about what Laios saw in her nightmare. Her fears. The weight of inevitable loneliness, and the way it has marked her. As much as Marcille tries to keep things light when talking about it, he knows what this means to her. And it HURTS.

So he doesn't accept it. But do you notice how he frames this. Do you see. Not "do you want me to fix this." Not "hey I have an idea."

"Would you be willing to stay."

He doesn't know whether she will accept. Whether she will hate the idea, actually, of staying here with him. He's putting himself out there fully prepared for rejection & dismissal, as he has faced many times before.

But his pitch, his proposal to her, it's not JUST an excuse to ask her to stay, either. He's put thought into this. Into what Marcille could mean and do here. Not just to and for him, but for the people of this area. The place he has taken responsibility for.

He's also thinking about Falin. And about all the other little girls, the people of all sorts, just like her. He's thinking about the people who have been killed (burned at the stake???), hurt, shunned. About the people who have been abandoned. The people who are still alone.

He's not just offering Marcille an out from her isolation, he's offering her a new purpose. A new way to continue her work, to do the things she cares about. He SEES her! he understands her.

BUT ALSO HE'S SO NERVOUS OUGH. FIDDLING WITH THE PLATE. UNSURE IF SHE WILL CARE. UNSURE IF HE HAS IT RIGHT.

HE'S NOT GOOD WITH PEOPLE HE'S NOT GOOD AT THIS.

BUT THEY UNDERSTAND EACH OTHER. AND SHE WANTS THIS LIFE HE'S OFFERING HER.

Still... it's not that simple for her, even if for a moment she is swept up in how much she wants this.

Again here, Marcille is working so hard to be chill about the whole 'going west with the elves' thing. She looks absolutely devastated in the first panel, but puts on a smile in the second.

Maybe she doesn't want to bring down the mood. Maybe she doesn't want to burden everyone with what seems like the only option she has. Maybe she had already accepted the cost that might come with bringing Falin back. Maybe after everything with the Winged Lion, she doesn't want to risk letting herself fight for her desires too hard.

But hey. Desires aren't always bad. They aren't something to just get rid of.

A small bit of visual storytelling here... I love that Marcille is confined by the panel, but Laios is stepping outside of it. He's literally pulling her outside of the box she feels trapped in.

Also, I love that his first acts as king are:

1) welcome everyone to a big feast

2) stand by his friend and help her find happiness

It's great stuff and it's so Laios.

In addition to that, I love how this whole act actually plays out. I love that, while getting the elves to let Marcille go, he gets to be extremely cool and protective...

but also like. Not THAT cool and protective.

No really, I mean it! I think it's important! It's important that cool 'suave king guy Laios' is a front he puts up when he needs to deal with these strangers, and one that he completely drops once it's just him and Marcille.

He's not trying to impress her, or convince her he's cool and suave. Why would he? He trusts that she's okay with the messy, often unimpressive, sometimes kinda gross reality of who he is.

And isn't that what Dungeon Meshi is all about? Messy, unimpressive, gross reality. And how beautiful, how wonderful, how very precious it is

Especially when you get to share it with your friends.

[luveline]

𝐚 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐩𝐢𝐝 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 | 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐨’𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚

miguel does everything he can to make you feel better after a civilian casualty steals your ‘sunshine’. —a fic featuring reluctantly adoring miguel and his sad spider-girl. pre across the spider-verse but contains spoilers. requested here. fem!reader, 4k

cw character death, violence, reactive depression

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

"Miguel," you say, your voice grained by the communicator in his ear, "this universe is almost the same as mine, right?" 

Miguel stares down at a Doc Ock variant you're staking out, lying in wait for the anomalistic antagonist to make his first move. He's trying desperately to maintain his focus but you have a nice voice, and you ask him with a confidence that betrays your total faith in him. You haven't considered that he might not know. 

Well, Miguel does know. He's not sure he should start this discussion and distract you, but he has trouble saying no to you in any capacity, so he does. 

"I don't know every difference, but yeah, they're the same. Same geography, world leaders, roughly the same fast food chains." He bites his lip. He's at work, more than work —you're attempting to save an entire dimension, here— and he shouldn't feed the conversation anymore. But he knows you'll be interested in this. "Donuts aren't a thing, here."

"What?" 

"They have donuts, but they aren't called donuts, and they're nowhere near as popular." 

"This is a very strange way to flirt," Lyla says, her flickering hazed by a golden aura as she changes rapidly between laying on her front, legs kicking, and her back, as though she's in a therapist's daybed. She floats across his vision lazily.

"That's because I'm not," Miguel says. 

"What?" you ask.

"Nothing. Talking to Lyla." 

"How come Lyla doesn't talk to me?" you ask sweetly.

Miguel can see you in the distance, your simple black suit like an ink splodge against the blue grey glass of the skyscraper you're standing on. Anchored with a web and your body tensed, you're perfectly parallel to the ground below, as though you're standing on the windows. 

"It's not that I don't want to," Lyla promises. "Miggy won't let me." 

"That is not true." 

Projections cover Miguel's vision, powered by his favourite lying intelligence. Movements are mapped in a bright marigold yellow, though the net turns red to signify potential danger, chance percentages bouncing up and down. Doc Ock raises an arm and it turns an eye-straining red. He sits down on a park bench and his body turns yellow again. It's a smart program, but it can't account for everything. 

"Something isn't right." 

You hum appreciatively. "It feels weird, how he's acting. Like he's two separate people." 

Doc Ock glitches hard, the air around him fractured by colours in varying depths, like a tangible, physical screen tone. They've been coming faster. He doesn't have much time before he begins to tear apart, and that tearing will prompt panic. Panic will prompt anger. 

"What should we do?" you ask. 

Miguel doesn't know. He regrets asking you to come with him, not that you aren't capable. When you first joined the Spider Society you'd hadn't been Spider-Girl in your own universe for very long, and you weren't particularly proactive. You were kind-hearted but lackadaisical, and after worming your way into his life, a flower budding between concrete slabs it shouldn't have the power to crack, (he seriously doesn't know how it happened, only that you'd been bringing him things, carefully wrapped foods and trinkets you'd made, your bad conversation, and suddenly you were worrying about him and doting on him in the strange way that you do, suddenly, he was doing the same), you decided you wanted to help. You've trained hard on Spider-led courses at the Society, improving your overall fitness, your stamina, your technique, to become the fighter you are now. You can hold your own well. 

Miguel knows what motivated you. You want to look after him. You'd all but admitted to it. And that's why Miguel wishes he asked someone else to come with him, because you'll put yourself in harm's way as he would for you, to protect. 

"Why did you want to know if this universe was the same?" he asks, the nano of his suit morphing over his hands, claws growing long and minaciously sharp.

"Oh! Because, I used to have these favourite cookies called Butter Leaves, but they stopped making them in my dimension 'cos of the Whey disease. Even when it was better, loads of companies couldn't come back…" 

You give him the entire history. He already knows it. He tries to listen to you with the attention you deserve anyway, only he's weighed the options, and taking down Doc Ock feels much more important than listening to your cravings. 

"They were really thin and they had this sweet coating brushed over the top. You'd like them, I think." Miguel drops the last hundred feet to the ground, ignoring the jarring heat in his ankles at such a landing without having rolled into it. "If they were a little softer and had some sugar they'd taste just like polvorones, Miguel."

"You could say that about lots of things," Miguel argues, tone measured as not to alert bystanders nearby of his presence. 

"This doesn't feel like a good idea," Lyla says. Standing now, alert. 

Miguel toggles the communicator so you can't hear him. 

He wonders if you'd even notice him speaking over the intensity of your excitement, "I know it's not professional but maybe we could go and look? After we beat the bad guy. They're more than worth it, I swear," you say hopefully. 

"It's fine," he says to Lyla, throwing out a hand, shins braced and ready to burst into a tackle. 

"It feels off, you both said it." 

"It always feels off. He's in the wrong dimension, his presence caused a shift. The wrongness is unavoidable, like the body–" 

"Rejecting an organ transplant," Lyla says. "I know. You say it constantly." 

"If you know, why are you asking?" he asks, deadpan. 

"Good to know your girlfriend can ask questions and I can't. You're a trailblazer for equality, O'Hara."

Not my girlfriend, he thinks, but he isn't sure how true that is. Miguel realigns his eyesight, the holographic netting that pinpoints anomalistic stress a menacing red where it maps Doc Ock's limbs. The colours are abrasive against the yellow-green leaves fluttering in the breeze to the grass below, trees like arms stretched toward one another standing behind the simple brown bench where Doc Ock murmurs drunken-sounding ravings. 

Miguel's fangs slice through gum and lock into place. He tries not to salivate. The paralysing agent produced gives him a numb tongue. 

Miguel attempts to work quickly. Approach the target. Lock the target in. Incapacitate. He rears back and takes a deep breath. 

"Wait! Behind! Behind you, Miguel, there's something behind you!" 

He twists backward without hesitation and swings his arm around a cold neck. He squeezes hard, hears a metallic crunch similar to a mortar and pestle, but the person in his chokehold isn't a person, it's a robot. 

"Octobots!" Lyla shouts. 

"HELPFUL!" Miguel shouts back, grunting as a robotic arm curves around his back, and then a second, a third. 

The hills of his muscles strain against white-lacquered steel, a sweat breaking at the back of his neck as he groans, desperate to stop the octobot from crushing his arms to a powder. He can practically hear the creaking of his humerus. 

Around him, civilians scatter, screaming for their lives as a small horde of octobots descends on the park. Doc Ock doesn't react to the chaos. He sits there muttering to himself as people run past him and his octobots play cat and mouse. Miguel finally snaps the arms off the robot holding him with a pissed grunt, punching the carcass of machinery away from him while you tuck and roll from a dive to the ground. In an impressive show of your improvement and coordination, you throw out a web as you roll and hit Doc Ock square in the face, a second binding his chest to the bench. You spring to your feet, shooting at bots one after another. You must take down six by the time he's gathered his bearings. 

"On your left," Lyla says. Miguel smashes a bot at the apex of its white body and she laughs. "Nice. Behind." 

Miguel falls into the fight as though it's a well-practised dance. With the stress maps locked on, quick-thinking, and Lyla's pointed direction, Miguel can decapitate or incapacitate each bot swiftly as long as they don't get a hold on him like the first one managed. 

You're like Lyla in that a good skirmish seems to set you off —you're giggling, cheering, enjoying yourself much more than you should be. "This is just like that video game," you say, leaping onto a moving octobot and shooting webbing at the joints, gumming them up until they can't move. "With the girl and her super powered puppy, you know that one?" 

"Of course I don't know that one." Miguel brings his claws down into the aluminium shell of an octobot as it swipes your legs from under you and tears it in two. It cracks like a halved apple, the gore of its inside sparking and smoking as it hits the ground in tandem with you. Your head whacks hard into the concrete pathing beneath. He doesn't have time to help you. 

The arm of a bot races forward like a stinger. This one must be the head of the hive, the Queen bee so to speak, far more complicated than the others in the plating of her ivory bodice and chain-mail like shielding on her arms.

Miguel swears under his breath and vaults at it. 

He pulls your droid feed up in his display, watches you writhe from one side and the other as your pained moans play in his ear. You clamber onto wobbly footing as Miguel descends, the screeching cry of metal while it's shorn apart beneath his hands not half as loud as your useless gasping —you're winded, likely concussed. 

"Civilian entering range," Lyla says. 

"What? Where?" 

Lyla has your drone's camera spin on the spot to show Miguel the civilian stupid enough to enter an active fight zone. They aren't stupid at all, it figures, but unaware. A man in activewear jogs the beaten path with headphones in, eyes to the ground. He stops for a moment to look at his sports watch, and like the octobot can tell, it shakes Miguel like a bothersome flea and surges for him. 

You're closest. 

"Y/N!" Miguel shouts, knowing it's too late before he so much as closes his mouth. You turn, your head braced in your hand, breathing hard with pain. Miguel would take it back if he could. 

You can't save the civilian, but you can watch him die. 

—

People look at him like he's a ghost, sometimes. Wide-eyed, horrified, they move aside in the halls. They treat him how he feels on his worst days, like someone who should've died a long time ago. Today, things are different. 

No less than three Peter Parker' have stopped to stare at him unabashedly. Nearly all make the same jokes, Late for a date?

He'd honestly prefer feeling like a ghost. He can't deal with their derision and he doesn't want to, ignoring their looks and their judgement as he treks to the elevator that's gonna drop him outside of the medbay. The only person he wouldn't mind poking fun at him is you. 

You aren't in the mood. 

Miguel doesn't acknowledge your prone form at first. He walks to your bedside table to deposit the bouquet he'd chosen, peonies for good health and strength, swapping old for new, changing the water in your small shared sink. He may orchestrate the Spider Society, but Miguel's special privileges can't reduce the extreme turnover rate of the medbay. You have curtains to partition the room for privacy, and you got the bed by the window, and that's as much as he could get you. You deserve better. 

Miguel opens the window to drown out the smell of antiseptic. He stands in front of it, his shadow stretching over your twisted hip. You're not sleeping, you're resting. Doctor's orders.

Miguel wishes you'd deign to rest in your own bed, or his, but you're a little too catatonic for a safe discharge either way. 

He sighs quietly. You likely hear it with your enhanced senses and still you remain an impassive lump under your blue hospital blanket. 

"Good morning," he says, instead of the thousand other things he wants to say, that he's too much of a coward to ask. "Let's get up." 

He doesn't give you any choice about it. Starting slow, Miguel rounds the bed to meet your eyes through your sluggish blinking. Perhaps you'd been more asleep than he thought. 

Gentle, Miguel peels down your blankets enough to push his hands under your armpits. He pulls you up into a sitting position, and it —it breaks his heart. He's a monolith, he's hurting, he has years and years of loss and grief behind him and it doesn't matter, it finds him again. His heart breaks at your limblessness and your willingness to be positioned like a paper doll. 

Miguel arranges the sad pillow behind you and puts the remote for the adjustable bed frame in your hand. The last time you'd been here in the medbay after a training exercise fractured your ulna, you'd spent pretty much the entire time messing around with your bed, even as they crafted your cast. It made for messy work. Miguel must've told you to quit it fifty times. 

Your fingers curl around the remote. 

Miguel perches on the mattress on one knee to fix the protective style your hair is in. Nothing serious, just smoothing the tiniest of stray hairs and making sure it's still comfortable. He strokes your temple absentmindedly, checking you over one feature at a time. Tired eyes, nose tip looking parched, your lips chapped. Frowning, he sits properly, and he pulls your big hospital bag from the bedside table, his hand falling to your wrist to say, Hey, I'm here, and I'm not going far.

He finds your smaller bag of toiletries and necessities and unzips it. He tries not to think about the last time he had to take care of someone like this as he cleans your face with a wet wipe, two fingers wrapped in the wipe and petting at your skin carefully. He notices the life returning to you inchingly, his touch a tether you're pulling on, so he prolongs his actions. He smooths moisturiser over your face extra slowly. If you asked why, he could say it's cold, but you don't ask.

Your face shiny in the sunshine filtering in through the wide windows, you almost look like yourself again. 

"Are you hungry?" 

You shake your head. An almost imperceptible gesture. 

"This is why you don't feel well," he says. "You're not eating enough." 

"That's not why," you say.

He aches to hear your voice. I know, he thinks, but doesn't say. 

"Eat something," he says. 

You shake your head again. He managed to bring you back and squash you back down in less than a minute. He really doesn't like himself, at that moment. Often, but especially now. He's failing you. He failed you with the octobots and he's failing you now. 

Miguel refuses to fail someone he cares about again. 

He takes the remote for your bed and lifts the top section so you can sit back comfortably. He shakes the blankets out over you, and he puts away your things. Hopeful, Miguel places new pyjamas and underwear with your shower caddy at the end of the bed and pulls a strict pose, hands crossed over his chest. 

"I need to go. Shower, eat breakfast when it comes. Please." 

You give him a look that might mean Yes but probably doesn't mean anything, laying down as much as the bed allows and turning your face from him toward the flowers. Miguel leaves, stopping a ways away to look back, and watches through the gap of your curtains as you reach out to touch the flowers he'd brought. Your pinky finger is less than an inch from the petals when your movement stutters, your hand falling back to your chest with a soft thud. You close your eyes. 

When Miguel returns, he's thankful to find you've done as he told you. Showered, changed, a discarded breakfast tray at your feet. You've attempted the oatmeal and left the toast to go cold, congealed butter white against golden yellow. 

Miguel swaps the tray for his bags. He's hoping you might be tempted to look while he's gone. He knows before you would've known the entire contents of the open bag by the time he'd left the room, but he returns having taken your tray to the rack and is sorely disappointed. 

That's fine, he decides. You don't have to look. He doesn't mind laying things out for you. 

First port of call: extra pillows. He pulls the plastic wrapped 'hotel pillows' up onto your sheet and tears the plastic. They pop out. He didn't think for pillow cases, so he slides them behind your hospital pillow and pushes you down by the shoulders, not cruel but not particularly gentle —you actually laugh at his handling. He bites back a smile. 

"What, you got me presents?" you ask as he dumps a blanket onto your lap. It's one of those soft, shiny fleece ones patterned with those characters you love so much, the girl and her super powered puppy. 

You rub your hands over it appreciatively and spread it out over your legs. "What's that mean?" he asks, pointing at the Chinese characters, '超級汪汪!'. 

"Chāojí wāngwāng!" you cheer, an impression missing the majority of your usual pep. "Super woof. It's his level five power up. He yaps and Joyce gets her HP back." 

Miguel pretends to know, like he'd forgotten, and you're reminding him. "Ah."

You're watching now, interested. He puts his back between you and the bag and you whine weakly, "Miguel." 

"What? You think these are for you?" 

"Please, I want to see." 

He gives in like a cheap tent, passing you a packet of pearly beads for your bracelet making, skeins of variegated thread that change colours, a packet of pencils with frogs on the lids, a plushie. You don't know how to react and Miguel doesn't know what to say. He honestly doesn't want to say anything, vulnerability stopped being his thing a while ago, but he clears his throat. "Do you know what I look like in the middle of Miniso? Picture it."

Miniso being a Chinese home goods store lined floor to ceiling with plushies.

You laugh weirdly. Miguel knows it's guilt holding you back. 

"One last thing." He sits down on the bed next to you, hands big enough to cover the box in its entirety. "You were wrong, by the way. Extremely wrong, these don't taste a thing like polvorones." 

He passes you the box. You take it into steady hands, smiling widely, your thumb brushing up against the black cursive font. A box of butter leaves from one of your sister dimensions.

"I don't know if they'll taste like they did. Are they the same ones?" 

You nod, loosing a breath between parted lips. "Same ones." 

"If you don't eat them all, I won't get them for you again." 

"That's so mean," you murmur. Miguel would apologise if he thought you meant it. 

"That's how it is. Eat your cookies. I'll come back later to make sure you actually ate dinner." 

He stands. You immediately grab him, cookies dropped in favour of braceleting his wrist in your warm fingers. 

You look up at him through your lashes, a frown dampening your pretty features. At least, in his eyes. 

"Please don't go," you say. Your eyebrows pinch together. It's even more heartbreaking than your catatonia, this pleading loneliness, like you think he won't stay. 

"You have to talk to me," Miguel says. He softens at your chastised wince, sitting back down again. "Did you want a hug?" he asks. 

It's an apology to offer it, though he should've asked you this morning, or yesterday, even the day before. You'd been inconsolable when it happened. Miguel's never seen you that way. Your sunshine shattered, your shoulders shaking under his hands as he led you away from the scene, he didn't hug you like he wanted to. It wouldn't have made a difference at the time. You couldn't speak. You could barely walk. 

Seeing something like that happen leaves a mark, even if you've seen it before. 

You sweep aside your gifts and twist your legs to climb onto your knees. Miguel hadn't realised how much you wanted to be close to him until you're bordering his lap, your arms sliding over his shoulders, your pyjamas soft and smelling of antiseptic under his nose. A switch flicks at your nearness. He pulls you into his lap and sandwiches you there, chest to chest, thankful for his stature because it means he can encapsulate you effortlessly. He can hide you from the world for a short while. 

You choke him half to death. 

"It's okay," he says, your back curved into the length of his forearm, leaning forward so you can take the weight off. "You're okay." 

"I don't– it's not me. I'm not worried about me." 

"It's over," he says. "What's done is done." Which isn't to say it isn't tragic, or that it didn't leave a permanent mark on the world. But you're punishing yourself for a crime you didn't commit.

"It's all my fault," you whisper, your cheek pressing to his shoulder, face hidden in the juncture of his neck.

He tilts his head toward you. "It's my fault. I jumped in. I wanted it to be quick."

"I let him…" 

"You had a grade ii concussion, you didn't let anyone do anything. I'm lucky you didn't pass out right there. I'm lucky you had the ability to defend yourself, because I left you defenceless." 

"No, you didn't, it–" You rub your cheek against his shoulder. "It happened really fast, you were making sure that bot didn't get me because I was stupid enough to leave myself open–" 

"Stop it."

It's harsh enough to stop you in your tracks. Miguel sighs hard, hair blowing away from his face. 

He lays down backward, skewiff on your bed, and pulls you with him in a secure but gentle hold. You make a quiet 'oof' as you go down. Apologetic yet again, Miguel rubs a line up and down your back, fingertips between your shoulders, palm flattening as he reaches the small of your back, your shirt inching up. He's sure you look foolish to anyone watching, but for once, he's past embarrassment. 

"I don't want to hear you blaming yourself. It's not your fault." 

You've twisted on your side on the mattress rather than crush his pelvis, though your chest remains pressed to his. You twist a strand of his dark hair around your finger. "Why did you bring me all this stuff?" you ask softly. 

"To make you feel better." 

"But why… do you… want that? Why does it matter that much, that you'd waste time going to get me things?" 

"Why do you think?" he asks. 

Your lips ghost the column of his throat. "Mm… 'cos you're nicer than you let on." 

"Wrong." 

You laugh again. He's more grateful than he'd ever say aloud. 

"Because you care about me too much." 

Too much is right. He feels like he's at the stern of the universe's most important ship. The universes, plural. That ship is heading square for an iceberg, for the precipice of a gargantuan whirlpool, and there's nothing Miguel can do but hand out buckets and veer sharply to the left, hoping it will be enough, knowing deep down that it won't be if something doesn't give soon. And he's lived a life, two lives, before he even met you. He's tired. He doesn't want to lose anyone else, and he hoped he could do that by never caring again. 

What a stupid hope. 

"I just want you to feel like yourself again," he admits. 

"I really wanted to save him." 

"You can't save everyone." 

He knows better than most. 

"I know," you say, no tears left to cry, voice impossibly small. 

Miguel wraps his arms around you and doesn't let go for a long, long time. 

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thank you so much for reading, I really really hope you enjoyed! please think about reblogging if you liked it, I appreciate it <3

[astroboots]

Every You Every Me | Issue #7

COLLABORATED WITH @thirstworldproblemss

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x female reader

Summary: You finally get some answers out of Miguel about who you are to him.

Word count: 5,700 words.

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

[Previous] [Next]

"So let's take it from the top," you tell him, as you sit down and put down the Trenta-sized caramel flavored hot chocolate with extra whipped cream and chocolate syrup in front of the man named Miguel O'Hara.

The two of you are sitting across from each other at a small booth at the nearest Starbucks you were able to find, seeing as you're homeless now, and there's nowhere else you could think of to go.

He's dressed in a large fitted hoodie that drapes down to his thighs. Where he's managed to find something that is oversized in length on him, you don't know because he's not exactly short.

"I'm from a dimension known as Earth-928," Miguel says.

Before he can continue, you raise one hand, and you can see his right eyebrow twitch unhappily at the interruption. 

"Yes?"

"Just to clarify, so we don't have another ‘coffee cake’ misunderstanding. When you say Earth-928, do you mean a different version of the Earth we’re on now? Or is this a habitable planet in another galaxy that happens to be partially named Earth?"

"It's a parallel universe characterized by distinct physical parameters and initial conditions, accounting for the diverse manifestations of our observable universe. So still Earth," he says, sweeping his gaze across the café, nose wrinkling the way one does when there's something off-putting in their vicinity. "Just a little bit less primitive."

Of course he would say that, wouldn't be able to resist the jab would he.

You peer up at him across the table. He is very technical and thorough with his explanations. But as grateful as you are for him finally being willing to answer your questions, you hadn't expected those answers to be quite so information dense. You need to pick your questions more carefully or you are going to have to go down the street to buy yourself a notebook in order to keep up.

"How did you end up on this Earth?" you ask.

"Where I'm from, I'm a scientist, a researcher. One of the things I studied was the theory of physical cosmology and the existence of the multiverse. My work was concentrated on the theoretical ability to navigate between distinct universes within a hypothetical multiverse–”

Ah shit, you should've been more narrow in your question. Should have asked him to simplify it a bit more for you. Because now you're sitting here blinking up at him, pretending you understand half of what he's saying. 

It makes sense that he’s STEM. He speaks like the type. Smart as hell with none of the social skills to gauge whether the other person is following the conversation. 

Listening to him reminds you of that time in college, when you'd walked into the wrong lecture hall, wound up in advanced chemistry instead of your math class, felt too awkward to leave and just sat there drawing doodles with an attentive expression until the class was over. 

And he’s still at it, “– employing advanced mechanisms that manipulate or transcend conventional spacetime frameworks, enabling exploration–"

"Okay, wait, hold on a sec," you interrupt, once it becomes obvious he’s not going to stop any time soon on his own. "Can you... simplify, please?"

He stops mid-sentence, taking a deep breath as he looks up at the ceiling and considers your request, with a serious expression as if he's thinking really hard on it. "I’m a scientist. I study the multiverse. I built a parallel universe traversal device, it allows me to visit different dimensions." Your brain feels insulted that it clearly took more mental effort for him to dumb it down for you than to just give the supergenius version.

“So… a machine that allows you to jump between alternative universes?” 

“Yes.” 

There’s a pause between you as you run through the questions in your mental list you want to tick off now that he’s turned cooperative and talkative. But with everything that’s happened in the last handful of hours, a lot of the questions you previously had seemed outdated. The one question, the most important one, you’ve wanted to ask from the start though remains. 

"Who am I to you?"

Miguel takes the large sized drink in his even larger hands and somehow this big paper cup still manages to look tiny in his grip. "You and I were... involved," he says.

You frown. ‘Involved’ is such a vague term. It belongs in the trash with other useless terms to describe relationships: “situationship”, “complicated”, you hate them all. 

"So I was your girlfriend?"

"Yeah, something like that," he concede, fidgeting with the thin gold chain looped around his neck, his eyes not quite meeting yours, like he's embarrassed to use the term.

‘Something like that,’ you chew on his answer unhappily, sympathizing with your other dimensional self and how the other you seemed to have snagged a commitment phobe. 

Other-you, who isn’t here in this dimension with Miguel. You wonder why that is. 

"What happened to me?" you ask.

His eyes are glued to the table,  not looking up at you as he answers you in a voice so quiet you can barely hear it. "She died."

"Oh."

The revelation shouldn’t take you by surprise. 

Every time Miguel’s brought up your other self, it’s been tinted with earth-shattering sadness. It's not hard to put one and one together and come to the conclusion that whatever happened to you in this other dimension didn't end happily.

Still it's an odd feeling to know that out there, somewhere, a version of you has died. A version of you that was clearly very important to the man in front of you.

"I'm sorry," you tell him.

It feels silly to say. It's bizarre to give your condolences over your own parallel death, but Miguel looks so heartbroken. He’s slumped in his seat, large shoulders rounded until his frame looks so much smaller than you're used to, and you don't know what else to do.

"So what is happening to me now," you start, not sure how to word what the phenomena that you're going through is, "these continuous near-death experiences, is that how she died?"

"Yeah."

"And do you know why that... kept happening to her? Why is it happening to me?"

"I don't, and I don't know how to stop it. Believe me I tried."

He cradles the paper cup in his hands, the grip a little bit tighter now until he's creasing the paper and the caramel liquid oozes and leaks from the top.

"What I do know is that the universe isn’t going to stop trying to kill you, no matter what you do. And with every near death incident you manage to survive, these incidents will escalate in nature, until..." he stops, eyes flickering away from the cup to meet yours, but it's like he loses courage and doesn't want to say the last part.

"Until, what?" you prompt.

"Until your dimension collapses."

The blood freezes in your veins. "Wait, collapses!? What do you mean?"

"I can't guarantee it will happen again. But that's what happened last time. When the other you kept cheating death, the universe eventually started to collapse in on itself."

You slump back in your chair, trying to process what you've just been told. What does that mean? That even if you managed to defy all odds to survive, doing so would doom the rest of this universe as you know it?

"When will that happen?" you ask, and you're surprised you manage to get the words out because there is a hard lump in your throat that makes it hurt to even swallow.

"Judging from the trajectory and escalation of events, you have about three months give or take."

The two of you sit in heavy silence, for the moment you're not sure what else to ask him. Because it feels like you are trapped in a building looking for an exit sign, but all that’s tacked onto the brick wall is your death certificate, waiting to be signed and formalized.

There’s no way out. Nowhere to go.

"Give me your hand," he says, breaking the silence. 

You give it to him without hesitation, watching, puzzled, as he takes off his watch and secures it around your wrists.

"Why are you giving me your watch?"

"It's not a watch," he says, then he presses something on the face of it, and an image of a young woman flickers into existence in the space above your wrist, vaguely see-through. A hologram!

"This is Lyla," he introduces.

Wait, wait? Lyla? As in your mom Lyla? You watch the tiny woman floating above your wrist. Short bob-cut, and flashy heart-shaped sunglasses, with a twinkle in her eye. 

The hologram looks nothing like your mom. You part your mouth, about to ask about the name but you're interrupted by the energetic buzz of a female voice greeting you.

"Boss-girl! Long time no see. Want me to catch you up on the latest multiversal gossip? I compiled an edit of highlights set to Despacito."

"Lyla," Miguel warns, tersely. "Not now."

"Ruuuuude! You're the one who woke me up you know."

"Lyla, go back to sleep."

The female avatar grumbles, but then her image flickers away and the watch turns back into, as far as you can tell, just an ordinary watch.

"Why did you name the watch Lyla?"

"It's not a– " He cuts himself off, sighing with exasperation. "Lyla is an advanced A.I. she's going to be with you at all times. She's an added layer of security, built to protect you."

He didn't answer your question. Completely sidestepped it as if the two of you are having two different conversations.

Built to protect you, he'd said. Does that mean he still intends to do that?

"So you're not going to leave?" you ask him.

He leans back in his seat, eyes drifting towards the table. "No."

You look up at him, stumped. Not sure you're understanding what he's saying. Because not even a few hours ago, when the two of you were in your apartment, this man was adamant there was nothing to be done to save you. That he was going to leave and you were never going to see him again.

Right now though, his actions seem to be contradictory to that. You can't make heads or tails of him. Hot and cold doesn’t even begin to cover it. 

"Why not?" you ask, "I mean, not that I’m not grateful, but you seemed pretty set on the whole ‘I can’t save you’ thing. What changed your mind?"

“You did.” His eyes narrow as he looks down at you, crossing his arms ever his chest, "You told me you wanted to live. Have you changed your mind already?"

“Wha– NO! I just want to know why you changed yours.”

“I–” He hesitates, another wave of sadness passing over his face. “I’m a superhero. I save people… or try to. It’s what I do. I’m not gonna just leave you to die after you tell me you want to live.”

It’s a good answer, even if you don’t buy that it’s the whole truth. 

You look down at your wrist, and the shiny chrome of the not-watch he's just gifted you winks back up at you. "Do you think I have a chance of surviving all this?"

"It's pretty hopeless," he says, and there’s no break in his expression as he continues. "Your chances of making it out alive are pretty much mathematically impossible."

It's odd though. Even though he's outlining the futility of your situation, basically telling you to raise the white flag and surrender, there's something contradictory in the tone of his voice. 

"What do you want to do?" he asks you.

It’s a challenge, you realize. An encouragement. He has faith in you. It's all of these things rolled into one. As if he's telling you to prove the universe wrong.

"I want to live," you answer. "If the universe collapses in three months, then please stay with me. Give me time to solve this and find a way to stay alive."

His mouth curls into a hint of a smile. The very first you've seen from him since you've met. It's bright and boyish, erasing the harsh lines of his stern expression until it gives way for something much softer underneath that makes your heart leap in your chest with triumph.

You grin, a strange elation of happiness buzzing in you as you stretch out your hand to him, in an invitation for a handshake to seal the deal.

"Deal?"

Miguel leans over the table, clasping your hand in his much larger one as he squeezes it back gently.

"Deal." That small smile from before is still there. "So what's next?" he asks.

The thing you never realized, being an ordinary person bereft of super genes or other superhuman powers is just how convenient commuting can be if you have them. 

No longer do you have to brave the Lynchian nightmare that is the NYC subway system. Half-naked manic street preachers giving sermons as you’re held hostage, with nowhere else to go in the carriage. Being chased down by a drunk trumpeting Mariachi band. Instead, all you need to do to get from point A to point B (A: being the Chrysler building and B: the building formerly known as your home) is to hold on tight to Miguel as he swings you both above the city gridlock.

You imagine that this is what paragliding must feel like, except it's so much better because here you don't have to do the safety training beforehand or pay $3,000 for the privilege.

The city skyline is a dark evening blue, dotted with the sparkling lights of office buildings, cab roof lights and street lamps, as the wind ruffles through the fabric of your clothes.

It's such a different sight when you're flying above instead of walking on the streets below, that you don't even clock that you're in your neighborhood, until you see a building with a collapsed wall that's been blocked off, looking like a crash site. Only then do you realize... you're home.

Miguel carefully sets you down on your feet on a small patch of concrete that is clear of the rubble and destruction.

"Why did you want to come back here again?" he asks. 

It’s a good question. Now that you're here, standing in the middle of charred debris and cracked bricks, you're not sure either. You had some vague plans of seeing what you could salvage, hoping for some clothes, maybe your electric toothbrush, or really just any of your stuff. Something that’s yours, no matter how small, to hold on to after the events of today have ripped away life as you know it.

But there’s nothing left. The furniture, all your books and knick knacks, and even your dirty laundry piles have been demolished. Your home as you know it is gone. There's only piles and piles of rubble and traces of white fire extinguisher foam on the ground. The fire has been out for hours, but the pungent smell of smoke and sulfur still pervades the air. 

"You okay?" Miguel asks.

He's still standing at the outer edges of the apartment, close to where your window would have been if a helicopter hadn't crashed through it.

"Yeah... I guess the silver lining is that I didn't have anything expensive. Though it'd been nice if I could've saved my mom's Le Creuset set or at least the nanny-cam so I could return it and get a refund," you joke glibly. 

You nudge aside some concrete rubble with the cap of your shoes. There's nothing under there, no treasured memorabilia that's still miraculously intact. Just more burnt concrete and rubble.

"Why did you have a nanny cam?"

You turn around at his question, to see him hovering close to you, one eyebrow raised with an unhappy set to his jaw. 

From the displeased expression on his face, he's probably misunderstanding something here. Probably thinks you're operating a very unlucrative Onlyfans business, when what you've really been doing is spy on him and his nightly visits. You don't know which is worse to confess to, so you don't confess to anything.

"No reason," you say, ignoring the way his already raised eyebrow twitches with irritation at your lack of an answer.

"Come on, let's go," he says, and he waves towards you in a come hither motion like he's commanding a dog.

"Go?" you ask him. "It's past midnight. My place, as you can see, is wrecked. Go where exactly?"

Miguel shoots you a strange look. "A hotel," he says, like it's the most obvious thing, and– okay, he's not completely wrong in that assumption.

Problem is, you didn't have time to pick up your wallet or phone before your impromptu interdimensional visit. They’ve been incinerated along with all the rest of your worldly possessions, which means you don't have any way to pay for a hotel.

Plus Manhattan hotel prices average $400 a night. Even if you still had access to your debit cards, your budget’s pretty tight right now after all the capital you invested in your unhinged quest to trap the superhero before you. 

"In the city? I don't have that kind of money and it will take months for any insurance payouts to come in."

You should know. As an insurance claims adjuster, you know you’ll be lucky if your claim is processed before the end of the year. And, ugh, just the thought of the paperwork you’ll have to fill out is enough to give you an anxiety migraine.

"I’ll cover the room," Miguel says casually before holding out a hand to you, "Come on, let’s go."

When Miguel said he’d cover it, you expected a reasonably-priced room at one of the Days Inn across the river or the like. Hopefully a place with no rats or bed bugs, and maybe clean bedding over a somewhat comfortable mattress for you to pass out on if you were lucky.

You didn't expect this.

Standing in front of the Midtown Four Seasons, you find yourself on sleek marble so polished you can see your own reflection. You haven't even stepped a foot inside yet and there are two old fashioned doormen, wearing immaculately fitted suits, with an even more impressive posture opening the majestic double-set doors for you as you approach.

It's swanky as hell, and you can’t help gawking like a tourist, eyes glued to the decadent carved ceilings that must be at least 30 feet tall, soaring above you. Honey-colored limestone that looks like it’s been looted from Ancient Rome.

You feel more than a little bit out of place. This is way outside of your budget. You could probably work your job for a lifetime, and not have enough disposable income to stay the night at a place like this.

"Uhm, Miguel... this place is way too–" you start, turning towards him.

But as you were busy lamenting the state of the housing market, he's already walked away from you (for such a bulky guy, he moves swiftly and silently) and as you whip your head around to find him, he's already standing in front of the receptionist.

Damned antelope legged man, would it kill him to wait up for you once in a while? You run up after him and have to tip-toe in order to see over his shoulder because the giant mammoth is blocking the check-in counter.

And wow, even the receptionist here is of a different caliber than the ones you'd find at Holiday Inn. A fashionable bob-cut with razor sharp edges, looking like a model cut out from a Vogue cover.

"Do you have a reservation, Sir?"

You half-expect him to say no, and that the two of you would have to tuck your tail between your legs and walk out of here to the backdrop of a sad trombone playing.

To your astonishment he says your name. The receptionist tip-taps away at her keyboard and then she nods and smiles gracefully at you both. 

"Yes of course. After reviewing your reservation details, I am pleased to inform you that all necessary arrangements have already been made, including advance payment and verification of your identification. Your room is ready for you, we trust you will enjoy your stay."

She flashes you a pearly white smile so shiny it's almost blinding and hands you a hotel key card. 

When you turn around, to your confusion Miguel is no longer next to you. How does he keep disappearing like this? 

"Cielito," Miguel’s voice calls. The nickname doesn’t register at first. It doesn't even occur to you that he’s referring to you, until he barks it out a second time. 

Your head darts up to see him standing by the elevator, tapping his feet impatiently as he waits for you to make it over to him.

"How did you do that?" you whisper loudly to him as you step into the elevator. "Where did you get my ID? How did you make a reservation? How did you--"

He takes your hand, mid-sentence, turning your wrist upwards and taps the watch.

"The computer systems in this universe are child's play for Lyla to manipulate. Reservations, money, ID, she can take care of all of that easily," he explains.

"She can do that?" you ask, and Miguel merely nods at you as the elevator closes behind the two of you.

You tip your head down to inspect your gifted watch. In awe of this technical marvel that would make Siri look like it’s from the stone-ages. You wonder if she can boost your credit scores. She could probably hack any wi-fi password so you'd never have to worry about data throttling again. She could get you table reservations for Libertine! The possibilities are endless!

You turn to Miguel. "Can Lyla get me Beyoncé tickets?" you ask. 

He just shakes his head at you with what almost qualifies as an amused smile.

The room upstairs is massive. 

It’s easily three times the size of your little studio apartment, and the ceilings are twice as tall, with a hanging glass chandelier that’s sparkling bright enough to blind you. It looks like one of those places featured in Architectural Digest. 

Everything is in an art deco style, with expensive looking furniture and even more expensive art hanging on the one spare wall that isn’t covered in floor to ceiling windows. There are large shelves and a sleek looking kitchen, complete with an opulent looking velvet lounge chair of emerald green that looks like something a Roman emperor would be fed grapes on. 

In this colossal space of a room, there is only one bed. One colossal, plush-mattress-topped, goose down duvet and probably 1,000,000,000 thread count sheet covered bed.

You tense up, not sure what the arrangements Miguel had in mind. Did he want the two of you to sleep in the same bed?

Miguel did pay for the room, so you’re not going to start voicing objections. After all, it wouldn’t be the first time in the short time span that you two have known each other to do that. This bed is also a lot wider than your tiny double bed, so it wouldn’t be the cramped disaster it was last night. You’d just have to make sure to use the bathroom before bed this time so he doesn’t jab your full bladder in the morning again. 

Without saying anything, Miguel strides across the length of the room with impatient and determined steps. His hand reaches for the balcony doors and slides them open. 

"Wait wait, where are you going?" you ask him as you run up to the middle of the room. 

“I’m sleeping outside,” he says over his shoulder, and your mind boggles with that. 

“Why? Isn’t it better for you to stay here?”

"This is the 62nd floor. That’s about as safe as you’re going to get. I’ll keep a lookout to make sure no more helicopters come crashing in.” 

You’re not sure if he means the last part as a joke or not, but as you watch his broad back retreating as he walks away from you, a sickening sort of the deja vu twists through your chest. 

I can’t save you, he’d said back in your apartment, Nothing can. 

The feeling clawing at your chest feels alarmingly like panic. It screams that he’s leaving you. That he’s never coming back. That you’ll never see him again. 

You’re being irrational, and you know it. You remind yourself that he wouldn’t have done this much for you only to bail in the middle of the night, but that doesn’t stop the fear that’s festering, sharp and urgent, under your skin, or the way your heart races, your whole body flashing hot and cold at the same time. 

You want him to stay. 

“Miguel,” you call out, and he immediately stops and turns to look back at you, one eyebrow raised in a skeptical question. 

Please stay. 

You open your mouth, but the words won’t come out. You can’t ask this man—this big, sarcastic, rude hulk of a man—to have a sleepover with you because you’re scared to be alone in the dark. He would laugh you out of the hotel room.

“Uhm… thank you,” you say instead, but it’s no less sincere, “For everything.”

His eyes soften, the sharp narrowness of them easing up. “It’s fine,” he mumbles, and despite the cold chill of the evening, you think you can see a faint flush blooming in his cheeks, before he quickly ducks his face from you. “I’ll be right outside if something happens.” 

He turns back around and walks out, closing the patio doors with a gentle click behind him, leaving you by yourself. 

It’s quiet. 

You survey the empty room you’re in. Without Miguel’s large frame taking up space, it seems even bigger than it did before. 

It’s a beautiful room. Something that you’re pretty sure you’ve seen in a movie set. You don’t know why you’re not as excited as you were before. This is you living your Pretty Woman moment. You should be filling up the big jacuzzi tub you saw with bubbles. Heck, maybe ask Lyla to order you a bottle of champagne from room service. 

Instead, your eyes linger on the glass patio doors leading to the balcony terrace. You walk over to the bed, perching yourself down on the edge of the mattress, then flop down. 

Might as well try to sleep, you think to yourself as you climb under the covers and switch off the light. The best thing you can do right now is catch yourself some rest so you’ll be alert while trying to figure out your next steps tomorrow.

3 months… That’s what Miguel told you.

That’s all the time you have left. 

That means you don’t have time to waste, but you also have no idea where to start. The local library doesn’t exactly carry any resources on how to stop the universe from trying to kill you. 

The Universe. 

An infinite cosmos, grander than any human being can possibly comprehend. This vast space containing all the galaxies with its billions of stars and planets, where an individual being does not even register as a speck, and it wants you dead. How can you possibly fight against those odds? 

You lie wide-eyed and awake staring into the dark of the room, and the feeling of dread gnaws into you. 

You don’t want to be alone right now. Turning in the bed, your eyes find their way back to the blank slate of the pitched night outside the balcony doors. 

You really wished he had stayed with you. 

Sitting upright in the bed, you consider your options. You can lie back down. Suffer insomnia and the existential horror of knowing the universe is trying to murder you. Or you can man up, swallow down whatever tiny morsel of your pride you have left and ask Miguel to come back inside and stay with you. 

Flinging the duvet from your body, you get up to walk over to the balcony. You hesitate for a moment before tapping the window pane the way you might knock on a door, giving a polite head's up before you slide the balcony patio open. But when you poke your head out, turning your head left and right, Miguel's nowhere to be found. 

Okay, that’s weird. He said he’d be right outside if you needed him. You walk up to the ledge of the balcony terrace, leaning over the rail and peer down to see him dangling upside down, from the ledge of your balcony. The sight nearly makes you scream. 

"Miguel!” 

At you calling his name, he pulls himself up, one clawed hand gripping at the concrete wall as he climbs his way up and over to you. He makes it look easy, as if gravity does not exist for him, and it’s only a moment until he’s perched on the ledge of the balcony, facing you. 

“What’s wrong?” he demands, eyes concerned, and you’re suddenly aware of how very close he is. His face mere inches from yours, your noses nearly touching.

“What’s wrong? You’re hanging upside down from the 62nd floor! What are you, a bat?!"

“Why did you come out here?” he clarifies, and his words give you pause. You try to gather your thoughts after the bizarre sight you just walked into and remember what you came out here for. 

He’s still looking at you with his full and intense concentration that makes your skin prickle with warmth.

God, it’s embarrassing to ask. You feel like you’re five years old, asking your parents to turn the nightlight on, even though you know you’re a big girl now and aren’t supposed to be afraid of monsters hiding under your bed any more. 

You look down on your hands, where you’re wringing them together, then back up at him, and make yourself spit it out, "Could you… maybe… stay with me tonight?" 

His eyes widen at your question, but he doesn’t actually answer you and gives you no physical indication one way or the other. 

"I feel safer when you're with me,” you admit. 

“I am with you out here,” he counters, because of course he can’t make this easy for you.  

“I can’t see you out here.”

The line of his shoulder eases, and he ducks his head down with a resigned sigh. "Fine. Get back inside, Cielito. You're going to catch a cold like this."

You shuffle back inside to your bed, watching out of the corner of your eye as  he follows you inside and settles himself on the lounge sofa. He’s so tall that his feet are sticking out over the armrests, like a long-legged stork. 

Hiding a smile, you climb back into bed, wrapping the bedding all around yourself.

“Good night,” you call out, and he makes a grumpy noise of acknowledgment. 

Your head drops back onto the soft pillow, and you close your eyes, ready to sleep. It’s such a nice bed. The sheets are cool and soft against your skin and smell of fresh eucalyptus. The mattress is the most comfortable you ever remember resting on, firm but somehow soft at the same time. You feel like you’re sleeping on a cloud. 

Moments go by, and you revel in the sumptuous bed, waiting for the best sleep of your life to claim you. 

Except it doesn’t. 

Somehow… you still can’t fall asleep. Is it… too soft maybe? You turn in the bed, twisting your torso to get into a position you can comfortably sink into, but something doesn’t feel right. There’s no lumpiness like at home, but that should be a good thing. 

Except… despite the decadent softness of the bed. Despite the fact that the sheets probably have a thread count with more zeros than your checking and savings accounts combined. Despite all of the luxury that surrounds you, you still find yourself tossing and turning and wide fucking awake.

The bed is too big. You don’t know what to do with all this space. Your body is not accustomed to this sort of decadence. What if you suffocate sinking into this soft fluffy pillow in your sleep? What if you toss and turn until you fall off this massive bed and break your neck? Maybe that’s how out of all of the universe’s attempts to kill you, you end up dying? 

Fuck! 

You can’t sleep. 

You turn to your side and stare into the velvet lounge chaise on the opposite side of your room, where Miguel is. 

Quietly, you pad up to his still form until you’re standing in front of him and hunch over, trying to decide how rude it would be to wake him up again when there's nothing he can do about your stupid insomnia anyway.

In the dim light, you spot something glinting at you. Looking closer, you notice that the thin chain looped around his neck has escaped his shirt to pool on the fabric of the sofa cushion under him. You gently drag the loose end of the necklace toward you, and find a smooth golden band threaded onto it.

Picking it up cautiously, you flip it in your hand and find that there's something engraved on the inside.  It's hard to see in the darkness, but when you lean closer and squint your eyes, you can just make out what it says.

'MO'—undeniably the initials of one Miguel O'Hara.

Twisting the ring slightly, you find a tiny plus sign followed by your own initials, and your heart drops into the pit of your stomach.

Oh.

The memory of sitting across Miguel at Starbucks returns to you, when you had asked him who you were to him. You think of the avoidant gaze and how he couldn't look you in the eye.

‘Something like that,’ huh?

Guess the other you wasn't just his girlfriend after all, you think, chest drawn so tight it’s painful.

Holding the wedding band in the palm of your hand, you slide down to sit down on the floor with your back pressed against the chaise lounge.

Your heart aches for the man in front of you and everything he's lost.  You really, really hope you're not going to end up as just another regret on his list.

~ Next Issue

Dedication & Credits: As always to my best friend @thirstworldproblemss I am half asleep and running on fumes. I'm wording things poorly but I just want you to know that I am very happy I have you. Thank you for being my friend and for the time we get to spend together. I have the most fun when I'm with you.

Also to @guruan who is my muse, my source of inspiration. This chapter is dedicated to her because have you seen this beautiful piece of artwork she did for EYEM?!

[attleboy]

If ragatha is raggedy Ann.... And Jax is raggedy Andy.....is caine part of looney land? Maybe the king but less pathetic......and to a lesser extent is he gloink queen greedy?(the weird sugar monster who tries to eat raggedy anns heart)

Who's Babette??? Who's the weird hallucinogenic camel???? Gangle??? Idk they both cry a lot XD

hmmm i've thought about it before, and i don't think every character would have a 1 to 1 match, but you raise some good points...

caine being part of looneyland is something i hadn't considered but yeah, that fits... i feel if he were a king figure it'd be a little less about him though... maybe he'd want to torment people to make the "audience" laugh? like a shitty prank show host

and the gloink queen as greedy.... maybe it's just the voice and the mass of her but yeah i can kinda see that...

like what if she was just hangry. what if that was her problem... we never did see the adventure's intended resolution... [i'm joking. kind of. i mean it's possible]

as for the others... i've always seen a bit of kinger in the camel but that miiiight just be this little ''parallel'' that i haven't been able to get out my head

and babette... ohoho... i've seen people draw pomni as her before and honestly that's what i see the most. they are both miserable girls who just want to get home... and it gives me the excuse to draw pomni in a cute outfit so you best believe i'm taking it

andddd because i think this dynamic would be really funny... pomni hater vs. pomni apologist fight

also. i should say, usually when i think about this little crossover, it's with the concept of it being an adventure where caine makes them produce a little film based off a oddly familiar script...

i've got some doodles for 'behind the scenes' stuff but i think i'll leave that for another post bc this one is getting kind of long hehe

[cl-0v3r]

I've definitely said this multiple times before on different platforms, but one thing that truly gets me all the time is how child-like Mel looks whenever she's upset with her mother or past (or literally any of her life choices basically.) , especially during episode 9 when she argues with Ambessa.

Her face felt more round and softened, her eyes widened and a little more shiny, her mouth really downturned. She is often so collected and poised, so the entire change in her demeanor in this scene was very clear to me yet I've never seen people talk about it before for some reason.

It's like Mel was being in her younger self's boots again in both a literal way and metaphorical, asking the question she really wanted the answer to all those years ago. She wasn't councilor Medarda here, she was just herself, Mel.

Not only that, but I think it was done to show that Mel, who has a lot of power over the council,has a higher standing than most characters we see in the show and often holds her head so high, has her moments of weakness and loss of said power when her Mother arrives. so much so you could see it visually with your own eyes, how she was often smartly placed in a way that her eyes looked down on whoever she spoke to, until Ambessa came in the picture and she instead stood higher than she is, and it just proves the fact that Mel is weak to her, that she is still but a confused child in comparison to Ambessa, it's like we see her from her Mothers eyes rather than ours.

Because she banished Mel when she was younger to piltover for a literal decade, she hadn't watched her grow up or grow at all, she didn't see her control the reins of her own life, so it would make sense that Mel is still that little girl she knew before.

It sort of reminds me of how jinx has two different faces (you can check out bridging the rift for that) , a sharper and dangerous kind and a more rounder, innocent and chidlike kind. When Vi found Jinx and got reunited with her, the softened version of her appeared as if it was Powder rather than Jinx, that she was powder again, Vis little sister. But then Caitlyn appeared and so did the firelights, and we see her get more aggressive, losing the softness, reverting back to Jinx again.

So I really do think the same thing is happening with Mel, she often has this elegant mask that she wears that makes her cunning, sly, powerful, uncontrollable, which falls down immediately once she is faced with the SAME person who had gotten her to wear that mask years ago, only for her to put it back on again, and for it to fall yet again in the end.

Although Mels main parallel is with Viktor (which i do wanna talk about in a future post), the similarities she has with Powder&Jinx is insane, considering that they're both extremely different from one another.

This might get edited soon to be written properly, I apologize for any mistakes.

[citruslullabies]

Hello! I’m a little nervous but I want to request something. You can refuse to do it if it makes you uncomfortable! I really love your Writing! It’s about Poppy playtime! More specifically, Dogday and the Player. This is after the Events in the factory and the Prototype is dead. So I want this fun little parallel between Catnap and Dogday. Where Dogday is very grateful towards to Player and has considered even Secretly worshipping them. Because The Player has saved him, gave him back his legs, and Now lets him live with them with Poppy and KM. So Catnap worshipped the Prototype since he was Catnap’s Savior. Dogday Considers Worshipping His Angel/Savior. You can Do what you want with the Idea though!

Of course you can ask for this hon! And thank you!

Trigger warnings: obsessiveness, not exactly yandere but worshipping, god and worshipper dynamic kinda

Romantic/platonic: unspecified

Requested by: anonymous

Category: fluff

Ship (romantic or platonic): Dogday x reader

Word count: 449

Your Saving Grace

Isn't it ironic how different cats and dogs are, yet how similar? They love and admire in similar ways. It's no different with Catnap and Dogday. Catnap worshiped the prototype, and Dogday worshiped his angel.

The only difference is that the canine was more subtle, not wanting to freak you out. But he'd do little things to keep his obsession in check and stay in your good graces. You were his everything, his savior. His angel. His god.

He hadn't even noticed how he stared off into space looking at you, until you let out a nervous chuckle. “Uh.. is everything alright? Is there something on my face??” You asked with pure obliviousness.

He quickly snapped out of it and blinked, shaking his head a little bit before chuckling. “No, angel. I'm sorry, I just got a little distracted.” He had stated, smiling at you happily. You truly were his everything, he could restate everything you liked and disliked and tell you every crook and cranny about your face if you really wanted him to, even tell you where your missing hair ties went. But that's just because of how observant he was, he wanted to know everything about his savior.

He hated how much he sounded like Catnap in his own mind, he felt like a hypocrite. But he was forever grateful to you for saving him, for healing him and taking care of him. How could he not be a little crazy over you? He sighed softly as he saw you get up, noticing the time. You always seemed to get up at this time to make tea, every day on the dot. He adored how easy it was to keep track of your schedule, even if it felt a bit creepy. He watched you from the living room, how you'd pour your hot water over your teabag and stir in two spoonfuls of honey and sugar. Your hands were so sweet, he couldn't help but to admire the very hands that stitched him up.

His attention was very quickly shoved into a state of worry when he heard you hiss in pain, getting up and going over to you. He tilted his head with confusion. “What's wrong? Are you okay?” He asked.

“Yeah, I'm fine.” you responded with a sigh, glaring down at your cup of tea that held the same liquid that splashed out over the side when you picked it up and burned you. Dogday frowned and carefully lifted your hand up, kissing where it was burned before helping you over to the sink to run cool water over it to ease the burn.

He hated how much he was like that stupid cat.

Thanks for requesting!

[stayconnecteed]

❪⠀🪐.⠀ethereal roses⠀𓏔⠀hwang hyunjin⠀❫

☆ㅤhwang hyunjin x afab!reader ( valentine's collab oneshots )⠀★⠀3.1k words

synopsys: even before he knew your name, hyunjin already knew your dog's. it had been difficult not to, considering that you shouted it on a daily basis in the park where he walked kkami. but he wasn't complaining: thanks to jisung he had been able to meet you, and and after a slight confusion, being able to see you again, and then again, painting your future in a lovesick red, as pure as the one in the roses that had brought you two together.

note: this is the last part!! with this oneshot our valentine's collab comes to an end. it was a pleasure to work with you, mana! i had so much fun 🤍

Before even learning your name, Hyunjin already knew your dog's. It had been hard not to when you were shouting it on a daily basis in the park next to his building, and even more so because of the name you had decided to give the poor animal. To hear such a pretty girl exclaim "Soju!" while laughing as he walked Kkami was a sight to behold. The little King Shepherd puppy you owned had never approached Hyunjin's dog before, but loved to jump and run around next to you, wagging his tail at an astonishing speed and looking at you as if you were the one who hung the stars in the sky every night. Hyunjin ended up understanding Soju perfectly, as every time he looked at you the sparkle in his eyes was the same.

It had all started when you had moved into the building across the street. Hyunjin lived in a fifth-floor apartment, and the flat he saw from his living-room window had been empty for as long as he could remember, until suddenly it hadn't been. He had seen you one afternoon after work, when he had gone down to Kkami for his evening walk, talking to the truck driver who had just dropped off what looked like a rolled-up mattress on the ground with the help of his co-worker. All he had thought about at the time, apart from the fact that you were going to be a new neighbour, was how beautiful you were, the reflections the sun created in your hair if you turned slightly, and the colours he would have to blend to get all the shades that merged into your strands.

The first time he'd heard you shout your dog's name was two days later, in the same park he was heading for when you'd first arrived in the neighbourhood, when he had just gotten there. You had run past, with your eternal smile plastered on your lips, your flashy yoga tights clinging to your skin, and Soju chasing after you amidst joyful barking. It had been quite an image. The same image he had caught himself trying to sketch that very night, instead of writing in his journal, before turning out the light to go to sleep. It was at that moment that he knew that even though you had not yet been introduced, you were already a part of his life.

And from then on he couldn't stop seeing you everywhere. It was like he had unlocked a new character, like when you noticed the presence of someone you thought was a stranger to you, then suddenly they weren't, and your day-to-day life was totally parallel, your paths coinciding but never crossing. He would come out of his room in the morning ready to make a coffee, and he would see you cooking breakfast in your pyjamas, in your kitchen. When he looked out of the window, on his stumbling way to the bathroom for his morning shower, and you were in the street, Soju hopping around you again, happy to be out for a walk. As he went downstairs to the park for a short walk with Kkami before work, you were again in your front door, Soju watching from your window as you put on your helmet, and Hyunjin watching you ride off on your bicycle.

In the morning, in his office, he couldn't stop thinking about you, neglecting his work as a art director more often than recommended to shut himself away in his personal studio, analysing colours, mixing them in his palette, remembering... All to find the perfect tones for your features. But the frustration of not succeeding could get the better of him and soured his mood, making him highly irritable until the end of the day. Then he would say goodbye to his colleagues and employees with the smile of someone who knew he was going home, when in reality all he wanted was to see you again.

He had just enough time to get to his flat, get Kkami on his leash and go out into the street again, but with a changed mood, heading for the park. And after waiting a few minutes sitting on his favourite bench, he would always see you arrive at your building, pretending to read a book he couldn't even remember the synopsis of, with your hair blowing in the wind. And you'd hurry up the stairs, eager to greet Soju, a few minutes later you'd be back on the street, ready to play with him. Because in the afternoons you never walked Soju. Every second between the trees was spent playing with him, with branches or his little red ball, or even running between passers-by.

But even though it was a habit he had developed, to include your routines in his even if you had never spoken a word to each other, he didn't have the confidence to do anything else. His friends had encouraged him to introduce himself, to strike up a conversation with you, to ask you out on a date, but he couldn't. The awkwardness gripped him, his natural shyness forming a lump in his throat, freezing his muscles as soon as he saw you appear. So he would just admire you from a distance as you played with your dog, as you danced around your living room, as you went to work... While he did nothing about it.

At least until one of his best friends asked him to stop by a florist's to pick up a bouquet of flowers he had ordered for his girlfriend. And when he walked up to, entering that little shop squeezed between two buildings, the one he had spent so many afternoons walking past on his way home, and saw you through the glass, he had to pull back suddenly, hiding from you, his cheeks flushing. He didn't know if Jisung had done it on purpose or not, but he was going to kill him anyway. He considered for a moment not going in. Surely Jisung would have time to come by and pick them up before his date, and he could go back home, regretting that he hadn't seized the moment. But he cared too much about his friend's girlfriend to deny her some nice flowers on Valentine's Day, so he gathered up his courage and secured his hand on the doorknob, opening the door.

our face lit up even before you knew who had entered, welcoming the new customer with a warm smile, but your eyes had a most excited gleam in them as you made eye contact with him, recognising him. And Hyunjin knew. He knew and his heart filled with pride, allowing himself to dream that you could feel the same way he did. And you greeted him, a soft, melodic "hello", and he greeted you back, his words certainly shakier, his curved lips mirroring yours. And for a few moments you watched each other, his eyes roaming over your features for the first time so closely, taking in the details, memorising every mole and wrinkle, those cute ones that formed at the corners of your eyes when you smiled. And he felt your gaze on his face too, his cheeks turning crimson.

"Which flowers are you interested in?" you asked, your swift hands fiddling with a discarded piece of stem from the bouquet you had just prepared.

"I... huh," he closed his eyes in a quick blink, focusing on the reason he had come in the first place, placing his hands on the counter to gain strength, "I'm here to pick up an order. Under the name of Han Jisung.”

"Oh," he could see the moment when your face fell, turning hurriedly, rummaging through the loose papers in a notebook on the cabinet behind you. "Yes, I... Yes, a dozen red roses."

"I thought they were orchids," Hyunjin uttered, before he could contain himself, frowning. "I could have sworn... I know she likes orchids."

"Well, there's a bouquet of red roses ordered under that name," you said, your shoulders still tense, your back to him. He heard you sigh before you turned around again, offering him a smile that was nowhere near as bright as the one you'd flashed when he'd arrived. "I can make you an orchid one, if you wait a while."

"Really?"

"Yeah, sure," but there was a sad tinge in your voice.

You rolled up the sleeves of the thin jumper you were wearing and disappeared into the back room. Hyunjin had not had a chance to observe the place as much as he would have liked, his attention directed entirely towards you, but he had marvelled at the magical place he found himself in. From the outside, the establishment was clean glass and old wood, but inside it was a forest straight out of a fairy tale. There were fake trees, some branches even painted on the wall, and ivy falling from the ceiling, lit in a warm, cosy light. The tables were covered with little ready-made bouquets, vases of flowers of all sizes and colours everywhere, a chaotic myriad of scents that created a soft and enchanting perfume, in a setting that should have felt overwhelming but was actually pleasant.

He was flashing a lovesick smile when you returned, holding a pot in your hands, and followed you with his eyes until you reached the table in the centre of the room, full of ribbons and laces, bits of stems and loose leaves, wrapping paper and various filler plants for the bouquets. You kept your head down, working quickly, and Hyunjin watched in amazement, admiring the way you expertly pulled out the flowers and cut the roots, preparing the stem as you thought it would look best, adding a few fresh leaves to match the white of the flowers with a refreshing green colour. By the time you had finished, laying the bouquet with heart-breaking delicacy on the wooden surface of the table, you simply whispered to him how much he had to pay for the expenses.

Hyunjin left the flower shop with a sad look on his face, your masterpiece resting in his hand as he sent a message to Han, agreeing to drop by his office to leave the bouquet. He was sad to have to give it up, the only piece that tied him to you, and after handing the flowers to his friend, scolding him for not choosing his girl's favourites, he returned home looking pained, defeated by how badly the first 一and probably only一 time you had seen each other had gone. The walk with Kkami lasted less time than usual, releasing him from the leash and letting him run wherever he wanted while he kept his gaze fixed on the entrance to the park, anxiously waiting to see you enter.

But you didn't. And while it was getting dark and he was going back into his flat, ready to pour himself some alcohol and drown himself in the sorrow, or the apparent rejection you had destined him to, you had decided to spend the night in your best friend's place. Hyunjin couldn't see the lights in your apartment on, but he couldn't see Soju either, so he realised that you weren't there, that you didn't want to be there, and that maybe you were the one who had felt rejected. Even if he was head over heels for you, even if he couldn't think of anything else, even if now that he knew what you smelled like, what you looked like up close, he knew he wouldn't be able to sleep until he had you in his arms. He'd seen the way you'd looked at him, how you'd locked eyes, how everything had disappeared around you as soon as he'd entered the shop and you'd recognised him. That connection could not be faked.

So he locked himself in his studio. And instead of mixing the colours he knew would form every shade of your skin, every strand of your hair, the kaleidoscope of your eyes, he let his heart bleed onto the canvas, a chaos of beiges and reds intermingling in the image he had conjured in his mind: the dozen red roses he had seen on the counter when he arrived, the one Han had ordered for his girlfriend. He poured out all his frustration using the brush as a channel, the colours sliding down the canvas of the frame as tears fell down his cheeks, angry, desperate, desperate... And when he finished, the smell of the paint overshadowing the memory of the perfume he remembered in your shop, he tried to grasp every word exchanged, every absence of interaction that had led you to this situation. And he understood.

Because in his eagerness to help his best friend's forgetful heart, he had forgotten to consider yours, and how his words might have been interpreted. He had lost himself in the romanticism he so adored, and had let you think the bouquet was for a date of his. He knew how it had happened, what you had thought. He knew why your smile had faded, and why you had needed to fetch the flowers from the back room when you had more in the shop, why you had put so much effort into his orchids. He knew because he would have done the same 一the sudden sadness, the time alone to avoid crying in front of someone, to give the best of you even if it was hurting like the worst wound... And he smiled, when he realised, in the middle of the night, determination warming his chest like a blanket on the coldest day of winter, that he just needed to explain it to you to start from scratch.

So he waited. The night felt like an eternity, the hours didn't go by fast enough, going to work was a misery. He hadn't seen you yet, and he already missed your silly dances in the kitchen at seven in the morning, the variety of sundresses you wore with tights and a big coat, how adorable you looked on your bike. God, he missed your voice. Even Kkami noticed his nervousness, chasing him around the flat at noon, when he had come back with the excuse to have lunch just because he wanted to find out if you were at home. He'd relaxed slightly at the sight of Soju dozing in the living room, but assumed you'd be working, so the afternoon's work hours went by pretty quickly, the certainty that he'd see you again in the park turning him into a giggling and excited mess.

He was waiting for you, once again, sitting on his bench. He hadn't bothered to bring a book, he couldn't distract himself, he wasn't capable of it anyways. While Kkami wandered around the lawn and amused himself chasing pigeons, he kept his eyes fixed on the entrance to the compound, his heart skipping a beat every time a person entered. But none of them were you, and his mood dropped as the afternoon progressed. Had you been so hurt that the possibility of seeing him made you walk Soju in a completely different place? He had been a fool. Deep down he knew it wasn't his fault, that it was just a few poorly chosen words, but it wasn't your fault either, and you were the one who was suffering the most.

And he couldn't allow it. Not when your heartbreak was avoidable, when he reciprocated your feelings so fiercely. So he got up, a high-pitched whistle spilling from between his lips to call his pet, and when he was sure the dog was following him he made his way to your building. He hooked the leash back on Kkami's harness and looked for your front door, hurrying when he saw that one of your neighbours was leaving at that very moment and racing down the hallway. He knocked on the wrong flat a couple of times once he got to the right floor, until a kindly old lady informed him that the cheerful pretty girl in the fifth lived in apartment E, and after thanking her he stopped, taking a moment to breathe.

He felt that everything was going very fast, but he was not sure if time was running out or if the accelerated rhythm of his heart had something to do with it. He seemed to be trapped in a movie, and couldn't stop smiling, starring in his own k-drama. He walked towards your door, knees trembling, clenching his hand into a fist to release the tension before pressing the doorbell, his chest rising and falling in an accelerated pace. He waited a few moments, listening to his heartbeat in his ears, swallowing saliva in agitation. Until you opened the door, the blue sundress you must have worn to work still hugging your body, Soju's curious figure at the end of the corridor, your face taking on a gesture of confusion.

"Go out with me" he blurted, his eyes wide, surprised at the way he had uttered the words, his eyebrows curving with concern at your possible response.

"I... Huh, what?"

"You, go out with me" he repeated, more confidently, feeling the material of Kkami's leash in his hand like an anchor to reality, "one dinner, one date."

"But..." you protested, looking back at the bouquet of red roses you had in the doorway, the edges of the petals already somewhat ruined, a sorrowful reminder of what had happened, "your bouquet...".

"They weren't for me," he explained, an incredulous laugh breaking through his chest, his face glowing with happiness, "they weren't for me. I was picking them up for a friend".

"They weren't for you" you repeated, looking into his eyes, the world once again disappearing around you.

"They weren't for me" he murmured, nodding, your lips curving into a reflection of the smile Hyunjin had on his lips.

"One dinner, one date" you affirmed, your cheeks taking on a reddish hue, exhaling a pain that seemed to have settled in your chest and that you were finally letting go of.

And in a catharsis of relief, found feelings at the door of your flat, and the joy of a beautiful crush, Hyunjin said goodbye, promising to pick you up the next day around eight o'clock. You closed the door slowly, leaning your back against it and smiling like a teenager. Hyunjin returned to his flat with a heart filled with happiness, and as he looked at the painting of red roses, he no longer thought of what he had felt when he painted it, but of all that was to come.

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[scarletttries]

Roman Roy x Shiv's Best Friend!Reader Headcanons (Succession Request)

Pairing: Roman Roy x Shiv's Best Friend Reader

Rating: Fluff

Word Count: 1.6k

Request: "Hi! If you’re still writing for succession, can I suggest headcanons for dating Roman while your shiv’s best friend? No pressure of course!!"

Author's Note: Celebrating his win this week, here's some headcanons for Roman Roy falling in love with his sister's best friend 🥰

- No matter how much time passes, Roman can still vividly remember the first time he saw you. It was a Tuesday afternoon, shrouded in monotony and teenage angst, sat at the dining table closely guarded by a tutor who'd been hired to make sure he got at least a passing grade to finish high school with. Despite being nowhere in sight he could still feel the oppressive judgement of his father breathing down his neck as he struggled to understand the notes laid out in front of him, the frustrations rising inside him and threatening to spill out in tears as his tutor joked that 'this should be easy!' Then the sweet sound of laughter cut through the pressure and the noise, like a windchime chirping out the loveliest tune in the middle of a storm, whipping his head around to find the source.

- It had taken two weeks of pleading and a thorough background check, but Shiv had finally been allowed to have a friend over to the house. You had been her classmate for years, but as you both readied yourselves to head off to the same college next year, you two had grown that much closer, your friendship cemented as you planned parallel lives on that first step into adulthood. Your first time visiting her stately home you found yourself pulling your school blazer more tightly around your shoulders, the echoing fortress sending a chill through you, its classy interior feeling hollow and uneasy. As you drifted through winding corridors Shiv led you into a grand dining hall, throwing her designer bag on one end of the oak table and saying you two could finish your homework here before you go upstairs to her room.

Despite the tutor's protest that Roman needed all the concentration he could muster, Shiv only laughed and set about teasing her brother for his supposed incompetence. Despite only a few months difference in your age, he looked so small to you, younger and more vulnerable, like he hadn't quite stopped being a little boy yet even as he strived to become a man.

"I remember that module from last year - don't feel bad, it took me ages to understand it all. You'll get there." You threw him a soft smile as you pulled your own folders from your bag, earning a scoff from Shiv and a hopeful look from Roman. Your gentle kindness seemed to lift his spirits and take the weight off his shoulders, the rest of his afternoon spent throwing desperate glances your way, mentally pleading for you to stick around and smile his way again.

- You and Shiv only grew closer as you shared a college dorm, more often than not visiting her during the holidays and giving her an ally in the misogynistic environment she called home. Each time you visited, Roman had grown up a little more, transforming from that meek boy to a young man who at least considered himself charming, even if that wasn't exactly what anyone else thought. You always found that no matter how confidently he drifted into the seat next to yours, catching up in easy conversation as old friends do, you couldn't help but still see a flicker of that sad, scared boy you had first met in his eyes, a part of him seeming to never really heal from whatever a childhood spent as a Roy entails.

- You and Shiv had so many milestones passed side by side, so in turn Roman was there to celebrate you with each one. It was hard to tell whether he applauded you or Shiv more loudly as you walked across the graduation stage, and when you landed on the first step of your chosen career ladder, the biggest gift basket you recieved was proudly signed 'Love, Roman.' He was there with a housewarming gift when you got your first apartment, a bouquet of flowers for every birthday, and all the while insisted he'd do the same for any of his old friends.

- His lack of subtlety made it easy for you and Shiv to deduce his true feelings, your best friend slightly disgusted by the thought of anyone dating her little brother, but the softest part of her knew you'd make him happier than anyone else could, two decades of friendship a testament to your positive impact on the lives of those you cared about. And after a few less than successful romances with big city executives who couldn't stop bragging about what they brought to the table, you couldn't help but enjoy the thought of spending more time on the receiving end of Roman's loving gaze.

- And so you put yourself out there, accompanying Shiv into the Waystar building on a Friday afternoon and giving Roman an overwhelming rush when you tapped lightly on the glass door of his office, giving him the same sweet smile you had offered him in consolation all those years ago. The advantage of a glass office was that you could clearly see the way he bolted upright in his chair, running his fingers through his hair as he awkwardly half-jogged to the door and flung it open with more force than he intended.

"Fuck, hey! What are you doing here? Do you need me to help you find Shiv?" He seemed almost out of breath as he spoke, voice wavering in pitch, trying to get a hold of himself.

"Actually I came to see you. I wanted to know if you were free for dinner tonight?"

"Like me, you, Shiv, maybe Ken?" His forehead creased as he spoke, frowning at the uncomfortable flips his stomach was executing in return for your eye contact.

"No, just the two of us? Like a date." You clarified, watching the gears turn in his head as if the request he'd so often fantasized about making didn't actually make sense when uttered aloud. Finally the penny dropped along with his jaw, his eyes growing wide and wild as he nodded in silence, unable to conjure the words he needed for once in his life. Taking pity on him, you spoke again, "Cool, what time do you finish here?" As you gestured to the desk behind him, you seemed to remind him of where he was - in his work place, in plain view, stuttering and tripping over himself for all to see. That wouldn't do.

"Uh - i'm done now. Fuck it, let's get out of here." In a singular moment of courage, Rowan grabbed the jacket he'd discarded over the back of his chair in one hand, and reached for you with the other, letting out an excitable giggle as you laced your fingers through his for the first time.

- After the most comfortable first date you had ever been on, Roman gave you no chance to get bored of him, or think about anyone else. After decades of pining, he decided that one night was enough to make him your boyfriend, quickly planning his whole life around you, and making sure an evening couldn't pass without you on his arm. His heart still hammered in his chest every time he got to touch you, but he tried to ignore that and act as if you had always been together, partly because in his head he had been yours for years, even if you hadn't been his in return yet.

- You both have to endure a lot of jabs and taunts from Shiv, although at least half of them are made with love. She makes a serious affair out of dividing up your time between her and Roman though, not willing to lose her best friend even if her brother is the happiest she's ever seen him.

- For Roman you feel like a comfort blanket at every family event, a physical reminder of the kindness he deserves and that there is someone good in this world that cares about him. When his father is especially vindictive or cruel, Roman clings to you under the table, a gentle squeeze of your hand meaning safety to his fragile inner child.

- Roman has spent so long captivated by you, desperate to be in your favour, soaking in the warmth of presence, that now he can't get enough. Given his lack of meaningful adult relationships he doesn't have a frame of reference for how he should act, or how to manage his emotions. He'll feel like a frantic teenager in love, unable to let go of your hand no matter how difficult it makes navigating a crowd, discussing moving in and plans that span 'forever' after only a few dates. It makes perfect sense for him, because you're the only person that's made him feel this way his entire life, so of course you're going to be together forever.

- Every time you plant a soft peck on Roman, he'll let out a sweet hyena giggle, before repaying you with a matching kiss, euphoric in his newfound appreciation for affection. It's not just physical affection either, although he does find himself clinging to you and begging you to run your fingers through his hair and down his back. He cherishes every sweet word you say, almost to the point that he really believes them. He rereads the texts you send him like they are poetry in themselves. His heart swells when you describe him as your partner and introduce him to your friends, not ashamed of him or your feelings, making Roman stand a little prouder in himself.

- That first moment of kindness that you showed Roman sparked a small light inside him, a flickering hope of a life of kindness and joy that he could only ever picture with you. Now getting to face that reality is so much brighter than that young, stressed, despondent boy could have dreamed.

[hoseokslefteyebrow]

The Anomaly || JJK

Chapter 5: It's Like That

summary : In which you're isekai'd from your (own) parallel Jujutsu Kaisen universe to the canon universe.

wordcount : 2.8k

Pairing: Jujutsu Kaisen X Reader, eventually Character x Reader (idk who yet tho)

Masterlist | Next

The mission you guys were called for was in fact, not top secret. That mission was about a week ago now. Your current mission? Also not top secret. 

In fact, the four of you have just wrapped it up. It was in the city, and now, you're all left with what to do for the rest of the day. 

" I think I'll go see a movie. "

Yuuji shares, scrolling through his phone to see the many titles which are currently playing. 

" What about you, Kugisaki? "

" It's still early. I think I'll go see a movie. "

" What about you, Y/N? "

Over the past week, you found yourself growing closer with Megumi. It was quite silly. The Megumi of your universe didn't exactly get along with you all that well. Your Yuuji could stuck to him like glue, but your Megumi and you could not sit in the same room for longer than an hour before the two of you start bickering. (Yes, it went down between the two of you that often.) On the rare days, the two of you would get into a physical fight.

That usually ended with you annoying him to no end, considering your fighting style revolves around other people their movements. It would eventually also escalate with him using his Ten Shadows technique on you (yes, you manage to piss him off that bad, that often.) Which in turn, would send you running. Usually to Sukuna. Not necessarily because he could beat the Ten Shadow technique, but simply because no one but you ever dared to bother Sukuna. It was a simple, unspoken rule. One Gojo loved to disrespect often. 

" Ah, I think I'll join Nobara. "

He nods while you grin, linking arms with Nobara who mirrors your expression. 

" Alright. I'm heading home. "

Moments later, Megumi is on his way home. 

" I'm going to the movies, what about you guys? "

Yuuji asks, waving his phone as you and Nobara are stood on the staircase leading towards the metro station. You let go of her, in turn of facing him. 

" What are you watching? "

" Human earthworm 4." 

He looks so proud as he says that. 

" Who even watches that?! I haven't even seen 1,2 or 3." 

" I think you'd be fine jumping in in 4-" 

Yuuji begins, explaining the plot to her. You cringe. It's not your type of film. 

" -So the theme is actually love! " 

Yuuji exclaims, all excited. You blink.

Ew, worm man. 

" I don't want to see some wormo man. Regardless of the theme. "

" It's human earthworm though. "

" I'm not going. "

" Awe, Y/N, what about you? "

" Uhm, no thanks. That movie franchise is... Not my thing. "

" We're gonna go shopping. Wanna join? "

" I just said I'm going to the movies! "

" Okay, see you later then. "

" Later Yuuji, have fun! "

The two of you walk along for a moment, agreeing about how stupid the whole concept of human earthworm is, when-

" Excuse me, do you know Itadori Yuuji? "

-

Moments later you, Nobara, and a girl whose name is Yuko, find yourselves at a simple cafe, as she explains the situation to you. 

" This is me at our middle school graduation ceremony. "

She hands her phone to Nobara, and you peek over her shoulder. Woah, now that's a glow up. 

" Woah, wait, that was only six months ago! What happened to you? "

" You did have quite the glow up. You're gorgeous!"

" Ah, thank you. I did grow 15 centimeters. And with moving to Tokyo and the stress of changing environments... "

" Woah... You're a real Sato Kuruko. "

" That's Itadori. -"

She's showing the two of you a different picture now. You recognize Yuuji in a different school uniform, only noticing now that he's really growing better into his features.

You hadn't gone to the same middle school as Yuuji in your own universe, instead, you were home schooled with the other kids of your clan. It's where you and Noritoshi learned to get along so well. He was a bastard child, yet next in line as the chief because of his technique. You're rejected because of your technique. 

" On graduation day, I worked up the courage to ask him for a picture. I actually wanted to get his number too, but it was already decided that I would be moving to Tokyo. " 

She continues to explain, her eyes downcast, a little sad about the memory.

" So when I saw Itadori earlier- I thought maybe with how I look now, I might.... "

You and Nobara catch on, giving each other incredulous looks. 

" Wait, Yuko, you mean-"

You begin, looking at her like some sort of silly cartoon, Nobara finishing your sentence for you. 

" - it's like that? "

Yuko replies with the same energy.

" Yes, it's like that. "

Barely a moment later, Nobara is calling someone. Ijichi, who was on his way to drop off Megumi. It doesn't take any effort for the driver to turn around. You doubt Megumi is aware of it.

" Someone who knows Itadori well is on his way here now. Let's hear what he has to say. "

" Uhm, if either of you are also interested in Itadori... "

Yuko starts, though Nobara's deadpan expression pulls a giggle from you. 

" No. "

Her eyes look dead serious as she says so. 

" Even if hell and earth were to dance the lambada, not happening. "

You snort at her words. 

" Yeah, you don't need to worry. I'm not interested either. " 

You smile reassuringly at Yuko. A few moments later, Megumi has arrived at your table, looking agitated. You smile at him. 

" All right, what's the big deal? "

" Hey Megumi, does Itadori have a girlfriend? " 

Nobara doesn't waste time today. She's getting straight into business. 

He raises a brow at her. 

" Hue? "

" This is Ozawa Yuko. She's actually something, something and something like... "

Her explanation is shady, both her and your expression serious. 

He breaks out a sweat, understanding the situation. 

" So it's like that? "

Both you and Nobara nod, sweating the seriousness of the situation as well. 

" Yes, it's like that. "

He ends up sitting down beside you. (Figure out the seating plan yourself, I'm not gonna make it complicated.) With a black coffee. 

You will never understand his preferred taste. 

" I doubt it. He didn't seem particularly upset about moving to Tokyo all of a sudden. And he's got one of those posters hanging up in his room. Anyone with a girlfriend wouldn't put up something like that, right? She wouldn't like that. "

Meanwhile, Nobara seems to be more concerned about his choice of drink. 

" Are you the type who drinks coffee black around girls to show off? Please stop. "

You blink as well, suddenly curious. Was he? 

He's annoyed by her words. 

" Don't forget, you're the one who called me. And I always drink it black. " 

Yuko finally speaks up now, an adorable blush on her face. 

" Um, by the way, do you happen to know what his type is? "

" A tall girl with a big ass. "

Both Megumi and Nobara turn to blink at you. You blink back at them. 

" What? I grew up around him and his- around him. " 

You blush in embarrassment, realizing you could be wrong. There's been enough proof of differences between your universe and this one after all. 

" Well, you're correct either way. He mentioned something about liking tall girls. "

Yuko, Nobara and you seem to communicate telepathically, like some kind of electric signal spreads between the three of you. You clink your glasses together, and Nobara slams her phone on the table. 

" You've got a shot! I'm gonna summon Itadori! You're okay with that right, Yuko?! "

She nods. 

" Yes! "

The messages between them are silly, and fast. And now, all that's left to do is wait. 

Not that you have to wait long. Soon enough Yuuji joins the scene, a paper bag of stuff in his hands. 

" Oh!, Fushiguro's here too? " 

Both you and Nobara blink. That was fast. 

Suddenly, you hurriedly glance at Nobara. She hadn't told him why he needed to come. Hadn't told him about Yuko. There was no way he could recognize her when she changed so much- Nobara seems to realize too, sweating the situation, holding out her hand to quickly introduce the two of them to one another. 

" Itadori! This girl is-"

" Oh!, it's Ozawa. How did you end up here? "

All three of you are impressed. Holding up imaginary 10s for his recognizing skill. 

Yuko and Yuuji end up spending the rest of the afternoon together, with Megumi, Nobara and you tagging along behind them. Megumi even felt soft enough to hold Yuuji's stuff for him. 

" Was that really okay, they could've at least exchanged numbers. "

Megumi points out, as Yuko leaves by train later that afternoon. You agree. Kind of. They had seemed to hit it off after all. 

" She exchanged hers with me, so it'll be fine. More important, Fushiguro, Y/N, I've finally recognized my own feelings. "

Both of you give her a curious glance. 

" Hue? "

Was she about to admit to having feelings for him? You shouldn't be surprised. The two got along really well, after all-

" The idea of Itadori getting a girlfriend before I get a boyfriend really pisses me off. "

Maybe not. You grin at her words, an imaginary embarrassed sweat drop running down your brow. 

Of course she'd say something like that. That sounds more like her. 

Megumi doesn't seem surprised. 

" Is that so? "

" Sorry for the wait! " 

Yuuji jumps back in between you and Nobara. 

" Walk behind me. "

You blink at Nobara's words. 

" Huh, what's this? What're you talking about? "

Yuuji seems confused. A feeling you relate to. Megumi doesn't seem to care. 

" Here. "

He's handing Yuuji back his bag of stuff. 

" Here, while you're at it. "

" Huh? What's this? "

" Wouldn't you feel bad for making a lady carry them? "

She's handing him her own bags now. 

" Sure. "

Yuuji doesn't seem to mind. 

" Want me to carry your stuff too, Y/N? " 

You smile at him, shaking your head. You're only holding one plastic bag loosely between your fingers, the bag full of snacks. 

" Oh, shoot! The movie's about to start, let's go! " 

Yuuji's jogging before any of you actually can check the time. 

" Hey! Wait up! Don't take my stuff with you! There's no way I'm watching some wormo man! "

Yuuji ignores her words, turning to Megumi. 

" Fushiguro, Y/N, wanna grab some popcorn? Fushiguro, you like caramel flavoured right? " 

" Don't just assume we're all going to watch wormo man. "

" I told you all, it's human earthworm. 4! "

-

You regret watching human earthworm 4.

There had been a little too many horror like sound effects and jumps in it, and now you didn't feel like sleeping. Your fear of horror films was a bit childish, but it rarely bothered you. 

And so you find yourself leaving your dorm. You want to make dumplings. But you don't have all the ingredients, so you need to go to a 24h convenient store. 

" What're you doing? " 

Your skin shivers before you jump, turning around to face the intruder who's sneaked up on you. 

" What the- Don't sneak up on me like that! "

Megumi blinks plainly at you. 

" Where are you going at this hour? "

" 24h convenient store. I can't- I'm gonna make dumplings. "

" Why? Do you really need to at this hour? Don't we have some in the freezer from the last package Yuuji got? "

" Yeah, but I want to make them fresh. "

Megumi blinks at you again, before sighing. 

" Okay, well, give me a second to change. I'm coming with you. "

You hadn't even realized that he was in his pijamas. You're in your pijamas too, an oversized sweater and a comfortable pair of leggings. You don't feel bothered enough to change though. 

A few moments later, he returns. 

" Okay, let's go. "

Thankfully, the walk towards the convenience store is short. Only 10 minutes. The silence between the two of you is comfortable, as you walk side by side down the stairs of Jujutsu Tech. 

You eye the forest surrounding the school grounds warily, like something might jump out to attack you any second. Like you don't have powers that literally render every living creature. Megumi glances down at you, realization finally making it's way into his brain. 

" Are you afraid of the dark? "

The wrong realization. But don't worry, he'll get there. 

You blink. 

" Oh, uhm, err- something like that. "

He's admittedly puzzled. So you weren't afraid of the dark. Maybe you've had a bad dream? He doesn't decide to push it. Instead, he softly takes your hand, holding it in his own, distracting you from your fears. 

You glance at him, a blush on your face. You smile gratefully at him, squeezing his hand as your peaceful silence returns. 

It doesn't take you long to get the remaining ingredients, and soon enough, the two of you are back at the dorms, now stood in the kitchen. 

" Thanks. You didn't need to come with me you know? " 

You smile at him as you unpack the bag. He blushes, looking away. 

" I wasn't going to let you go alone at this hour. "

He mumbles it, but it's just loud enough for you to hear. 

He eyes you preparing, before moving to stand at your side, nudging you away. 

" I'll cut up the vegetables. "

" Ah, thank you. "

There's a certain peace that resides between the two of you as you work in the kitchen together. It was nice, getting to know him this way. Your Megumi and you would've been bickering already. 

Once you've set the dough, you help in cutting up the remaining ingredients. Noticing he's deciding on the amount of ginger to cut up, you smile at him. 

" You can add extra if you'd like. "

He raises a brow at you. 

" You like extra ginger? "

" Not necessarily, but you do, right? "

He blinks, his eyes open in amazement. How did you know that? 

" Does your universe's Megumi like extra ginger too? "

You shrug. 

" Not sure. We don't actually get along that well in my universe.- I noticed you ordered that chicken dish that's ginger based, and how you were measuring just now. I just put one and one together and guessed. "

The quick smile you send leaves him blushing once more. He smiles at you. He hadn't realized you were so perceptive. 

His eyes return to his chopping work. 

" Tsumiki used to make dumplings with me when we were younger. "

You smile as he softens around you, before your features sharpen. 

" Oh, right, I completely forgot about it, but I wondered if I could visit Tsumiki sometime? I healed her in my universe, you see. "

Megumi's eyes widen, the grip on the knife he's holding loosening. Were you that powerful? You mentioned being able to use reverse cursed energy, but were you really able to apply that to illness as well? 

" I- you healed her? With your reverse cursed technique? Why? I thought we didn't get along in your universe? "

You nod. 

" That's true. Our relationship in my universe is hard to explain. I wouldn't borrow the you from my universe my charger, but if he'd need a kidney I'd offer it. We originally did get along. Until something silly happened. Gojo introduced us at a young age. "

Megumi's eyes remain wide. In all honesty, he was mostly still surprised that you might be able to heal her. He also didn't exactly understand how your universe's version of himself didn't like him. You were amazing. And if he were to be selfish, he wished you'd stay. 

" Hey, you guys are still up- what are you making? "

Both of you turn to see Yuuji standing in the kitchen's entryway, holding an empty bowl he must be returning. The moment is gone, the conversation something you'll return to later. 

" Yeah, we're making dumplings, wanna join? "

The Anomaly Taglist:

@luxylucylou @kalulakunundrum @strxbxrrylover @aethersslave @jenniferrvsesi

[nataliaphantomhivesblog]

Prince Soma: possibly being the key that causes Ciel to have a conflict with Sebastian?

I don't know if im the first one to notice how Anime!Abberline and manga! Prince Soma have some very striking parallels when it comes to their relationship to O!Ciel, which made me realize a few things.

First of all, I do think that some concepts of season 1 in general do parallel to the manga. Here's an excellent analysis on the topic if you want to dive deeper on that area.

Alright, let's start with me drawing some parallels to make this analysis more digestable, and then explaning how this will theoretically give us a conflict between the demon butler and our petty child.

Basically, Abberline drawing the similarties with our earl due to a shared trauma/tragedy: They both lost their families, but one learned to heal from the event, and the other completely refuses to accept happiness. (guess who's who, lol)

Fundamentally, O!Ciel is creating a hypothetical comparassion: If he hadn't gone through his personal tragedy, then he would've been as naive and innocent as Soma.

Something to consider about this parallel: The narrative in both cases textually highlights the similarities between Ciel and Abberline/Soma.

O!Ciel saying he only needs pawns, and that he has no time to have real emotional connections with people.

O!Ciel saying he uses people as pawns and doesn't see Soma as a friend, he doesn't need him by his side.

Notes to take here:

In both of these instances, o!Ciel refueses to form real human connection.

Both of these convesations spark up due to confrontation about o!Ciel's true intentions and nature.

His face is turned on both scenes/pannels, making us question how genuine o!Ciel's words are.

"Keep your distance from me, or you'll get killed" - Ciel to Abberline, season 1 episode 20

o!Ciel explicitly stating why he kept Prince Soma at arms lenght. He didn't want him and Agni to get hurt/killed in result of their closeness to our earl.

Things to point out:

o!Ciel's entire reason to push people away is because he doesn't want them to get hurt, so his earlier refusal to cut ties with others is due to fear and hestiance to accept love.

Abberline got hurt because of his relationship with o!Ciel, likewise with Soma. Causing our earl to display emotional reactions in both cases, demostrating he does care for the people close to him.

While Abberline ended up dying due to his closeness to our earl, Soma did survive the attack in chapter 125, but a part of him died with Agni as shown in the image below:

Remember when o!Ciel said that he would've turned out like the prince if it weren't for the amount of abuse and grief he went through? Well, isn't it ironic that Soma is turning out exactly like o!Ciel after losing Agni: Turning his back to salvation, his heart longing for revenge after the injustice he was put through.

(I also want to point out, Yana had made a statement that Prince Soma was originally going to die instead of Agni, but changed her mind in respect for Agni's character.)

Now, lets run back to the title of this post:

"You do have a chance to move forward, to build a brand new future for yoursef. Don't ever forget that, promise, you won't." - Abberline, Black Butler season 1, episode 20

Before our dear investigator dies, he states that he wants o!Ciel to open up his world despite his desire for revenge.

How does this connect to Soma's resolve and his relationship to Ciel? Well...

Here, our prince boasts that he wants to become o!Ciel's "Agni." In other words, he wants to provide his friend with love and protection, creating a positive worldview for the earl, who continues to turn away from the light.

It's important to note that this was before Soma thought o!Ciel killed Agni! But of course, I feel like his initiaal intentions to help o!Ciel will come back when he finds out o!Ciel isnt the true killer. (also, Soma now has Agni's powers, so atleast physically, he already has his strenght that he will hopefully use to protect the ones around him.)

So, now what?

Anime!Abberline and Soma having a similar resolve for o!Ciel, as well as their relationship with him. (as if it isn't clear enough, Abberline died protecting o!Ciel, making the earl realize his own life has value).

Prince Soma has his back turned away from the light, and o!Ciel will witness this eventually. I think it's crystal clear that our earl wouldn't want the prince to make this decision, but wouldn't that make him doubt his own quest for revenge?

Circling back to Yana intending for Soma to die, there could be a chace for him to die while becoming o!Ciels "Agni", causing o!Ciel to realize how Soma died protecting him due to love and not bc of revenge, making him question everything about his own resolve??? Plus, if o!Ciel willingly gives his life now, then that would make Soma's sacrifice worthless.

There could be a slight chance, Prince Soma survives this whole ordeal, and completes his mission of protecting o!Ciel without dying. In this hypothetical, he would then decide to florish again and go back to india, which could give o!Ciel a similar relazation that maybe, his life is worth living, just like Soma's.

In the anime, Abberline's sacrifice causes our earl to truly question his contract with Sebastian, as well as his need for revenge.

This causes the demon to feel obvious anger towards his master. And throughout the following episodes, he desperately attempts to make the earl feel hopeless again. (he clearly doesn't want to lose the meal he has been working on for years).

In conclusion:

Theres plenty of textual evidence that Soma and the earl have lots in common, especially now that the prince lost someone and vows to get revenge.

o!Ciel and Soma's relationship with revenge as of now are in a similar stance, but Soma's initial idea of protecting o!Ciel and living for love instead of revenge will come in fruition soon enough.

What would be the point of having glaring obvious parallels, and not taking advantage of them to further create a long awaited conflict between the two main characters, additionally developing them?

Anyways, that's all I have to say folks! I hope you enjoyed my take and please, let me know your thoughts:)

[ninjakk]

Hey!!

I recently saw someone claim that Wei Wuxian was starved of conversation on his journey to Yiling with Lan Wangji and Wen Ning and so board he needed to chat to people before they ascend the mountain. I hadn't really noticed this until it was mentioned. What do you think of that scene?

I love your meta and fics btw. You use your understanding of the novel in your writing and it's just *chef's kiss*

Hi anon 👋🏻

Personally, I've not seen any comments regarding the above - but we can certainly look at the text in question 😊

Let's take a look at the scene in question:

Several days later, they arrived in Yiling.

The Burial Mounds were less than five kilometers ahead of this small town. Although they didn’t know exactly what awaited them there, Wei Wuxian had a feeling it wasn’t anything good. But Lan Wangji was right by his side, his gait steady, his gaze cool. Wei Wuxian had never been one with any sense of crisis to begin with, and with the way Lan Wangji looked, he was even less likely to get nervous at all.

Passing through the small town of Yiling, he was awash in the sounds of the local accent. It was invigorating and incomparably endearing. While he wasn’t planning on buying anything, he couldn’t help but strike up conversations in the local dialect with the street vendors. Only after he’d had his fill of socializing did he get down to business.

“Hanguang-jun, you remember this town, right?”

7S translation

So the scene opens with WWX gushing over how safe and happy he feels around LWJ. He's just so thankful to have someone by his side, someone he can fully depend on and is there for him, should he need it. This very much echoes his thoughts from when they began their descent from the Cloud Recesses, at the start of their journey here. For someone nearing the place he met such a gruesome end at previously, he seems incredibly content and calm - all thanks to LWJ. So straight away, we are reminded of how WWX feels around the other man. It's there for a reason, to set the scene. WWX is relaxed and enjoying himself because he's with LWJ.

They have just arrived in a city he is very familiar with. It's the place he both lived as an orphan and frequented as a man while residing at the burial mounds. He is surrounded by the accent of his "home" for the first time in over 13 years and it's making him feel sentimental. I also think it's a great parallel between when WWX finally visits Lotus Pier in the coming chapters and how desolate and subdued the place has become since JC became sect leader.

I think the above reaction is very normal considering the emotional impact it obviously had on him. WWX has already stated on numerous occasions that LWJ makes him happy and he enjoys his company, but he's also very sociable and likes to look around markets and chat with vendors - there's even a scene in the novel which states as such and many other examples. Although WWX is running around chatting and exploring the stalls, LWJ is still by his side. Doing so does not subtract from his obvious enjoyment of having LWJ's unwavering presence.

We see more than enough evidence that WWX happily chats to LWJ and that he, in turn, even responds and asks questions also. There seems to be this mind-boggling misconception that LWJ literally doesn't speak, and if he does he's like some caveman that can't communicate effectively, when it's the exact opposite. LWJ talks when necessary and is very succinct with his words - he's a true gentleman of their time. Of course, in comparison to WWX, he's much less chatty - but when he does talk it's sincere and relevant. WWX loves this about him! He's also an incredible listener and doesn't miss a single thing WWX says, which WWX also appreciates! Hardly anyone listens to all his ramblings and holds them all so dearly!

It's funny, because although WWX chats to anyone and everyone, it's obvious he enjoys conversing with LWJ the most. He treasures the fact they are on the same wavelength and understand each other implicitly 🥰

Aww! Thank you so much anon! I'm glad you are enjoying my meta and fics ❤️

I hope I managed to answer your question! Have a lovely day 😘

[variousqueerthings]

thing about rose, for me, is that she wasn't there first -- this in a "she was first in nu!who in the sense that this was the first person to travel with nine, and the first person since the timewar, and the last person that nine was with, to the point that ten was born out of that experience/modelled on her."

and in that framing, I am a big fan of her haunting of the narrative, because it start outs with her placing herself inside the doctor's ribcage and rebooting their ability to want to feel things, but unfortunately rose is still a human, like every human the doctor travelled with before, it's just that the doctor forgot how to steel themself against that inevitability because of the circumstances around meeting rose

this is The thing that I find tragic about martha, because I think she could have been that person, if she'd been the first person post-timewar to travel with the doctor, but because she's coming in during bleeding-heart times, she's got to deal with triage instead. and yes, there are wonders, and yes, there are good times, but for a lot of it, it's shrapnel, and I think if it hadn't been, she would have had a very different attitude towards *waves hands* space and time travel and aliens and the universe (one where she wouldn't be the person trusted with something like the osterhagen key)

and donna had a sense of that Space the doctor was in post-rose (she canonically stopped the doctor from dying in runaway bride) and stepped away from it, and didn't get back to the doctor until some of that hole-in-chest had been bandaged up, which martha did a great job of, but didn't get to really benefit from, and I think that's the sad thing about martha jones, is that she absolutely got a taste of the beauty and the splendor, but never without all the violence and heave weight that was put onto her

which, again, she seems to have been very aware of, considering she joined UNIT and Torchwood. her eyes were barely ever rose tinted (no pun here) during her whole journey in the story. martha really is in my opinion the most tragic companion (that I've met so far, I know Adric straight up dies, but maybe he had some fun times before that?), because yes, donna loses her memories and rose is in a parallel universe, but that's more tragic for the doctor -- they've both built lives

in donna's case there's probably a lot of imperfection in that life, but clearly a lot of joy as well, with her and her husband and her kid and her mum, and I'm sure she'd have preferred to be the donna who saw the universe and was splendid, but martha never gets to forget, and has to continue her life one step out of sync of everything she could have been

which, maybe her life is pretty flipping fantastic, but we really don't know, which is the biggest thing I side-eye about the first nu!who era. that whole weird ending with the sontaran and mickey is like... anti-character work, it answers nothing and it makes very little sense

all I know about her at the end is that she more than anyone saw the doctor's life and became a soldier (still a doctor as well, but...) because that was the work she saw needed doing, and she's the kind of person who does what needs doing. but is she... okay? youknow?

but going back to the original point, is that framing martha through the lens of rose is all well and good in the sense that rose is the reason the doctor is at that emotional point when he meets martha -- although donna absolutely had a very big hand in that as well -- but once we've established that, martha's arc is martha's arc, and it's dull to me to frame it as the "rebound" arc or even particularly about alloromanticism (including -- and this is why i get why people do it in fandom -- some shit said by rtd, which is just less interesting than what I get out of it, so shhhh)

she's got so much going on, and her relationship with the doctor changes the trajectory of her life, and it's in many ways a more interesting and far less straightforward trajectory of bad-to-better that many companions get -- it's a wonderfully complicated narrative that (and again, I get that some of this comes from within deliberate framings of the text, even though I think it's more than open enough to do more with, death of the author and all that -- but certainly not all of this is text either, some of it is ignoring what is actually there) is done a disservice by not going through the real messed up fascinating extraordinary shit that's going on during her era + arc in s4

but also... is she ok? I want to know. it's one of my top three burning questions, since we're getting a bit of best-ofs of the noughties DW era, some of your crimes can be righted by a simple bit of martha mr davies

[densewentz]

I have a lot of feelings about season 2 obviously, mostly that it was brutally fantastic, but it really serves to highlight the main difference between Crowley and Aziraphale's understanding of loss. long angsty analysis under cut

Because Crowley already knows what it is to lose Aziraphale. I mean really lose him. He fell to the floor in the burning heart of the bookshop thinking Aziraphale was dead and gone. We get to see in fantastic living color how broken it leaves him. He's forced to spend time wallowing in the hopelessness of it before Aziraphale is miraculously back. Then cut to heaven during their ruse, where Crowley is standing there in the flames with Gabriel grinning maliciously in his face, telling the love Crowley just got back to shut up and die. If that scrap of prophecy hadnt found them, if they hadn't been quick enough, clever enough, Crowley would have lost him again. For Good. For Ever. That entire scene, from the cropped cut of Crowley twisting Aziraphale's wrists in their bonds all the way through to the end, Crowley is in a visibly barely contained rage. He's quiet, and still. These are the beings that have been tormenting his love for centuries, who tried to take him away once already and want to take him away from Crowley again. And it boils in him in the same combination that makes terrified dogs Bite. And we see the lasting effect that fear has on him throughout season 2. It drives almost every interaction Crowley has with other characters, particularly in his vehemence that Jim!Gabriel not be anywhere near Aziraphale. Crowley is able to word for word quote that moment back to Jim!Gabriel mostly unprompted because I guarantee its just been repeating in his head since the archangel showed up in the bookshop. He needs Aziraphale safe in that desperate and agonized way you can only feel if you already know what its like to lose them. And the entire season he's combating the fact that the biggest threat to Crowley's love is sitting in his livingroom and Aziraphale keeps handwaving Crowley's trauma away.

Which brings us to Aziraphale. Aziraphale who has never had to experience losing Crowley. His demon is always there just on time, always at his shoulder and on-call. Aziraphale has no concept of the depth of Crowley's grief during the time Crowley thought he'd died in the bookshop, and no idea the damage Crowley's incognito trip to heaven had on him. And then parallel Aziraphale's part in the ruse. Yes, he's playing at being cheeky Crowley, but I'd bet all my money most of that was just Aziraphale relishing in doing what he loves to do: Dramatizing. Watch his scene in hell compared to Crowley's in heaven. Aziraphale is having a blast. To him its a stage production, a clever trick he gets to play. Michael pours 'Crowley' a holy water death bath and it just makes Aziraphale grin because he knows it wont work. He plays it up, wings the water at the demons, makes silly demands, asks the angel who would have killed Crowley to bring him a towel. It's a joke to Aziraphale, because he never even seems to consider (as Crowley obviously does) the reality that if they hadn't swapped places Crowley would be dead. That Michael came grinning down to hell to destroy him. Forever destroy him. And Aziraphale even giggles about it to Crowley on the bench. Aziraphale has no reference or context of what it would be like to actually lose Crowley, it'd be unheard of, so he never processes what could have happened in the way Crowley does. And we continue to see that ignorance crop up in season 2. His dismissal of Crowley's fears as being silly, the way he never once seems to worry for Crowley's safety even with the other angels and hell minions in the room. Michael and Beelzebub are right there. The two who would have seen Crowley turned into nothing. But there's just not the awareness of the threat to Crowley (or himself, but thats another problem) that Crowley inversely possesses. And it all boils down to the simple fact that Aziraphale has never ever lost Crowley. Until now. And you can see it beginning to process post-kiss. You can see it in Aziraphale's face as Crowley dons his glasses and turns his back on Aziraphale for real. This is going to be the beginning of Aziraphale learning what it is to lose his love, and its going to be absolutely heartbreaking yes, but also completely necessary to his growth.

There's that wretched little saying "you don't know what you've got until its gone". Crowley's learned that lesson the hard way already. I guess now its Aziraphale's turn.

[duck-takes]

Fair warning in advance: I got a bit carried away and this became a lot longer than I meant it to be. Sorry about that, hopefully you don't mind...?

That being said I still can't believe DT17 managed to drop the ball with Gladstone and Fethry so badly. Their debute episodes were great and there was SO MUCH set up there for future opportunities and then. Literally nothing came from it. Like what. Even them reuniting with Della is steamrolled over when everyone else got their chance to properly reunite. Honestly it wouldn't annoy me as much if the two weren't put in the most messed up situations in their debute. Yeah Gladstone has been held prisoner in a casino for who knows how long being used as an all you can eat buffet by an ancient spirit! And nobody in the casino besides said spirit was even real! But he's an entitled jerk so who cares lol. Oh and Fethry? His family stuck him under the sea, all alone, for years and refused to answer his calls, even when it was warning them of the danger the facility was becoming. He literally could have died! But he's the family weirdo so it's fine lol. Like how do you just casually set that all up and then brush it away right after, especially when the show was doing great about handling those types of things prior?

What's crazier in my mind is how they directly parallel Donald and Della. Glad and Don had both met the kids before the show kicked off, were both held as prisoners by a more powerful force, and then were both effectively isolated from the outside world. Gladstone had the company of the man actively using him while Donald had a melon. Meanwhile Della and Fethry never met the kids before the show started, were both completely isolated for years, and their calls went unheard by their family. Della took the Spear and Fethry agreed to go to the lab, but both are shown to regret/be upset about their situation later on. Plus while Della's transmissions were never received, Fethry's calls were straight up ignored. And this isn't even tacking on the other cousin parallels, like Donald and Fethry both using items (and creatures) as friends given that's all they have and Della and Gladstone both having to see the world they couldn't freely return to (Earth from the moon and the city through the windows) right in front of them while isolated. Then you have other characters you can draw parallels to, like Lena also being used by an evil, magical force and Webby's struggles with being the "weird" eccentric kid. They set up so many good opportunities and then just. Never go through with any of it. It's like they just hit a character reset button after the eps are done and start over again. It's so frustrating!

Plus the way they're treated makes others feel OOC in some cases. Scrooge "family is the greatest adventure of all" McDuck is fine letting his nephew drown at the bottom of the sea? He doesn't like said nephew because he takes him on "pointless adventures" when Scrooge himself has done the same damn thing? They both found something they considered interesting, offered their family to go on an adventure to see it to which they agreed to, only for it to end up being nothing exciting for said family. Looking at you Golden Cricket. Only Fethry gets bashed for it and Scrooge shrugs it off for himself. Like c'mon man. Then Donald "nobody gets hurt today" Duck is fine with leaving his cousin alone in said unstable underwater laboratory? Is fine with ignoring his other cousin's call for help? I know he doesn't like Gladstone but the implication both him and Scrooge would have been fine ignoring his call if the kids hadn't butted in isn't helping their case. Actually why is it that the kids are sorta responsible for saving their uncles/cousins both times? What's up with that? Ah and of course my favorite example, Scrooge "I hate magic" McDuck berating his nephew for his luck and then in the next breath talking about how unstoppable he'd be with that same luck. (Per the DuckTales: Solving Mysteries and Rewriting Histories! book which Frank Angones confirmed was canon.) And don't even get me started on how the kids treated Fethry at first. Just. Since when are they that rude, especially given how Fethry acts rather similar to how Webby did in Beagle Boy Massacre. The so called weird person that has been in isolation for quite some time and isn't the greatest socially. Why are they suddenly so harsh with him when they were a lot more relaxed with her? It's just so odd to me.

Final point before I leave you be but the Moonvasion bit where Scrooge calls them all his kids makes no sense at all because of all the prior set ups. At no point leading up to Moonvasion had he treated Gladstone and Fethry with any real respect. Heck it hardly felt like he treated them like family most of the time. The closest we got to that was him tricking Toad to let Glad free...only to immediately ditch him in Macaw to go see a bug right after. He basically abandoned Fethry for over 4 YEARS and then acts like that never happened. Was it a cute moment? Yes, admittedly it was. Does it make any damn sense? Not at all. Just. What the fuck. You had so much there and then did nothing with it. It's just so annoying yet also rather sad to see all that potential get flushed away so quickly. I get that they only had so long to do things and them two weren't a huge priority for the crew but man. It still sucks to see.

Anyways the tldr is that DT17 had great opportunities to do more with Glads and Feths and then just Didn't and I find that both sad and frustrating. Sorry again for kinda going off, I do love DT17 but just. I don't think I'll ever get over how Gladstone and Fethry were treated. They're my favorites and it stings to see them getting screwed over in one of their very rare animated appearances. Technically Fethry's first and only. Man. I'm not sure if this is a hot take or not honestly but um. Yeah! That's my two cents on the matter. Oh and if anyone wants receipts for the DT:SMaRH! book reference and canonicity comment I can share! I will say that outside some questionable Gladdy bits it's actually quite an enjoyable book. Own it myself! I will also admit that I'm pretty bad about looking too deeply into stuff, so I may also just be overthinking a lot here ha. It is fun to do though! Anyways finally getting off my rocker now, keep up the great work here admin and I hope everyone reading this has a nice day! :]

GO OFF ANON!! THIS IS SO TRUE

[cringelordofchaos]

Ultra Chaos Knuckles

A fan-design for an imaginary form of Knuckles, where he uses the power of the Master Emerald - made by me!

Already posted about him before; here and here , hadn't gotten much better lol

I dont think he would almost ever, in any situation, use the master emerald for himself, or even for others! His sworn duty is protecting it, and not using it. He can't trust others with it, including him, he would probably think no one would even deserve to wield it's powers in the first place, it shall only be guarded from those who may abuse it. He wouldn't think he would have any more privilege or trust with it than others.

...but, in a hypothetical situation where the potential of the master emerald being the only choice, the only chance of salvation for everyone; would he ever consider?

In any case if it ever would come down to it, I have already said this before; but he would probably be extremely, extremely guilty about it, and ask the master emerald itself first. And would swear in everything, that this is the first and last time he or anyone is every going to use it. And that he would accept any form of punishment that would come with using it's powers, or making a mistake.

Nevertheless, for the right purposes, the master emerald would let him wield it's powers, and oh BOY are they powerful.

As you can see he is GIGANTIC. I was gonna make him more gigantic but then you wouldn't even see the sonic he's holding in his hands everso gently.

Holding many celestial powers at once, I swear in a fanfic concept I had at the back of my mind this makes sense.

Many cracks and veins visibly running through his celestial body, alongside the enourmous scars, are supposed to show that in this state, despite how powerful he really is, it is disgustingly painful to bear.

All the colours of the chaos emeralds are also intended to be visible in the ultra Chaos Knuckles design.

(I apologize for the bad name - it was the first thing I came up with on the spot lmao. And now I'm just used to it)

The moon on his chest is based off of the fact that knuckles' canon design thingy on his chest is based off of the moon crest, to parallel sonics Sun belly or whatever.

Also - rings ! Just thought they'd be a nice addition, also in sonic lore you COULD say they symbolize life in some way.

Feel free to ask me anything Abt him !!! Or the AU I'm thinking of !!!