#each universe is fictional within the other
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Dc x Dp Prompt #9: Fictional Crush
AU where DC comics are a thing in Danny’s universe and Danny reads them and is a huge superhero nerd even before he becomes Phantom. Once he gains more power in the Infinite Realms (not 100% necessary to be king) he discovers he can dimension travel through the realms (or with the infi-map), including “fictional” universes.
He thinks it’d be cool to check out and occasionally pops in to fanboy and visit. On one of these visits he runs into his fictional crush. Now he has to try to play it cool so they don’t end up thinking he’s some kind of weirdo or stalker.
Oooorrrr
Inversely, Danny Phantom is a real cartoon in the DCU and through some sort of shenanigans Very Important and Very Real Danny/Phantom ends up in the DCU. People are either trying to confirm their headcanons or play it very suave and cool to impress their fictional crush.
(I’m intentionally leaving this ambiguous so use whoever you want in whatever direction you want but you already know my go to is Dead on Main)
#dc x dp#danny phantom#danny fenton#each universe is fictional within the other#trying to make a good impression on your fictional crush#Strega’s dc x dp prompt
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Me: i'd listen to some fiction podcasts but most of what i hear of these days is horror and i'm not really into horror-
Also me, upon learning there is The Magnus Archives spin off series: Alright i'm listening to the whole The Magnus Protocol Now.
#carpet talks#Actually. Is there maybe some horror fiction podcast that has similar vibes to The Magnus Archives?#I'm not into horror as whole but the way it's lot of small stories read by a within universe character#and how later through episodes these stories expand and connect to each other and stuff#that's what i enjoyed a lot in TMA#and definitely would enjoy in some other horror podcast#but idk
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Disney's Wish
Look, Disney's Wish has been universally panned across the internet, and for good reason.
It’s just…kind of okay.
When we sit down to watch a Disney film—you know, from the company that dominated the animation industry from 1989 to (arguably) the mid 2010’s and defined the medium of animation for decades—we expect something magnificent. Now, I could sit here and tell you everything that I thought was wrong with Wish, but if you’re reading this review, then I imagine that you’ve already heard the most popular gripes from other users across the web. So, let me focus in:
The biggest problem with Wish—in fact, the only problem with Wish—is Magnifico.
Whoa, that’s crazy! There’re so many things about Wish that could’ve been better! The original concept was stronger! The music was bad--
I hear you, I do. But stay with me here, okay? Take my hand. I studied under artists from the Disney renaissance. I teach an adapted model of Disney’s story pipeline at a University level. I spent a ridiculous amount of time getting degrees in this, and I am about to dissect this character and the narrative to a stupid degree.
First, we need to understand that a good story doesn’t start and end with what we see on the screen. Characters aren’t just fictional people; when used well, characters are tools the author uses (or in this case, the director) to convey their message to the audience. Each character’s struggle should in some way engage with the story’s message, and consequently, the story’s theme. Similarly, when we look at our protagonist and our antagonist, we should see their characters and their journeys reflected in one-another.
So, what went wrong between Asha & Magnifico in terms of narrative structure?
Act I
In Wish, we’re introduced to our hero not long into the runtime—Asha. She’s ambitious, caring, and community-oriented; in fact, Asha is truly introduced to the audience through her love of Rosas (in “Welcome to Rosas”). She’s surrounded by a colorful cast of friends who act as servants in the palace, furthering her connection with the idea of community but also telling us that she’s not of status, and then she makes her way to meet Magnifico for her chance to become his next apprentice.
Quick aside: I'm not going to harp on Asha as a character in the context of Disney's overall canon. Almost every review I've seen covers her as a new addition to Disney's ever-growing repertoire of "Cute Quirky Heroines", and I think to be fair to Asha as an actor in the narrative, it serves her best to be weighed within the context of the story she's part of.
As Asha heads upstairs for her interview, we're introduced to the man of the hour: Magnifico. He lives in a tower high above the population of Rosas, immediately showing us how he differs from Asha; he’s disconnected from his community. He lives above them. He has status. While the broader context of the narrative wants us to believe that this also represents a sense of superiority, I would argue that isn’t what Magnifico’s introduction conveys; he's isolated.
Despite this distance, he does connect with Asha in “At All Costs”. For a moment, their goals and values align. In fact, they align so well that Magnifico sees Asha as someone who cares as much about Rosas as he does, and almost offers her the position.
… Until she asks him to grant Saba’s wish.
This is framed by the narrative as a misstep. The resonance between their ideals snaps immediately, and Magnifico says something along the line of “Wow. Most people wait at least a year before asking for something.”
This disappointment isn't played as coming from a place of power or superiority. He was excited by the idea of working with someone who had the same values as he did, who viewed Rosas in the same way he does, and then learns that Asha’s motivations at least partially stem from a place of personal gain.
Well, wait, is that really Asha's goal?
While it's not wholistically her goal, it's very explicitly stated & implied that getting Saba's wish granted is at least a part of it. The audience learns (through Asha's conversation with her friends before the interview) that every apprentice Magnifico has ever had gets not only their wish granted, but the wishes of their family, too! Asha doesn’t deny that this is a perk that she’s interested in, and I don't think this is a bad thing.
So, Is Asha’s commitment to Saba selfless, or selfish? I’m sure the director wanted it to seem selfless, wherein she believes her family member has waited long enough and deserves his wish granted, but we can’t ignore the broader context of Asha essentially trying to… skip the line.
Then, we get our first point of tension. Magnifico reveals his “true colors” in snapping at Asha, telling her that he “decides what people deserve”. This is supposed to be the great motivator, it’s meant to incite anger in the audience—after all, no one gets to decide what you deserve, right? But unfortunately for the integrity of the film and the audience's suspension of disbelief, at least part of Magnifico’s argument is a little too sound to ignore:
Some wishes are too vague and dangerous to grant. Now, there’s visual irony here; he says this after looking at a 100 old man playing the lute. The idea that something so innocuous could be dangerous is absurd, and the audience is meant to agree.
... But we’ve also seen plenty of other wishes that might be chaotic—flying on a rocket to space, anyone? The use of the word vague is important, too—this implies wording matters, and that a wish can be misinterpreted or evolve into something that is dangerous even if the original intent was innocuous. His reasoning for people forgetting their wish (protecting them from the sadness of being unable to attain their dreams) is much weaker, but still justifiable (in the way an antagonist’s flawed views can be justified). The film even introduces a facet of Magnifico’s backstory that implies he has personal experience with the grief of losing a dream (in the destruction of his home), but that thread is never touched on again.
What is the audience supposed to take from this encounter? If we’re looking at the director’s intent, I’d argue that we’ve been introduced to a well-meaning young girl and a king who’s locked away everyone’s greatest aspiration because he believes he deserves to have the power to decide who gets to be happy.
But what are we shown? Our heroine, backed by her friends, strives to be Magnifico’s apprentice because she loves the city but also would really like to see her family's wishes granted. When this request is denied and she loses the opportunity to be his apprentice, she deems Magnifico’s judgement unfair & thus begins her journey to free the dreams of Rosas’ people.
In fairness, Magnifico doesn’t exhibit sound judgement or kindness through this act of the film. He’s shown to be fickle, and once his composure cracks, he can be vindictive and sharp. He's not a good guy, but I'd argue he's not outright evil. He's just got the makings of a good villain, and those spikes of volatility do give us a foundation to work off of as he spirals, but as we’ll discuss in a bit, the foreshadowing established here isn’t used to the ends it implies.
While I was watching this film, I was sure Magnifico was going to be a redeemable villain. He can’t connect with people because he's sure they value what he provides more than they value him (as seen in “At All Costs” and the aftermath), and Asha’s asking for more was going to be framed as a mistake. His flaw was keeping his people too safe and never giving them the chance to sink or swim, and he's too far removed from his citizens to see that he is appreciated. Asha does identify this, and the culmination of her journey is giving people the right to choose their path, but the way Magnifico becomes the “true” villain and his motivations for doing so are strangely divorced from what we’re shown in Act I.
Act II:
His song, “This is the Thanks I Get!?” furthers the idea that Magnifico’s ire—and tipping point—is the fact that he thinks the people he’s built a kingdom for still want more. Over the course of this 3:14 song, we suddenly learn that Magnifico sends other people to help his community and doesn’t personally get involved (we never see this outside of this song), and that he’s incredibly vain/narcissistic (he's definitely a narcissist). I think feeling under-appreciated is actually a very strong motivation for Magnifico as a character-turning-villain, and it works very well. It’s justified based on what we’ve seen on screen so far: he feels under-appreciated (even though he’s decidedly not—the town adores him), he snaps and acts irrationally under stress (as seen with his outburst with Asha), and he’s frustrated that people seem to want more from him (again, as seen with his conversation with Asha in Act I).
But then… he opens the book.
Ah, the book. As an object on screen, we know that it's filled with ancient and evil magic, well-known to be cursed by every relevant character in the film, and kept well-secured under lock and key. But what does it stand for in the context of the narrative's structure? A quick path to power? We're never told that it has any redeeming qualities; Magnifico himself doesn't seem to know what he's looking for when he opens it. It feels... convenient.
I think it's also worth noting that he only turns to the book when he's alone; once again, the idea of connection and community rears it's ugly head! Earlier in the film, Amaya-- his wife-- is present and turns him away from taking that path. In her absence, he makes the wrong choice.
This decision could make sense; it contains powerful magic, and if it were framed in such a way that the people of Rosas were losing faith in Magnifico’s magic, as if what he can do might not be enough anymore after what they felt from Star, going for the book that we know contains spells that go above and beyond what he can already do would be logical. Along the lines of, “If they’re not happy with what I do for them, fine. I, ever the “martyr”, will do the unthinkable for you, because you want more.”
It would keeps with the idea that Magnifico believes he's still trying to help people, but his motivation has taken his self-imposed pity party and turned it into resentment and spite.
But, that’s not the case. Instead he talks about reversing that “light”, which has had no real negative or tangible consequences on Rosas. Everyone had a warm feeling for a few seconds. Again, it’s meant to paint him as a vain control freak, but… he hasn’t lost any power. The citizens of Rosas even assume the great showing of magic was Magnifico.
Act III
Then, we get to the consequences of opening the book (and perhaps my biggest qualm with this film). The book is established as being cursed. Magnifico knows it, Asha knows it, and Amaya—who is introduced as loyal-- knows it. The characters understand his behavior is a direct result of the book, and search for a way to save him. This is only the focus of the film for a few seconds, but if you think about it, the fact that his own wife cannot find a way to free him of the curse he’s been put under is unbelievably tragic. Worse still, upon discovering there is no way to reverse the curse, Magnifico—the king who built the city & “protected it” in his own flawed way for what seems to be centuries—is thrown out by his wife. You know, the wife who's stood loyal at his side for years?
It’s played for laughs, but there’s something unsettling about a character who’s clearly and explicitly under the influence of a malevolent entity being left… unsaved. If you follow the idea of Magnifico being disconnected from community being a driving force behind his arc, the end of the film sees him in a worse situation he was in at the start: truly, fully alone.
They bring in so many opportunities for Magnifico to be sympathetic and act as a foil for Asha; he’s jaded, she’s not. He’s overly cautious (even paranoid), she’s a risk-taker. He turns to power/magic at his lowest point, Asha turns to her friends at her lowest point. Because this dichotomy isn’t present, and Magnifico—who should be redeemable—isn’t, the film is so much weaker than it could’ve been. The lack of a strong core dynamic between the protagonist and antagonist echoes through every facet of the film from the music to the characterization to the pacing, and I believe if Magnifico had been more consistent, the film would’ve greatly improved across the board.
I mean, come on! Imagine if at the end of the film, Asha—who, if you remember, did resonate with Magnifico’s values at the start of the film—recognizes that he's twisted his original ideals and urges him to see the value in the people he’s helped, in their ingenuity, in their gratitude, & that what he was able to do before was enough. Going further, asking what his wish is or was—likely something he’s never been asked— and showing empathy! We’d come full circle to the start of the film where Asha asks him to grant her wish.
Pushing that further, if Magnifico’s wish is to see Rosas flourish or to be a good/beloved king, he'd have the the opportunity to see the value in failing and how pursuing the dream is its own complex and valuable journey, and how not even he is perfect.
The curse and the book (which, for the purposes of this adjustment, would need to be established as representing the idea of stepping on others to further your own goals/the fast way to success), then serve as the final antagonist, that same curse taking root in the people of Rosas who’ve had their dreams destroyed, and Asha works with the community to quell it. Asha’s learned her lesson, so has Magnifico, and the true source of evil in the film—the book—is handled independently. Magnifico steps back from his role as King, Amaya still ends up as Queen, and Asha takes her place as the new wish-granter.
This route could even give us the true “Disney villain” everyone’s craving; giving the book sentience and having it lure Magnifico in during “This is the Thanks I Get!?” leaves it as its own chaotic evil entity.
All in all, Magnifico's introduction paved a road to redemption that the rest of the film aggressively refused to deliver on, instead doubling down on weaker motivations that seem to appear out of thin air. Once the audience thinks, hey, that bad guy might have a point, the protagonist has to do a little more heavy lifting to convince us they're wrong.
Look at the big-bad-greats from Disney's library. There isn't a point in the Lion King where we pause and think, "Wait a second, maybe Scar should be the guy who rules the Pridelands." Ursula from the Little Mermaid, though motivated by her banishment from King Triton's Seas, never seems to be the right gal for the throne. Maybe Maleficent doesn't get invited to the princess's birthday party, but we don't watch her curse a baby and think, Yeah, go curse that baby, that's a reasonable response to getting left out.
What do they all have in common? Their motivation is simple, their goal is clear, and they don't care who they hurt in pursuit of what they want.
Magnifico simply doesn't fall into that category. He's motivated by the idea of losing power, which is never a clear or impactful threat. His goal at the start seems to be to protect Rosas, then it turns into protecting his own power, and then-- once he's corrupted-- he wants to capture Star. The problem is, there's no objective to put this power toward. Power for power's sake is useless. Scar craves power because he feels robbed of status. Ursula believes the throne is rightfully hers. Maleficent wanted to make a statement. Magnifico... well, I'm not really sure.
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with greece legalizing gay marriage and everything i'm so tired of people diminishing queerness in greece to "oh your ancient greek ancestors would be proud ! alexander the great would be proud ! achilles would be proud sappho would be proud plato would be proud" etcetc.
queer rights progressing in greece wouldn't make our "ancient greek ancestors" proud because they had an entirely different concept of marriage than us, viewed women as objects to be sold and traded and only accepted homosexuality between men, or even more likely, a man and a literal underage boy.
gay rights in greece aren't benefiting some people who died a few thousand years ago or are Literally Fictional. greek queerness isn't just some ancient dionysian fantasy of feeding each other grapes and reciting poetry to each other by the sea. actual greek people who do benefit from this still exist. it doesn't honor some ancient guy who condoned slavery. it honors greek queer people who were out there protesting at the controversy this law raised with the church and actually made the effort to win this fight.
ancient greece isn't the epitome of queerness, not even close. absolutely in no way when it concerned exclusively just gay men. the epitome of queerness is the trans kid from my hometown who insisted on cutting their hair and dressing masculine even within their transphobic high school environment and strict orthodox family, or the woman who taught me programming who was married with children and realized she was aromantic fifteen years into marriage, or the gay punks who kept cops out of the university's anarchist hotspot.
greek queer people aren't history or mythology, and ancient greece isn't the queer utopia you make it out to be. we're still here, and we're fighting against the exact ideas our ancient culture perpetuated.
#🧅#if i have to hear ONE MORE WORD about achilles and patroclus i'm gatekeeping greek mythology. don't piss me off.#ancient greece sucked ass. if i were born in ancient greece as a queer person AND as an afab person i'd actually just kms.#NOTHING about actual real life queer people fighting for their rights is about them. the people who were /oppressed/ by#ancient greek society sure. but nothing about it was queer friendy or liberating.
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Bittersweet Devotion pt.2
Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x fem!reader
Cw: angst, heartbreak, mention of cheating, mention of death, no happy ending, apology, tell me if I missed any.
wc: 9.3k
Previous
Your universe, Earth-XXX, was a parallel one to Earth-616 in some sense. You had a Peter Parker, a Gwen Stacy and a Mary Jane Watson, it had everything down to the death of Ben Parker and the devastation it brought to your friend. It was the same year as Spider-Man 616’s world, it had the same political standing and same history. Your world, like many others, was a near carbon copy of 616, down to the smallest things; but like others in the spiderverse, you had differences. Some were minor changes in the course of its canon story, others were major changes in the characters and the era.
You - like Miguel, Miles, Jess, Hobart (he liked going by Hobie), Patrick and Patriv - were one of those major deviations in the original canon. You didn’t exist - or so you thought - in Peter B. or Peter’s universe even though you lived in the same year. The reason might be that in the reality, the sum of all potential universes that paralleled each other, created the multiverse - the Spiderverse.
The concept of it seemed strangely unlimited, the infinite possibilities to a different ending or a different start for its world. The multiverse was, in some sense, as old as time, a culmination of everything made imaginable by man. Found in ancient texts - the Puranas, ancient Hindu mythology - that expressed the infinite number of universes with their gods and principles. Whereas Persian literature - tales - touched the idea of learning about alternate universes that were similar, yet distinctly different from theirs.
Misconstrued by many, the strangeness of it was deemed a danger, the unknown possibilities were feared by people of older age, but venerated in the past as it was in the present for the unfathomable possibilities. It exists in fiction, where they borrowed the idea of many worlds within a reality from myths, legends and religion. Heaven, Hell, Olympus and Valhalla were all reflections of a familiar world, a material realm for the blessed, the sinful, the gods, and the worthy. The similarities sometimes frightened you, how close the people were to knowing of the reality you all lived in. The tangibility of crossing worlds and bringing about chaos to every string, every realm, every material form of the multiverse.
They, after all, were real, Hell as much as Heaven in your universe. Gods from every religion, either monotheistic or polytheistic, some you’d personally seen are Thor and Loki, brother and sons of Odin the Allfather, and the God of Thunder and Mischief respectively. Another was a big crocodile lady, Ammit, from what you’d heard from the all-knowing Dr. Strange. From God to Norse and Egyptian gods, from angels and demons, and from humans to mutants, your plane of existence was as wide as it could go without drifting off the edge and causing a mass domino effect within the multiverse.
You were curious, naturally so for a scientist, exploring the worlds that felt familiar to you but you hadn’t truly grasped - different, yet similar. You hadn’t given a second thought to exploring yours. After all, why explore yours when your horizon was as broad as you imagined it, unperturbed by any limits when it came to the multiverse? The eternal and unlimited growing number of realms in your expanding reality.
Perhaps that was the reason why you hadn’t known your universe had its own Miguel O’Hara. You rarely came back for anything, you had everything you’ve ever wanted in Nueva York, Earth-928. You have friends who could truly understand you, people who stood beside you when you fought, youngsters who looked up to you for mentoring and a dream- or it was a dream. Dreams, not dissimilar to wishes, were hopeful, naive in a way, they came and went. Some dreams would come true, while others fell, like the fallen stars that crossed the night sky.
Yours simply happened to be a fallen one, one not meant to happen and become greater. You let it go after he dropped you, after he turned his back and let his mouth run unperturbed. He brought her up, someone he swore he would remember but left in the past. A new chance to become something, to become whole again, and Miguel took it. He wanted to start anew, fresh with someone he never met, you wanted the same; you both had what you wished for, until he put his foot down, cutting the thin web that connected both your lives.
It broke your heart. Months of patience and anxiously stepping around each other, nervous about breaking the trust freshly built between you both, lost in a few weeks. You were brittle, heart fractured and threatening to fall further apart if someone was any crueller to you. The smallest glare, the tiniest scoff or the weakest remark would send you reeling into the abyss of heartbreak and the throes of anguish. Yet somehow, you found yourself being led away by a copy of the Miguel you loved.
He mumbled apologies as he held you tightly, his arm over your shoulder as he cradled you under his umbrella, hastily urging you to follow his guidance. If it were any other person, you would’ve been wary, cautious of any strangers that touched you so closely and chaperoned you so quickly; but this was Miguel, a man you trusted and that you still trusted wherever he came from. Earth-XXX’s Miguel O’Hara was still similar to the one you knew, someone you could trust. You did.
He led you to his flat, someplace near Alchemax’s building in Manhattan, a safe neighbourhood for the richer citizens of Manhattan. A cozy place of neutral tones and muted colours, yet warm as he welcomed you - a stranger as of yet - into his home. He had machinery strewn around, reports stacked on his coffee table and smaller things he had been tinkering about decorating his home. As a geneticist, he liked to play with machinery, having drawn his designs and models, built his creations from scratch and worked from the base programming to make something better. At least Miguel from Earth-928 did, and it seemed this one did as well.
You stood in his shower, where he left you in a frenzy to bring you dry clothes, drying out your hair with the towel he motioned you to use. You doubted that he had anything your size, his broad shoulders and his towering height, nothing he had in his draws - and the boxes he stowed away in his closet - would fit you. They would drag down your ankle and sit low on your collar. Granted, you were soaked down to your socks and had no temporary clothes to cover yourself with during your stay.
You had stripped from your soaked clothes and patted down your wet skin, shivering from the cold that clung to your bones even after Miguel had increased the heater in the small confines of the bathroom. It was small but big enough to move around and stretch your arms comfortably. You hadn’t felt the cold until he brought you to his bathroom, the numbness of the past months weighing heavily on your shoulders and the bleeding of your heart made everything seem so meaningless. The colours draining from the world around you, a once bright New York turned grey, the monochrome tones of black and white mixing and interlacing to form even more boring shades.
The vibrancy and life you once saw around you dulled and died suddenly, like the winters brought by Demeter’s devastation and sadness when her daughter was taken from her, stolen from the berth of flowers she liked frolicking about. How Demeter doomed the world to see her pain, to feel how she felt in the moments her daughter had to return to her husband than stay with Demeter. You felt laden by your faults and his actions. Doubtful of your relationship, of what led you both to such an ending. Had you been clearer or more forthcoming about your emotions, or had you confronted him for his behaviour, would you still be in his arms?
Were you at fault for missing something you had relied on as comfort and safety? Could you be blamed for his reaction to your meddling in his affairs in the Society? Could you blame him for dropping those words on you? After all, being reminded or compared to a past lover was anything but gentle, the gut-wrenching envy and betrayal you felt flash through you was nearly drowning. It made you feel lacking, to be reminded of his old flame, the one he was about to marry and the person he seemed to love before all. Could you even compare to what she was; what she did? (Dina had cheated on him, you knew that, but he was truly happy in their moments of pleasure and domesticity. They were a family until she died.)
You were drowning in your self-made sorrow when his voice called you, grounding you to the room. Standing before a door, naked and shivering, arms wrapping the damp towel around your shoulders. He called again, cracking the door open to pass you the - his - clothes he thought would fit you. He coughed as you took your temporary wear, your cool fingers brushing his warm ones. It was a sudden and jerking contact, you pulled back jerkingly, a shamble of an apology and a thank you flew from your tongue. His chuckle was a reassurance in the complete quietness of the flat, his low voice reminding you of better times.
The sweater hung loosely around you, dipping down your collar to expose your shoulder. It was warm, the cotton used to make it still soft after being stored away and the soothing scent of spice and pine deeply integrated into the fibres. The pants were stretched around your hips, the tight fabric thin and flexible under stress, hidden under the long shirt. The legs, however, swayed loosely around your limbs, too big for your calves, but tight enough to hug your thighs. He had certainly made sure to bring you clothes that would fit your frame. You hadn’t attempted to smell his pants, you thought it would’ve been too intrusive and disgusting to do so if only to smell a remnant of Miguel on his as you did on the sweater.
Miguel was waiting for you in the kitchen, his back turned to you as you ambled towards him. His shoulders loose and back relaxed in the presence of a stranger made you appreciate how good-natured he was in most universes you’d been to. He turned his head, gesturing you to sit on the chair facing him on the island as he returned to something he was making while you changed.
“I hope you don’t mind hot chocolate,” he started, voice light and hopeful as he turned to you, cup in each hand as he moved to stare at you. “I’m not one for tea.” He slid the warm mug into your hand, eyes watching your expression as he slowly sipped on the hot beverage.
His eyes squinted slightly when your lips curled upwards, a smile hidden by the steaming mug. You cupped the mug, feeling the warmth of the freshly brewed drink, the steam rising in soft curls and melting in the cooler atmosphere. Tentatively, you brought the rim to your lips, slowly tilting the cup. The powerful taste of chocolate hit you strongly, the sweet and dark liquid melting the tension in your muscles until you could curl over the table with an appreciative sigh.
“Thank you…” you knew his name, wanting to call him, but his reaction would be unwanted, the shock, fear and suspicion that would fill his beautiful, brown eyes. So you slurred your words, dragging out your voice until he could tell you his name himself.
“Miguel. Miguel O’Hara, ” he nodded, cocking his head upwards, pointing at you with his chin. “What’s your name? I can’t keep calling you Hey every time I want to call you.” His lips broke into a cheeky smile, teasing you when he saw that you’d comfortably melted into the drink and his island chair. He wanted to ease the tense atmosphere from before into something much calmer, to help the accumulated tension in your shoulders to fall like the rain that clouded the streets of New York.
You let out a hoarse chuckle, your throat still fresh from crying, and told him your name, trying to stabilise your shaking tone. His cheeky smirk tugged at your heartstrings, you hadn’t seen Miguel laugh or smile this freely in months. You missed it. The casual banter you shared and the on-and-off insults you’d hurl at one another, all good-natured insults meant to rile him.
“Thank you, Miguel,” you nearly choked when you uttered his name, the wound still so fresh and bleeding it slip from your tongue easily. It brought up so many memories, both painful and joyful. Your eyes glazed over, tears threatening to fall once again, to paint your cheeks with agony that you - him, or perhaps both of you - had brought on yourself. “Thank you…”
Miguel hummed sympathetically, eyes staring down at his drink, deep in thought. Perhaps he was thinking of a way to invite you to share your problems, to tell him why you broke down on the street in stormy weather. Or maybe he was thinking of the fastest way to kick you out, to get rid of the mess you became. The silence, however, was reassuring, calming the nerves that followed the eerie calmness of Miguel’s den or the loud, hectic atmosphere of the Society. His warm, worrying gaze grounded you, the softness behind his concerned stare was heartwarmingly nostalgic.
“Difficult breakup?” His words seemed hesitant, unsure of his conclusion to the cause of your appearance. Unknowingly, he had struck gold, pinning down the right problem in your life with a few observations. Of course, he was observant and aware of his surroundings, why else was he so willing to bring you into his home?
“How’d ya know?”
His sigh was telling, the deep, concerned and tired breath was only used when he knew that you wouldn’t tell him what ailed you, like the groan of a disappointed, yet worried father.
“Because I know how it feels,” he says slowly, pensive over his words, picking them carefully to not damage you further than your ex had. He knew the pain of a harsh breakup, the pain and sorrow that followed, like a dark cloud that hovered over you whenever you were awake.
“Why?” You croaked.
“Why?” he parroted, frowning at your question.
“Why did you invite me in? I’m a- a stranger to you, you don’t even know me. What if I’d been acting to mug you or potentially kill and steal from you? What’d you do then, Miguel?”
“I know the risks, but you didn’t, didn’t you? And wouldn’t, you don’t look like the person to harm another.”
You scoffed at his words. Didn’t and wouldn’t didn’t mean you would not do it later after gaining his trust, to stab him in the back after he helped you and nursed you. The simple, naïve idea that you didn’t look like a violent person was mind-blowing, it was stupid. How could he know if you didn’t mean harm later on? Like how Miguel never meant to harm you - he loved you - and yet in the end, he had.
“That’s naïve,” you muttered, eyes closed as you drank the cooling beverage, the sugary drink trickling down your throat.
“I’m confident in my ability to read people.”
He did seem confident in his ability, the straight back and the strong gaze in his eyes showed; and, maybe because you knew from experience that Miguel was observant and careful, he hadn’t gotten where he was by simply trusting people and following the herd. He tested and made mistakes, he learned from them each time and found a way to use it to his advantage. The Miguel you saw in every universe was similar in some ways, their good nature, their cunningness, their bravery and their intelligence. All aspects known to characterize Miguel O’Hara in all universes he existed in.
You conceded to his will, head bowed and shoulders slack. You breathed shallowly, swallowing the lump in your throat:
“Yeah, what gave it away?”
You thought it would be the last of him you’d see in your life, you wished it wouldn’t, that you’d see him over and over, to feel what the Miguel from your universe had to give, but you knew it was wishful thinking, a wish thrown to the stars. Logically, he had no reason to call or text you after exchanging numbers days prior. He promised to call you, and he made you promise to call him if anything ever resurfaced, be it pain, anger, heartbreak or hate. You, instinctively, believed his word.
You hated yourself for falling so easily to another Miguel, how you bent to his words and the sweet promises he uttered that night. There was no sign that he would keep his word, that he would see you again after your breakdown, except for his words and your belief in him. Then it wasn’t misplaced, all the trust and belief you had, since he called you, asking to meet up at a cafe. Miguel had set up a place and time for you when you replied with a croak, still feeling down. He had whispered reassuring words to you, urging you to meet him - he explicitly told you he’d feel offended to be stood up - and spend some time outside. The air was fresh and cool for an autumnal month, it wasn’t too cold that you were forced to wear a thick jacket, but it wasn’t warm enough for you to go out in a simple shirt.
You were hesitant to take him up on his offer, knowing how easily you could rebound. You’d crash into Miguel’s open arms, searching for the love and affection he fed you like a lovesick puppy, but, then again, Earth-XXX’s Miguel was similar, yet different from his variant. It would be a lie if you told yourself you didn’t miss him, the soft smiles, the gentle touches and the affectionate words. You had spent so much time as his right-hand Spider that it felt odd not seeing him the following morning. It was a routine you’d formed: waking up in his bed, kissing him good morning, getting to work together and eating together. Everything you’d done in the past years was with Miguel from Earth-928 the routine, the rigidity, it was grounding, it was the only semblance of normalcy in the world you lived in.
Now, you had to face the possibility that you were too broken to see another Miguel, to hold a casual conversation and form coherent and normal sentences. The purposefully slow steps you took to the cafe picked after having a moment outside the glass front were telling in itself. You swallowed the little amount of saliva in your throat to soothe its dryness and walked through the doors of the quaint establishment. It was painted in calm, brown tones, rustic in design with a warmth that rivalled the comfort of your bed. It lifted a bit of the tension you had, shoulders slumping slightly as your eyes searched for a familiar mop of brown hair.
Laying against the brown sofa, he stared out of the wide window from his booth. The warm, morning lights caressed his cheeks, lighting up the sharp edges of his jaw and nose. He was sculpted in perfection, like the youthful beauty of Adonis, crafted with the meticulous and attention-catching hands of an artist that created what was thought to be a god’s beauty. You could spend your days watching him, catching every little detail of Miguel’s face under the changing lighting, but you were standing near the entrance and he was waiting for you. His words echoed in your mind: “Don’t forget about next week, I miss seeing you.”
His eyes flickered to you, blinking as he turned to you, flashing a smile. You returned the sentiment, a shaky smile lifting the corners of your lips. You sat across from him, eyes wandering the cafe to stare at anything but him, lest you wouldn’t be able to stop the rush of emotions that would light your face in a flush. He uttered your name, greeting you in a friendly manner. You nodded back, muttering his name, pushing down the wince whenever you said it.
“Chocolate.”
The still-warm cup stared at you, light steam wafting over the reflective liquid. It was full, unlike Miguel’s cup, and drank down to the middle of the container.
“Thank you.”
He probably wouldn’t let you repay him for the hot chocolate he bought you, the smile he gave you told you as much when your eyes flickered between his and your cup. The hot chocolate was a reminder of your night in his flat, where he lent you his shoulder to cry and his ears to listen. Embarrassment seemed to flash whenever you recalled the memory, how vulnerable you were to him, your walls broken down and your heart open. Though, Miguel didn’t seem to mind your fragility, giving you as much time as you needed.
“How are you? I wanted to give you a few days to think before meeting again, I thought you might’ve needed the time alone.”
You nodded lamely, fingers curling around the warm porcelain, back slumped into the booth to hide from his knowing eyes. He was right, you had needed the time alone to clean yourself up, scour through your memories and tend to whatever mess you made of yourself. You were thankful. The last few days had brought revelations, how - both of - you had ignored the signs of a rupture in the relationship and continued to push on, like crossing a crumbling bridge.
“‘M doing better. How- and how are you?”
He smiled at your attempt, you were trying on your own after a few - forced - encouraging words from Miguel. Maybe you’d learn to live with the pain, coexisting with the numbness that filled you until it dulled to a point where it would be barely acknowledged by you or anyone in your vicinity - where it wasn’t painted on your face with bright colours. Or the pursuit to forget it, pushing it into the farthest corner of your mind and heart, painting over the crack with glue. As long as you wouldn’t drown in your sorrows, ending up playing with dangerous substances to stay afloat while your mind sunk deeper into addiction and denial.
He wouldn’t let you get that far, Miguel understood you and he lived through it as you did. Although his was a more violent breakup - she had cheated on him, his explosive reaction was natural - than yours, he hadn’t relied on anything but self-meditation and a lot of thinking. Like a friend - you were one by his standards, he’d invited you to his flat, you’d seen his organized chaos and ranted about your life while he comforted you with his shoulder and a cup of hot chocolate - he would stay by your side, hoping his support would be enough to help you.
“Great so far.”
His grin - somehow - grew even larger, enthusiasm gleaming in his eyes.
Oftentimes, Miguel would be the one to call you, your phone ringing in the afternoon of the day prior with his soothing voice on the other end of the line. He spoke easily, finding the time to invite you out for the simplest reason, to talk, to make a drink, to have fun, and - your favourite by far - to see you. His initiative had you trying to double your efforts to heal, reaching outside of your boundaries and texting Miguel whenever you had a moment to yourself. You felt guilty that he was always the one to plan these outings, so you promised yourself that you’d become a better friend than you currently were. You even remembered his teasing tone when you called him for the first time:
”Aye, finally. I thought you’d never call me, chica. I felt neglected, thought you had forgotten about me for a second there.”
It started with the first coffee date, bickering about who would pay, pushing your card before the other while still seated at your table, frowning stubbornly and throwing promises about letting the other pay next time. Either way, Miguel rarely let you pay, coming atop as the winner of your little fight with his strength and height (you couldn’t exactly put all your force into your push, it could break bone and bruise the skin.).
Then it would be random meetings on the streets that would lead you to a random bench at the park, basking in the other’s presence, retelling your day and him nitpicking anything he could with a ridiculously criticising frown. He was playing, you knew he was. You did the same after you’d gotten more comfortable talking to him, it became easier to see him as a different - as his own - person. A few hits on the shoulder left and right, but it was mostly laughter at ridiculous expressions made to emphasize your disdain for a certain event.
The months that followed were a blur to you. Rather than going to a cafe or the park, you went to restaurants and crashed at one of your flats, yours if he wanted to play games and lounge about with food and drinks, and his if you wanted to watch movies (he had the best television you’d ever seen, such high definition and speed.) and tinker away at his inventions and theories. He was certainly happy that his new friend was another scholar in the field of genes and engineering (you were mostly into engineering than genes, but you knew a few things that you’d found interesting.). You could both gush - scientifically - about the possibility of gene splicing and lab-generated mutations in humans, like the mutant superheroes.
You’d taken some liberties and went drinking, meeting at the same bar biweekly to relax after a few hard days at work. It served to loosen your nerves until either of you felt comfortable to chat up a storm about the most random subject. It’d been about the odd dent on the rim of his glass; then it’d be about how the sky was grey this week, there weren’t any warm, yellow rays blaring down on you when you went out; or it’d be about the distasteful cut of a man’s moustache. Drinking loosened your tongues, some words were said and some sentiments were shared, but none were truly taken seriously knowing you were tipsy - nearing drunk - those nights.
Every time you saw Miguel, you felt like you were rediscovering a part of yourself as well as him, the thing that made him so distinct and loveable. Miguel was expressive and honest, he slowly and gently let you down from whatever high you were, the pillar you needed to stand again after falling. He was so much different. It used to pain you how much they looked alike, but character-wise, they were like the two sides of a coin. It made you appreciate the delicate intricacies that made the multiverse.
You won’t - can’t - deny that you’ve grown fond of this Miguel as you did with the other one, but you couldn’t let yourself love him. He didn’t deserve someone broken and hashed into many lives: the masks you wore, the things you did, the secrets you hid, and the things you could do. He didn’t deserve someone who could bring him to his death; dying simply because he was connected to Spider-Woman; beaten simply because he knew Spider-Woman; kidnapped simply because they deemed him useful as leverage. All things that could go wrong haunt you. Miguel was human, he wasn’t a Spider, he wasn’t a superhero, and he wasn’t a vigilante. He was Miguel O’Hara, the geneticist working at Alchemax, with a brilliant mind and a kind heart.
You cherished every part of him. That’s why you can’t let your heart lead, dedicate how you’d react to Miguel after the months you spent together. He was so close, yet so far; he was touchable, you could hold him, kiss him and hug him, but he was unattainable, you couldn’t tell him how much you loved him. You watched him with hidden love, showing your affection as platonic, a friend watching another. You had hardened yourself to your heart’s cries, for loving Miguel was a dangerous game-
“I- what?” you gawked at Miguel, wide eyes and mouth agape. You were shocked at the words that left his mouth, his soft, wet lips moving as he repeated the words.
“I love you.”
His cheeks were flushed, burning a soft red, it trailed to his ears and nape. His open collar - his jacket hung on the back of his chair and his shirt clung below his collar, a skin-tight shirt that hugged his sculpted chest sinfully, it hid little to the seeing eyes of the crowd and your drunk self. His sudden words had all but sobered you, shaking you into clear lucidity of his confession.
“You… love me?”
He blinked dumbly at you for a second, as if taking the time to absorb what he told you and what you repeated. Miguel was tipsy, not drunk. He smiled and nodded, a bashfully affectionate grin on his beautiful lips.
“Yes, is it so hard to believe, chica?”
He often called you chica, you thought it was a friendly term of endearment between friends (truthfully and regretfully, you knew little of Spanish, even with being in a committed relationship with an Irish-Mexican.). You just realised it was his pet name for you. All this time, he had given you his heart, and yet, you had denied him of yours. He was more playful and less burdened by life, it made him more teasing and smiling. The term chica somewhat made sense, a cuter and more playful way of calling someone you loved than the deep-meaning ones like mi cielo and mi vida, a play of words like a small secret between you. This secret hid behind names given between friends, a well-kept one, close to his chest but gifted to you.
It might’ve once been - started - as friends, but it grew and festered in his heart until he found the time to express himself, to tell you how he truly felt for you - how he grew to care for you. He deemed this moment fine, bordering tipsy and nearing drunk, he’d be open, brutally honest but still aware of the words that left him. He wasn’t a lightweight anyway.
You wanted to tell him you also loved him, but you couldn’t do it, mouth slightly open and eyes glazed with heartbreak, you simply stared at him in hesitancy. You opened your mouth once to reply and closed it, open and close, again and again until all you could do was stare at him. How were you supposed to answer him after the bomb he dropped?
”Yes! I love you too!”
”Oh, Miguel, I love you too.”
”I- I love you as well.”
There were so many ways to express your feelings to the man who confessed, but none seemed to convey the true emotions that lay in your heart. You wanted to tell him you learned to love again thanks to him, that the time spent with him had made you open your eyes to the beauty that you were blinded by the pain and you slowly grew to care for - love - him as much as you did with Spider-Man 2099. He had the same smile, the same mind, the same heart, but he was more innocent, less burdened by disaster and happier.
So you simply nodded. It made his smirk grow.
“Aye- would it be better if I called you ‘mi tesoro’ instead? It’s more straightforward, no?”
Even now, his words were light and playful, his tone affectionate as he leaned closer to you. You could see the mischievous glint in his warm, chocolate eyes (you thought that was why he liked serving you hot chocolate, it reminded you of his eyes.) and the curve of his lips as they moved to form words. You were transfixed by his beauty, mesmerised by the comforting hues and the sharpness of his cheeks, missing how close he was to you.
“Or maybe-”
Softness caressed your lips, a plush, warm feeling that made you flush. He was kissing you, those pretty lips on yours. Your breath stuttered and you froze, but it didn’t stop Miguel’s initiative, a hand cradled your nape, holding you in place as he pushed himself closer to you. He moved against you, tongue slipping from his mouth and tentatively laving over your bottom lip, asking for something.
He was so warm, so caring. You could just close your eyes and follow his lead - you did. He pushed harder, yet the kiss stayed soft and passionate, he lightly nipped your lip and soothed the stinging with his warm tongue, beckoning you to open your mouth for him. Your lips parted, opening up for Miguel to dive in, muscle meeting yours halfway and curling over yours. He still cradled your head, fingers running through your loose hair and tilting your head backwards, giving him more space to show you how much he loved you. Your arms, somehow, found themselves wrapped around his neck, pulling him as close to you as he was pushing himself against you.
His kiss was loving, his hold was careful and his touch heartwarming. You almost regretted having to pull away, but you had to breathe, your lungs starving for air after having been devoured by Miguel’s adoring kiss. The moment you opened your eyes (you didn’t know you had closed them while you kissed), his smile greeted you, a lovesick one bubbling with unending joy. You almost choked from how it fit so well on him.
“That’s- that’s one way…” you spoke between breaths, chest swelling with every erratic pant, matching his similarly worn-out breathing.
That was all he needed from you. Your kiss was enough for him to know you loved him the same, a patient and gentle love he was willing to give you. Your heart pulsed strongly, lips curving and eyes squinting, you pushed yourself closer to his heat, his all-encompassing warmth that wrapped around you when you wanted to feel safe and loved. Your world couldn’t be any brighter, like the vibrant colours of blooming flowers when Persephone was given to her mother, where the snow melted and colours washed over the lands once more, painting the blank white and dead grey in joyous tones. It glowed brightly and warmed you like the summers that followed the melting ice, the clear, blue skies of Olympus and as freeing as the soaring hawks and skipping elks.
Letting go was far harder than loving. To let the person who you let in leave felt emptying, it left a gaping hole in his heart. Where it was once calm, struck a raging storm of rejection and regret, crashing waves the size of Poseidon’s rage and violent storms the strength of Zeus’ retribution. It hurt watching you walk beside a variant of himself, a happier and lighter version of him without his mutations or duty. You were the Spider-Woman of your universe so there wouldn’t be a second one unless there was a catastrophic canon divergence.
He hadn’t followed you at first, respecting your wishes of being left alone. He had to give you that much, at least, after those months spent beside his ignorant ass. He hadn’t seen it until it was too late, lost under the weight of his duty and fears that he’d forgotten he had people who cared, who felt, who loved. It was too late, it was always too late with him. If he couldn’t fix his first mistake, who’s to say he could fix this? He couldn’t save his first daughter or his second’s universe because it was falling apart. He couldn’t save anyone because he hadn’t realised his mistake in interfering in canon events, and he lost you because he couldn’t stop his vitriol, his violent temperament that had pushed you away. He always took things for granted until they were lost to him.
Was it two or three weeks before he decided to check up on you? He didn’t know anymore, the weeks blurred until he finally amassed the courage to go against everyone’s words. Through the flat hologram of his orange screen, he watched you lament on your own, body curled into itself and shoulders shaking. Your sobs were heart-wrenching to watch while he had no means of contacting you; you would’ve reacted more strongly and aggressively if he’d contacted you after leaving.
So he watched.
You stared vacantly from your window and left only for the bare necessities or to act as Spider-Woman. Crime never slept so you couldn’t stop even in your time of need. You swung from building to building so gracefully that Miguel was hypnotised by your grace. He watched these moments as a reminder of the missions he took by your side, webbing and catching anomalies all across the multiverse with fearsome speed and accuracy. You both had made a fearsome team, but that time was over, it was a memory long forgotten.
So he watched.
Your flat was cold and empty, the space filled with spectres of memories, the cool rooms vacant of life that used to fill them with warmth and happiness. It was saddening from his perspective - the observer, the watcher and the reader of your story - of your time spent alone. He wanted to tell you that you weren’t alone, that he was watching you from afar, a silent protector that would only act if you were in imminent danger - as long as it wasn’t part of the canon.
So he watched-
Besides you was Miguel - not him, another one - and he looked much too comfortable by your side for his liking. His variant seemed much too close for a friend, moving from sitting before you to beside you, arm slung over your shoulders and leaning back and, sometimes, towards you at a breath’s distance. He turned green with envy, a vicious monster brewing inside his body with the threat of bursting out, clawing at his chest. The other was too close to you for his liking.
He watched as his variant bought you drinks - always, however long and loud you’d complained and fought, he never let you pay in the end - and paid for your dates. He abhorred it. How happy you looked with the other him. How calm and satisfied your smile was. How close his variant was to you. He wished he was at the other’s place, taking his rightful place beside you. He would kiss you, smother you in love and give you whatever you wanted, whether it be a hug, a kiss or his time, he would’ve given them to you. He wouldn’t dance around the edge of your affection and his love like he was doing, like a man unsure of his feelings and anxious to act on it.
He thought the other Miguel was a coward - though he knew he wasn’t. He wanted to blame his variant and find fault for anything he did, but they were still the same person. He was Miguel O’Hara as much as he was. He wanted, but couldn’t, especially after seeing how both loved you the same, having a similar type. They were so much alike that he could’ve replaced his variant, yet so vastly different in other manners that he would’ve stood out. His history, his trauma, his curse, the other had none of them. He was normal while he was Spider-Man, a stronger, more brutal version of Spider-Man.
Granted, he loved you with every fibre of his being, but he had never showered you with as much love and affection as the other, having his character muddled through long hours of work and long-lasting tragedy. You were another of his tragedies, where he found love again and lost it by his own making. He would have left too if the Society didn’t depend on him, leaning towards him for support and help in protecting the multiverse. It was something he couldn’t sacrifice for his whims.
So he kept watching and let his heart crack and envy fester.
He watched you grow even closer to him, shoulders and hands occasionally touching, making you jump and blush. He watched you move from simple coffee dates to full-blown restaurants and bar dates, drinking and eating at your leisure - something he could’ve never provided you. He watched you wobble around when you were drunk, your arm over his shoulder and his around your waist, supporting your drunk weight. He watched you kiss, the other pressing your bodies together and you reciprocating the loving embrace you had once given to him.
He felt like crying. He was crying, silent tears rolling down his sharp cheeks in slow, thundering waves of his heartbreak. He clung to the desk, claws unintentionally popping out and bending the metal under his fist. The sound ripped through the silent room like the image that ripped through his heart. He was alone in his grief, shoulders slumping and arms shaking with the intensity of his emotions. He had locked the door, barricading it with a busy, do not disturb sign, warning the others that he was occupied and wouldn’t be reached unless there was an emergency.
“Miguel…”
He’d forgotten Lyla was here - she was everywhere and nowhere at the same time, with your help he had given Lyla an upgrade in her system that gave her access to every Spider that had the watch. She had access to every file in the database and his secrets. Lyla was loyal to him as much as she was to you, respecting your words with a promise of her own to leave you alone. That, however, didn’t mean that she wasn’t privy to his pains, watching him while his eyes were stuck to your universe’s screen, giving him some comforting words that were meant to lift his spirit. It never worked but the intention was there.
He couldn’t look at her, still facing the hologram of you kissing. He felt the surge of too many emotions to be able to think clearly, his self-control tethering on a thin line of fragile web. If he turned, he would explode on Lyla, giving her the brunt of his suffering even though she didn’t deserve it, she felt and laughed as much as any other human. He remembered programming in emotion with you, laughing about how much she would be as teasing and annoying as you. Lyla was another gift to him by you, so it would hurt him more.
“Miguel-”
“Don’t- Do not say another word.”
For a man in tears and pain, his voice was curt and stoic, playing the leading figure he’d taken for so long. It betrayed his shaky figure, fingers crushing the metal loudly and shoulders jerking with ever-wrenching choked sob. His world was crumbling around him, rippling and cracking from the seams and folding into itself. The control of his state was failing miserably as he kept staring at your mirthful smile after the kiss. It tore him apart knowing he pushed you further away and into the arms of another. It hurt him deeply.
Through everything, he heard Lyla whisper a small sorry before she popped out of existence, her small holographic body vanishing along with her orange light. Gone was her familiar light, gone was the nostalgic memory of programming her, and along her, was the support of another person. He was truly alone in this moment, to fall on his knees and let himself drown under the weight of everything.
If your love was a tangible thing, he would’ve cradled it between his warm palms, holding it tightly to his chest to feel the soothing effects you had on him. Like a balm to burns, you cooled the searing pains that the world inflicted upon him, the warm blanket that covered him when he needed rest and the pillar that held him when he fell. He’d lost something he couldn’t gain a second time, clutching his head in his misery, drowning and howling.
It felt surreal until it wasn’t until it all sunk in. He truly couldn’t grasp the utter loss and betrayal he felt. The realisation that he truly lost you to none other than himself. The irony of it all slashed deeper, how he drove you closer to another him by his own doing, making you love a Miguel with more gentleness, more kindness and time than him, Miguel O’Hara, the Spider-Man from Nueva York, Earth-928. Everything he had was lost in time, his spiralling thoughts of loss and misery clouded his vision, bringing tears forward in bigger waves.
Was he doomed to lose everything he cared about? Was he bound to love and lose? Why couldn’t he have a happy ending like everyone else? Was it because he was different? Perhaps it was, there were other O’Hara Spider-Man, but none were mutated like him, a product of self-infliction and sabotage - none had their DNA spliced and mixed with a spider’s. He was simply too different from the others, they were lean but still had a strong musculature, muscles tightened to create more strength and defence; none were big and broad as he was, with rough edges and mean streaks. They were nice and happy, faced losses of their own, but always came out on top (there were some minor - sometimes major - variants of Spider-Man here and there, but they all had some similarities in their stories of becoming.). He saw the devastation and grasped onto the thinnest silver lining he could find, holding onto it to stay afloat while others thrived where they were.
Maybe it was truly because of him. He was realistic - near cynic - he couldn’t see things optimistically, life had made him that way. The silver lining he saw in things was small, nearly extinguished by his near-pessimistic way of life. Did that have an impact as well? It most likely did, at least partly. Fate had given him a bad hand in things, he couldn’t be completely blamed for how things turned - or so he thought, hoped. A man wasn’t only the result of what he’d done, but also of what he was given. When push comes to shove, Miguel acted in a way he thought meant well for him and the others even if it didn’t seem like the right decision at first. He rarely doubted his actions while he did them, only after, could he let himself face the consequences of what he’d done. Miguel simply didn’t have the pleasure of waiting. He needed to act when it was called.
If he had waited, if he had been patient and sought out others for support, if he had spent time thinking before acting, would he still have his little girl beside him? Would he still have you in his arms? If he had shown you more affection, would you have still loved him?
Did you still love him?
Miguel didn’t know what he was doing. Standing before your apartment door in civilian clothing and a bouquet of twelve, beautiful white tulips - the meaning not lost to him. It was an attempt at apologizing for his mistakes, a desperate one led by heartache. He brushed his hair back, trying to look as kept as he could in his situation: dark bags and sickly skin, tense muscles and sore back. This was a daring move from him, it would end up catastrophic if the Miguel from your universe saw him at your front door; but he checked, making sure his variant was elsewhere before opening a portal to your place.
He hadn’t moved in a while, listening to you move around your flat, the sound of your soft steps shuffling from behind the door, a wall between you and him, reminding him that he wouldn’t be able to cross it unless you welcomed him. He held the bouquet in one hand and knocked with the other, his knuckles hitting the wood softly and hesitantly. There was a pause between every knock, drawn by his nerves and the anxiety that gripped him.
You moved and closed in on the sound at the door. He saw your shadow dance under the small gap on the floor and pause. You knew. You knew it was him even without peeking through the peephole, your spider-sense aiding you in recognizing the unknown. Although your hand rested reluctantly at the knob - perhaps still too raw from your break as he was - you opened the door for him, figure small and apprehensive.
“Miguel,” you muttered his name, greeting him with a slow nod. You stepped back and opened the door wider for him, he took it as a good sign that you let him in rather than shut the door in his face.
He nodded back, saying your name. He took a step forward, foot breaking the barrier to your flat. The second one ensured he was fully invited, both feet strongly rooted on your side of the door. He wanted to make himself smaller, to appease you, but he knew you wouldn’t have liked that. He squirmed under your stare, a mix of curiosity and concern.
He nearly sighed audibly when you gestured at him to sit and he moved to the sofa he remembered sleeping on with you, cuddling under a warm blanket while you watched a movie. He knew your home by heart like you knew his, the memory washed over him with melancholy. You sat on the armchair to his left, your back to the kitchen. He swallowed thickly and handed you the bouquet, freshly cut tulips glistening with pearly drops under your lights.
Your shoulders shook as you leaned in to take the bouquet, jolting back when your fingers grazed him. Feeling your skin felt invigorating, it breathed back life into him, even slightly. You thanked him with a slow nod, seemingly unsure of what to make of it. Was it a gift? Was it an apology? Was it a farewell sign? He figured your mind was running in circles trying to understand the meaning of the pretty bouquet he handed you. You were always an overthinker, but your mind worked brutally well. That’s something he always appreciated about you.
“I-” Miguel started, seemingly stopped by something that he couldn’t get out of his throat. Maybe a ball of dread or needles of anxiety, but it held him from giving you the words he spent nights thinking over, to give you the message he built from the deepest crevice of his heart. “I’m sorry, (Name).”
You stared at him, understanding that he needed a moment of silence to truly convey his feelings. You hadn’t uttered a word since he first started, expression neutral, not betraying whatever brewing storm you locked inside of you. He was grateful, truly.
“I know- I know it doesn’t mean much now, but I’m really, really sorry, mi vida.”
He sensed you tense, the muscles of your back contracting and rippling under your shirt. Every unseen fibre moving was bare to him, he could see and feel better than most, if not, everyone else.
“I acted out of anger and lack of sleep, but that doesn’t mean you deserved that- never. I just, my mutation makes me more animalistic, more… aggressive than the other, and I hurt you. You didn’t deserve any of that and I can’t always blame it on my mutations. I should’ve been able to control myself. I shouldn’t have lashed out at you in those ways.”
He lowered his gaze to his hands, the calloused pads of his fingers rubbing his palm, trying to coax himself into relaxation. Although your breathing softened, a calm breeze in an atmosphere thick with tension, he didn’t dare look up and see the face you were making.
“I was a bad boyfriend and a horrible friend. I’m- I’m not asking you to forgive me, I don’t want you to forgive me, but- I just needed to tell you how much I regret hurting you. I want to apologise, I don’t know what else to do, I don’t know how to fix this.” He breathed deeply, collecting every ounce of confidence and honesty to brave your reaction. “I’m sorry, mi cielo.”
He shuddered, body rippling with his pained breath. He hadn’t realised how painful it would be to face you with his fears and confession, with the threat of abandonment and rejection fresh in his mind. He was a man of pride and strength, rarely facing anything with trepidation and hesitance.
“I’m really sorry, mi cielo. I’m so, so sorry.”
He sat in silence, letting it hang over him like the blade of a guillotine, silent and brunt. Perceiving the flash of the sharp blade before it fell on his neck, sentencing him to a quick downfall with a long, lasting agony that would sting his neck as long as it would hurt his heart. The French used it for executions, the thing that spelled people’s end. At its height, it was used as an apparatus to behead traitors or people who were deemed dangerous to the people of the new republic. Down the blame went and off the head popped, like it would happen to Miguel if he wasn’t prepared for it. He truly didn’t know whether he had prepared for his rejection, for the death of his heart, to watch the flickering sparks of his flame wither out.
“I’m sorry too, Miguel-”
The rope strained, knots twisting and rippling in the tightness of the pull. It shook, whipping in the air as it straightened completely, held closely by the hand of the executioner. The wind blew but it was sturdy, withstanding the violent gales that slammed against the body of it.
“-it means a lot that you came here to apologise- ”
The crowd was filled with silence, the emptiness of the area a mock of a ghost town. Abandoned to be sentenced to death without anyone to witness. They deemed him not fit for their acknowledgment before his death, before the sparks of his life extinguished. His fate wasn’t worth their time, unlike the poorest criminals who stole for money, unlike the richest pigs who fed from the poor with their silver spoons and golden crowns, unlike the cruellest killers who gutted and left men, women and children to bleed out, and unlike the guiltless innocents cursed for something they hadn’t committed.
“-but, I can’t.”
The rope was let loose, its tail flying and whipping in the air as the blade descended with its weight. The wood chafed against its support beams, yet it flew gracefully and rapidly, singing the doom of its prisoner. The blade gleamed under the moon’s bright light, the silver whispers of peace and sleep deaf to his ears.
“I can’t love you anymore.”
It cracked down on him, his life flashing before him as it cut into him. Severing his control over his body, putting out the dying embers of hope. He clung to desperation in his last moments, wishing to relive the moments of happiness, bright oblivion and cherished love.
He wished that he could’ve seen your shadowed figure hidden in the darkness, tears lining your cheeks as you watched him take his last breath. The only person who came to see him leave, the one who he would’ve burned the world for. In the end, after everything he’d done, you still gave him a small moment of your time to witness his fall, you deemed him worthy of such an act. You offered him your kindness.
My extensive tag list of extremely patient people pt1.:
@iseizeyourmom @raynerainyday @etherealton @sciencethot @coffee-obsessed-freak @thesecretwriter @beepboopcowboy@bontensh0e @aikoiya @allysunny @fandoms-run-my-life @brittney69 @aranachan @maladaptivedaydreamingbum @konniebon @starlightaura @redwolfxx @aniya7 @alicefallsintotherabbithole @bvbdudette @wwwelilovesyou @wwwellacom @akiras-key @bobafettbutifhewasgay @opiplover @rinieloliver @uniquecroissant @yas-v @xrusitax @blkmystery @darherwings @ariparri @notivie @vr00m-vr00m @battinsonwhore05 @irishbl0ss0mz @mivanda @saint-chlorine @livelaughluvmen @battinsonwhore05 @notivie @lililouvre @giasjourneyblog @ykyouluvme @skullywullypully
#miguel o'hara x reader#miguel o'hara imagine#miguel ohara#miguel o hara#miguel o'hara#atsv miguel#miguel spiderverse#spiderman 2099#miguel x reader#miguel o’hara x fem!reader#miguel o’hara#miguel o’hara angst#across the spiderverse#atsv x reader#spiderman atsv#atsv#atvs spoilers#spiderman 2099 x reader#accross the spiderverse#spiderman 2099 x you#x reader#angst
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How to Use Meal Scenes to Develop Characters, Relationships, and Your World
Worldbuilding can sound complicated, but why not make it a little more simple by focusing on food? It may be the domestic touch you need! NaNo Participant Lacey Pfalz talks about using meal scenes to develop your world and your characters.
There’s one thing that remains a universal human truth: we love food! While our perspectives on food might differ, people all across the globe gather together during mealtimes — and thus, mealtimes are made memorable.
Meal scenes can also help your story in a few key ways, especially if it’s fantasy, science fiction or historical fiction.
Meal Scenes for Worldbuilding
If we’re using food for worldbuilding purposes, does that mean we can say we’re worldcooking?
Just kidding! Worldbuilding, especially in historical fiction, science fiction, and fantasy, is an integral part of what you must do as a writer (In truth, it’s also important for writers from other genres, but we’re specializing in these three today).
Meal scenes can be an important part of the worldbuilding process. Food is intrinsically tied to a culture or a country, or even a small region. That’s why it’s important, when building your own world, to take time to figure out the bare minimum of what your characters will be eating.
Let’s do an example. Your world is fantasy, your kingdom set beside a wide river. Perhaps your capital city, where much of the action is located, is surrounded by wetland.
If this is the case, what types of food would likely grow there? Seafood, fished from the large river, might be your characters’ staple proteins, while rice might grow better than another grain because of your kingdom’s wetlands. Fruit, perhaps even coconuts, might be the sweet stuff your main character loves to devour.
Remember that your world directly affects what types of food your characters will be having: is there coffee in space? What about in Byzantine Turkey or your new riverside kingdom?
Shannon Chakraborty does a phenomenal job with this in her fantasy series The Daevabad Trilogy, which is set in the eighteenth century across the Middle East. Her first book, The City of Brass, is especially good at showcasing the often-fragrant dishes of the various cultures across this region of the world (some copies of the book even have a short list of recipes from the book that foodies can try whipping up for themselves).
While her book is set within the fantastical world of the Djinn, her food is based upon recipes that have been preserved for centuries.
There’s one small reminder with all of this: it’s important not to get too caught up in describing each dish so much that you end up taking the focus away from the characters in a meal scene. Meal scenes can be breaks from fast action, but they should also continue the plot.
Meal Scenes for Developing Characters & Relationships
Character development can be hard, especially if you have a handful of characters that you love! But in order to make your readers love them too, you have to show them interacting with the world around them.
That guy we love to hate? Maybe he’s a loner who has grown up eating by himself. Having him forced to sit and eat with a group of people who have known each other for years might be an awkward moment for him, but it helps readers to learn more about his own worldview — and it might just help get him out of his shell, or at least off the love-to-hate list.
Besides helping you develop a single character, writing meal scenes with some of your characters can also help readers learn more about the relationship between your characters.
Let’s say you have your main character, MC. MC leans over and steals a French fry from her best friend. There’s no issue, right? That’s because they like each other, and the best friend has likely eaten with MC before, and knows she enjoys stealing food from other people’s plates.
But when MC tries it again, this time with the guy sitting next to her, he whacks her hand to stop her from stealing. This sparks an argument that seems, at least to everyone else watching it, pointless, but readers will know from the rest of the story that they’re the enemies-to-lovers trope. This argument is just one of many before they finally acknowledge their feelings towards one another.
See how that worked? A meal scene wasn’t useless; it pulled the story along by giving readers another taste of the enemies-to-lovers trope that so many enjoy reading.
If you need a more visible example of how this can play out, try watching a movie like Pride & Prejudice, (the book is amazing, but I’m suggesting the movie as a visual aid). The movie does a great job showcasing just how different the members of the Bennet family are individually, how they act around each other, and how they act around company.
There’s often little action in meal scenes, so they’re not meant to be overused. The plot should also still be there — take the cringey proposal scene between Mr. Collins and Elizabeth in Pride & Prejudice, for example, which follows directly after a meal when the rest of her family abandons her. In this case, the plot (and Mr. Collins’ advances) ruin her meal.
Perhaps your meal scene is the much-needed respite in between battling fierce aliens for planet Earth, or the first time your main character’s enemy-to-lover has entered her home. Either way, meal scenes are an important way to immerse your readers in what kind of world they’re imagining as well as showcasing how your characters act and — more importantly — how they act around each other.
Lacey Pfalz is a travel journalist by day, hopeful author by night. She belongs to the class of graduates she dubs the Class of COVID-19, having graduated with a double major in history and writing at Wisconsin Lutheran College in 2020.
Her writing passions include fantasy, science fiction and historical fiction (with a little bit of romance, of course!). As someone with a physical disability, it’s her dream to write a fantasy series featuring a main character like her.
Header Image by Jack Sparrow
#nanowrimo#writing#writing tips#worldbuilding#characters#character relationships#by nano guest#lacey pfalz
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part 2 of something specific
CG: I’M GOING TO NEED TO WATCH THROUGH IT AGAIN TO REALLY HONE DOWN WHAT I THINK OF IT, BUT FUCK IT, I MIGHT AS WELL SHARE MY THOUGHTS NOW SINCE WE’RE FRESH OFF OF WATCHING IT.
CG: SO, THEY’RE ACTUALLY A REALLY FASCINATING EXAMPLE OF RED ROMANCE. I’D GO SO FAR AS TO SAY VERY SUBVERSIVE OF ALTERNIAN UNDERSTANDINGS OF THE SORT, COMPARED TO WHAT YOU’D USUALLY SEE IN FICTIONAL MEDIA. IT’S LEVELS ABOVE THE TYPE OF DYNAMICS I WOULD TYPICALLY SEE IN MY NOVELS, DISREGARDING THE QUALITY OF VACILLATIONS AND YOUR QUOTE-ENQUOTE “POLYAMORY” PRESENT. BECAUSE SAKURA’S POSITION IN THIS IS PRACTICALLY POINTLESS, BUT I DIGRESS.
CG: ACTUALLY — THAT WAS KIND OF FUCKED UP, BY THE WAY. WHY IS SHE WRITTEN SO POORLY?
TG: remember when i told you about misogyny
CG: I WILL NEVER FUCKING GET THAT. OUR MOST POWERFUL FIGURES WERE GENERALLY GIRLS. HOW THAT TRANSLATED SO FUCKING TERRIBLY IS BEYOND ME!
CG: AND HOW THE SHIT DID THE UNIVERSE *I* HAD A DIRECT HAND IN CREATING END UP BEING SO MIND-BOGGLINGLY BACKWARDS ABOUT ROMANCE?
CG: DID NOT EVEN AN ERRANT TRICKLE OF MY INFLUENTIAL THINKPAN OOZE MAKE IT THROUGH THERE? AT ALL?
TG: not even a droplet my man we decided to be equally anal about other stupid shit i guess
CG: NO KIDDING!
CG: ANYWAYS.
TG: if yall managed to get through that door and reign supreme over the human race for lip smackin eternity you know mens and womens would be macking on each other in various gender arrangements with gleeful wild abandon
TG: itd be a goddamn utopia
CG: FUCKING EXACTLY! BUT INSTEAD I’M HERE. DOING THIS. WITH A GOD, UNIVERSE PENDING. INSTEAD OF BEING A GOD REIGNING OVER A UNIVERSE MYSELF.
CG: *ANYWAYS*!
CG: THEY START OUT WITH A RIVALRY, SURE, BUT THERE’S ACTUALLY NOTHING BLACK ABOUT IT. THEIR FEELINGS FOR EACH OTHER ARE STRICTLY POSITIVE, IF HIDDEN BEHIND A MORE AGGRESSIVE FACADE. THE VIOLENCE OF THEIR RELATIONSHIP BOTH COMES FROM THE SOCIETY THEY WERE RAISED INTO, AND SOME OF THEIR MAJOR CHARACTER FLAWS AND INSECURITIES. NARUTO IS FIERCELY DEFENSIVE OF ANYONE WHO JOINS HIS CIRCLE BECAUSE HE’S DESPERATE FOR CONNECTIONS, AND REFUSES TO LOSE THEM AT ANY COST EVEN IF THEY LEAVE SUPPOSEDLY OF THEIR OWN ACCORD. SASUKE SEPARATES HIMSELF FROM THE PEOPLE HE LOVES OUT OF FEAR – AND DESIRE FOR REVENGE AGAINST HIS BROTHER CONVINCING HIM THIS IS NECESSARY.
CG: LIKE, EVEN WITHIN THE FIRST MAJOR ARC IN THE LAND OF WAVES YOU CAN SEE THAT THEY CARE ABOUT EACH OTHER SO DEEPLY THAT SASUKE WOULD DIRECTLY SACRIFICE HIMSELF AND HIS POTENTIAL FOR NARUTO’S. AND BELIEVING SASUKE TO BE DEAD IS THE FIRST CATALYST TO NARUTO’S POWERS BEING RELEASED. THAT IS *REALLY* EXTREME. ESPECIALLY BY TROLL STANDARDS, BUT I UNDERSTAND KILLING PEOPLE IS A MUCH FUCKING LARGER DEAL PSYCHOLOGICALLY FOR HUMANS. THAT KIND OF REACTION TO DEATH WOULD ONLY BE RESERVED FOR A CURRENT OR POTENTIAL QUADRANTMATE… AND IS OTHERWISE ONLY EXPRESSED BY TROLLS WITH DISEASES.
TG: oh yeah like the friendship disease right
CG: UGH.
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Geology and the Economy/Trade in Your Fictional World: Explained
Hi, I'm Bird. I am a geology Ph.D. student and I love reading fiction and playing videogames, however something that can really pull me out of a fictional universe is a lack of understanding of basic geology, and how that would influence your fictional world. Today I will cover geology that can effect trade, some landscape features, and construction!
Things that are typically necessary/desired in a fictional world are building materials, gemstones/precious metals, and fossil fuels/ sources of energy. However, a lot of these things are not found together, and they typically have some features to make them more distinct in terms of landscape, so lets talk about it!
Gemstones/ Precious metals and landscape features
Typically, gemstones can be found in two different rock types. The first is intrusive igneous rocks (magma that slowly cooled underground to form course-grained rocks like granite) and high grade metamorphic rocks (rocks that got put under intense heat and pressure under the earth's surface). Some minerals are more likely to form in particular conditions than others, but for the most part these minerals can be found interchangeably within both of these places. *Note: this is a gross oversimplification but we are starting small
(Yes it is a shitty chart better pictures will come further in the post)
If you are writing these minerals based off and igneous deposit, good descriptions for the rocks would be speckled, with mineral grains of about the same size and varying in color. They should NOT be striated, and they will often form bald (unforested) cliffs that are typically rounded and not jagged.
If you are writing with metamorphic rocks, you would expect these rocks to be layered, typically having light and dark layers with some minerals possibly being much larger than the others surrounding it. These textures can definitely (sometimes) be observed from a distance.
*Final notes about minerals* Quartz varieties are difficult, quartz can be found in volcanic, metamorphic, sedimentary, and intrusive igneous settings. If you are writing about agate specifically it is almost always volcanic in nature.
Diamonds are found in volcanic ash deposits called kimberlites, these deposits can occur in any rock type, so while they are igneous, they can be found anywhere. They have zero connection to the surrounding rocks.
2. Fossil Fuels
If a region is producing oil or coal, it is going to be from a sedimentary environment that is very rich in ancient plant material (like millions of years old). A unique feature of these locations would be finding lots of plant fossils, and rocks that can be found in association with these would be sandstone, shale, conglomerates/breccias, and limestones. Sedimentary rocks form in layers, so if exposed the layers will be very visible from a distance. You can also get unique features due to preferential weathering (fancy way of saying some rocks are harder than others, so when exposed to the same weather some rocks will break down faster than others). Also, natural oil seeps are a thing in places where natural oil is prevalent, but I couldn't find a good picture sorry.
3. Building Resources
based on the rocks found in each region, the buildings will be made out of different materials, so lets breakdown what building materials would be used based off what rocks are present in the location.
Sedimentary rocks- lots of options here, so I will just info dump. If the region is drier, limestone is a good choice, historically may desert areas use limestone, it is soft and easy to carve, but it will dissolve slowly with rain. Sandstone is a durable rock that can be used, but it is very hard as it is made of quartz. Clay! shale breaks down in humid environments and will often make clay, this is a great, amazing building resource that could drive economy.
Metamorphic rocks- Marble.... if you want to make luxurious marble temples, metamorphic rocks are a must! Other comments, metamorphic rocks will often have layers of weaker minerals and stronger minerals, that means they will break along a defined surface. A lot of older houses in the Italian Alps (Aosta Valley) use these rocks for roofing. Slate roofing is also common in a lot of places, slate is formed from really low grade metamorphism, so this resource can be available in both sedimentary and metamorphic locations within reason.
Igneous- Granite (light) and Gabbro (dark) is very hard and therefore it is used frequently in countertops today. This is also important because these rocks will take a high shine from polishing. Igneous rocks are also perfect for making cement! Volcanic ash mixed with quicklime and salt water is the recipe for roman concrete which is arguable much better than current day concrete but otherwise doesn't offer much more benefit.
Thank you if you made it this far, I want to make more guides in the future to hopefully cover more geology topics that can influence a story (possibly natural disasters and associated landscape features for subtle foreshadowinggggg)
This guide is very simplified! It is supposed to cover a lot of information for people who may not know a lot about geology, but are interesting in creating fictional universes! If you know a lot about geology already, please avert your eyes, or comment something additional!
#geology#rocks#science#creative writing#dnd#worldbuilding#writeblr#fictional world#dnd worldbuilding#writerscommunity#writing resources#writing tips#writing prompt#stem#worldbuilding stuff
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— moonlit promises || park seonghwa
idol!seonghwa x non-idol!reader
synopsis: you just miss your fiancé
genre: fluff
trigger warnings: none
words: 1.3 k
reminder: what you’re about to read is purely fiction, so let’s keep it separate from reality.
!minors do not interact!
— hi there! this was written for my best friend when she was having a bad day. "moonlit promises" was personalized to suit her so i decided to post only a short part of the original work. since i posted a lot of angst lately, i think it's a good time to post this short fluff.
love, monika. ♡
if you enjoyed this post, i’d be so grateful for a little love – a like, reblog or comment would truly make my day!
taglist: @hoeforalbedo (if you'd like to join my taglist you can just let me know here!)
You sat by the window, the soft glow of the moon casting a gentle light across your small room. It was late, and the world outside was quiet except for the occasional rustle of leaves in the breeze.
You hold your engagement ring delicately between your fingertips, and you can’t help but marvel at its beauty. The ring glimmers in the soft light, its facets catching the light in a mesmerizing dance of sparkle and shine. The centerpiece, a brilliant diamond, seems to hold a universe of its own within its depths, reflecting the love and commitment shared between Seonghwa and you. You trace the intricate patterns of the band, feeling the smooth metal against your skin. Each curve and twist seems to tell a story of your journey together, from the moment you first met to the promise of forever that now lies before you. The ring feels like a tangible symbol of your love, a constant reminder of the bond you share and the future you are building together.
As you gaze at the ring, you feel a swell of emotion wash over you. It's more than just a piece of jewelry; it's a promise, a vow, a testament to the depth of your love and the commitment you have made to each other. And as you slip the ring onto your finger, you know you won't be able to resist calling your fiancé.
With your phone in hand, you dialled Seonghwa's number, heart fluttering with anticipation as it rang, hoping that he would have a minute or two to talk.
"Hey, love," Seonghwa's voice greeted you, warm and comforting despite the miles between you.
"Hi, Seonghwa," you replied, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "I couldn't sleep, so I thought I'd call you."
"Ah, I'm glad you did, we already finished our rehearsals for today," Seonghwa said softly. "Did the stars made you think about me again?" he asked, his voice carrying a soft smile that you could hear.
"Yeah..." You admitted shyly "I miss you a lot, especially on nights like these when the stars are out and shining so brightly. Nights like these always reminds me of you, but even though they shine brightly, they just don't seem as magical without you by my side."
"I miss you too, baby," Seonghwa whispered "But talking to you makes it feel like you're right here with me." Your heart swelled at his words, your gaze drifting to the sky outside once again. When you look up at the stars, you feel a deep connection to your fiancé, even across the miles that separate you. The stars serve as a reminder of your love and the special bond you two share, it’s like the stars are strengthening your connection despite the physical distance. You sighed softly; voice tinged with longing as you spoke to Seonghwa through the phone.
"I wish you could be here, holding me in your arms," you murmured, as you wrapped the blanked around you, your words carried the weight of your separation. "The hoodies you left... they've lost your smell already." There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line before Seonghwa replied, his voice filled with empathy.
"I know, love. Next time I will spray all of them with my perfume twice as much." He laughed softly before continuing "I miss holding you close, feeling your warmth against me. I miss your eyes. But even though I'm not there physically, know that my love for you hasn't faded, not even a little bit." you closed your eyes, a tear slipping down your cheek as you listened to Seonghwa's words.
"I know," you whispered, your voice barely above a breath. "And I hold onto that." Seonghwa's heart ached at the sadness in your voice, wishing more than anything that he could be there to comfort you.
"I promise, Y/N," he said softly, his voice filled with determination, "One day soon, I'll hold you in my arms again." you smiled through tears, feeling a glimmer of hope within your chest.
"You better keep that promise, Park Seonghwa" you replied playfully, voice warmer than before. "Until then, I'll cherish every moment we have together, even if it's just through late-night phone calls and memories of your scent."
You never blamed Seonghwa for living his life as an idol, truth be told, even after all these years in a relationship, you remained his fan, genuinely thrilled by his success. You knew that no one deserved success as much as ATEEZ. From his early days, you had been there for him, supporting him every step of the way. Yet on a night like this, the ache of missing him became overwhelming. You wished he was beside you.
"Speaking of stars," Seonghwa said, his voice taking on a playful tone, "did I ever tell you that you're my little star? Shining bright even in the darkest of nights." your cheeks flushed at his endearing words.
"You always know how to make me smile," you said, heart overflowing with love for him.
"And you always know how to make my heart skip a beat," Seonghwa replied, his affection evident in every word. As you continued to talk, your laughter mingling with the gentle night sounds, you couldn't help but feel grateful for moments like these, when distance seemed to fade away and your love shone brighter than any star in the sky.
"I love you, Y/N," Seonghwa's voice came through the phone, gentle and sincere, wrapping around you like a comforting blanket. "And I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you" Your breath caught in your throat at his declaration, your heart swelling with love for him.
"And I can’t wait to marry you," It’s been four years since you started dating, one year into being engaged, but you never got used to hearing those three words from Seonghwa. "I love you too, Seonghwa," you whispered, voice filled with emotion. You lingered in silence for a moment, basking in the warmth of the love you shared, before Seonghwa spoke again, his voice soft and soothing.
"You should go to sleep, my love," he said tenderly. "What time is it there like... 3 am?" your eyes fluttered open at Seonghwa's words, a small smile playing on your lips as you glanced at the clock beside your bed.
"Almost, I’m amazed that you know," you replied softly, "It's actually 2:40 am." Seonghwa sighed on the other end of the line, the frustration evident in his tone.
"I hate these time zones," he admitted, his voice tinged with longing. "I wish I could be there to tuck you in and cuddle you close." Your heart ached at his words; your own longing mirrored in his. "But I guess tonight you will have to settle for my hoodie,"
"I wish you could be here too," you whispered, voice filled with sadness, "But knowing that you're thinking of me, even from miles away, is enough to keep me warm." Seonghwa's response was immediate, his voice filled with love and reassurance.
"I'll always be thinking of you, baby," he said softly. "No matter the distance." You felt a sense of peace wash over you, knowing that even in the darkness of night, Seonghwa's love would always light the way.
Seonghwa's voice continued to fill the quiet of the night, a steady rhythm that lulled you deeper into sleep. His words were like whispered promises, wrapping around you.
"Sleep well, my darling," Seonghwa murmured, his voice soft and affectionate. "Dream of us, together under the stars, where distance cannot separate our hearts." You smiled, your dreams already filled with visions of Seonghwa's warm smile and the promise of your future together. With his voice as your anchor, you surrendered to the peaceful embrace of sleep, knowing that no matter the distance, your love would always bring you back to each other. And as you drifted off to sleep, Seonghwa's voice remained with you, a constant presence in the darkness, guiding you through the night until the dawn of a new day.
#ateez x reader#ateez au#ateez x y/n#ateez fanfic#ateez x you#seonghwa x y/n#seonghwa x reader#seonghwa fluff#seonghwa x you
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not me! [ lando norris ]
[ 𝗣𝗔𝗜𝗥𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗔𝗡𝗗 𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗥𝗔𝗖𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗦 ] — dad!lando norris x mom!reader . ⊹ ✶ ㄔ 🫂 °. *
[ 𝗪𝗢𝗥𝗗 𝗖𝗢𝗨𝗡𝗧 ] — 782 words . ⊹ ✶ ㄔ 📲 °. *
[ 𝗗𝗘𝗧𝗔𝗜𝗟𝗦 & 𝗪𝗔𝗥𝗡𝗜𝗡𝗚𝗦 ] — fluff, comedy . ⊹ ✶ ㄔ ℹ️ °. *
࣪˖ 💭 .. 𝗘𝗬𝗔’𝗦 𝗡𝗢𝗧𝗘𝗦 ⌕ another one from baby reveal 📸 and first written fic for 2024! 😆
this work is purely fictional. names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. © httpsuniverse, 2024. do not steal, repost in other platforms, translate and/or claim this work as your own.
“alright, milk’s in the fridge. burp him after giving him that, make sure to do it gently or he’ll vomit on you. i made food for you as well, so just reheat that in the microwave.” you instructed your boyfriend of 4 years as you fix your bag last minute. “i know you don’t need it, but this is the number of any emergency services. you have mum, max and dad’s number, right? call them if you can’t reach me.”
“yes, babe.”
“okay, good. now let’s talk diapers–”
lando stands up from his seat and walks behind you, planting a kiss on your shoulder before hugging you from behind. “i got this, baby. don’t worry.” he says, “me and luke will have fun today, nothing to worry about. i’m his dad and i know for sure i can handle taking care of our baby.”
you sighed, finally zipping your bag and titled your head so you could look at lando. “i know you can, but it’s just… it’ll be the first time i’m spending almost the whole day without luke. it feels weird.”
“only without luke?”
“lando, i have spent many days without you by my side. most of them because you travel around the world while i finished university back then, not to mention we were in a long distance last 2020.” you reminded him, it was crazy to think that 2020 was four years ago and back then, your relationship with lando was just starting. it was a challenge for the both of you, but having known each other since kids (all thanks to your brother), you managed to get through it. but today, lily offered to take you out on a little date while oscar was with his family. “okay, the baby wipes are in the room, there are also unopened ones in the luggage–”
“babe, i’ve got this. don’t worry about me and luke, just focus on your day with the lily.” lando reassured, picking up luke from his crib and started bouncing him. “right, lukey? mummy should enjoy her day with aunt lily, tell her that we’ll be fine. we’ll be fine, mummy! daddy will do a great job!”
you let out a laugh when lando tried to voice luke, you grab your stuff before walking towards your boys. you plant a kiss on luke’s forehead and on lando’s lips, “okay, i’ll go now. lily’s waiting for me at the lobby, you sure you can do this?”
“duh, easy peasy.” lando smiled confidently, “now go, have fun with lily. don’t forget to send me pictures of your adventure in melbourne!”
within seconds, you were out of the door and it was only lando and luke left behind. luke looked at his dad, sucking on his pacifier as if waiting for lando to say something. “okay, little man… mummy’s gonna kill me if i don’t give you your milk on time so let’s just put you on your little jolly jumper here while daddy prepares your milk.”
luke stares at his dad while he puts him on his jolly jumper. when he was settled in he started bouncing and making little happy noises while lando walked to the fridge. lando smiles at his son, luke was almost 7 months old and his dad still couldn’t believe it. a little baby that’s half his, half yours, made with love and born in a loving household.
lando settled luke on his back, making sure that he was protected enough not to roll and fall from the bed. he fed luke, smiling as his baby kicks his little feet and his little hand hold the baby bottle. luke had almost half of the bottle when he lets go of it, meaning that he was done with it. lando held him up and burped him, smiling when he heard the little man’s noise. lando held luke for a while, showing him the view of their hotel and pointing out things that luke would find amazing.
“okay little man, it’s time for tummy time!” lando cheered, gently putting luke on his stomach while letting him play with the teething toy you brought. lando was grabbing the tv remote om the other side of the room, when he came back, he saw luke’s tiny middle finger standing and the others folded. “lukey! oh i gotta take a photo of this.”
lando was laughing as he took the photo, immediately uploading it on instagram for a good laugh. a few minutes later, he sees your name appearing on his phone screen. “hey baby! how’s melbourne with lily?”
“LANDO, IT’S ONLY BEEN AN HOUR SINCE I LEFT AND YOU ALREADY TAUGHT HIM BAD STUFF!”
“NOT ME!”
ynfewtrell and landonorris
liked by oscarpiastri, maxfewtrell, carlossainz55 and others
ynfewtrell well, guess i know where luke learned it from 🙃
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landonorris not me! i didn’t teach him that
ynfewtrell not me my ass
maxfewtrell 😆
landonorris we really are banning you for life max
maxfewtrell you can’t ban me for life yk
oscarpiastri which one is lando
ynfewtrell tbh, i don’t know which one... 🤔
user both are little lando norrises
user not y/n using the 🙃 emoji 😭 yk she’s pissed
user someone’s sleeping on the couch tonight landonorris
landonorris as if i’m sleeping on the couch, i just got a podium in ‘straya 😎
ynfewtrell yeah? you’re not sleeping on the couch tonight
ynfewtrell because i’m locking you out of the hotel room
landonorris not funny 😔
#lando norris imagine#lando norris fluff#lando norris oneshot#lando norris instagram edit#lando norris insta au#f1 imagine#f1 fan fic#f1 one shot#f1 instagram edit#f1 instagram au#f1 x you#f1 x reader#formula 1 imagine#formula one imagine#formula one x reader#formula 1 x reader
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𝐇𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐲 𝐄𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 | 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐰𝐨
Pairing | Yandere Jungkook x Reader
Word Count | 1,672
Warnings | +18, bullying, attempted sexual harassment, panic attack
This does not reflect my way of thinking or living at all, it is just a work of fiction, it is like watching a horror movie, many of us love horror movies, but we would never dream of what we see in those movies happening in reality as well.
Simply put, this story was written for entertainment purposes, it should not be seen as a reflection of my values, opinions or morals. I absolutely do not condone such acts.
⤷ Summary | If she had paid attention earlier to the sin that dwelt behind those obsidian irises, she would never have trusted it.
If she had noticed earlier the devouring love that dwelled in his corrupt heart, she probably would have fled.
She had done none of that, and now she had to come to terms with her new reality.
➢ Author's Note | I'm back with the second chapter of Happy Ending, I hope you can enjoy it 🥰❤
Chapter List - I - II - III - IV - V - VI - VII - VIII / The End
Toward the end of class, some had already turned in their drawings, others had yet to finish, and Jungkook intimated that they should bring them the next time they saw each other.
Y/N shakily got up from her seat, sent down too much saliva as she came within a few steps of the boy, who lifted his face in her direction, giving her a warm smile.
"Y/N! Are you done?"
The girl nodded, unable to verbalize her thoughts, so she placed the drawing on the desk, bending down a bit, this gave Jungkook a chance to get a better peek at how she was dressed that day, drinking in the sight of her legs and imagining how soft and creamy they might be in his adoring hands.
He ran a hand through his hair, pushing the most unruly strands back, and Y/N froze, following his movements with her eyes.
"Wow, Y/N...great job, as always," he complimented, proud that his good girl had done such a detailed job of depicting the disembodied cloud with shapeless, skeletal hands-that to her was bullying, something no adult could see, but which managed to trap its victims in a spiral of suffering and muteness.
The girl blushed at his words, bowing slightly before reaching her seat.
Behind her back she sensed a slight snort that caused her to stiffen.
Jungkook had to leave the command to another colleague, stared disgruntled at the girl, but vowed to do something for her, or rather, for both of them.
He would not let that terrible pattern continue, Y/N deserved better, in his arms he would be able to give her the happiness and love she lacked, as he could clearly see.
And so the day continued, until it was time to return home.
Y/N hurriedly packed her things, the threat of Yoozu loomed over her, and anxiously walked out of the classroom.
She didn't greet anyone, and no one greeted her, she looked fearfully at every corner of the corridors, a hustle and bustle of students and teachers did not allow her to increase her pace, she found herself pushing through the crowd almost in desperation, she wanted anything but to be in the jaws of her classmate.
Oh, if only she had known...
"So, beggar!" someone brutally grabbed her by the arm, pulling her to him right outside the university, Yoozu stared at her with anger concealed behind a fake smile, "We still haven't discussed the slap you so kindly printed on my face," he growled.
Y/N felt herself dying, she tried to wriggle out of her companion's firm grip, but it proved utterly useless, the boy's icy fingers pressed on her tender skin without restraint.
"Let go of me! Let go of me, Yoozu!" she exclaimed in panic, her breathing shorter and her heartbeat faster, but he if possible painfully increased his grip on her wrist, painful bruises would appear shortly.
"Not so fast, first you have to pay me back for the shit you made me look like today," he hissed, dragging her toward a more secluded alley, Y/N grabbed the mirror of a car parked nearby in a desperate attempt to save herself, but Yoozu was much stronger than she was, "Be good, I'll only need your mouth, then I'll let you go for today."
Those words were the straw, the girl began to scream and call for help, Yoozu immediately plugged her mouth but it was too late. Someone had heard her, and that someone was smoking with rage.
"What the hell is going on here?"
The quiet but unusually dangerous voice made the boy pale, and he suddenly let go of his grip on the girl.
Y/N fell to the ground with momentum, right at the feet of someone she knew.
She lifted her gaze and caught the icy expression on Jungkook's handsome face; she also seemed to catch a glimpse of murderous fury in his irises, but in fact she could not be one hundred percent certain.
"I... nothing, I just wanted to apologize to Y/N for today," Yoozu dared to say, but Jungkook did not buy that pathetic excuse.
"Is that so? It would seem anything but to me." Jungkook had seen the whole scene, had even managed to hear those vulgar words that had screwed up his self-control.
"Professor, it really went like this! But Y/N didn't understand, she thought that-" a sob interrupted his absurd explanations, Jungkook's heart clenched, as did his eyes.
"Kang Yoozu, you are expelled."
"Wait, what! You can't do that! You are not the principal, and on the basis of what then?!" Yoozu panicked, Jungkook found it disgusting.
"I'm not the principal, but I'm on good terms with him, as for the motivation...how does attempted rape sound to you?" he asked wryly, making the boy gasp.
No, with such a charge no other university would have accepted him and his parents would have sent him to some godforsaken place in shame.
"Professor, can we talk about this? Please, this will ruin my life," he prayed agitatedly, admitting his real intentions that way.
"The more I listen to you, the more I want to ruin something else too! Get out of my sight, Kang!" he shouted furiously, Yoozu at first seemed not to understand, then casting a glance at Y/N's kneeling figure he took a step back and began to run.
Jungkook inhaled deeply, trying to calm himself somehow, he couldn't believe what had happened before his own eyes, he turned to the girl and felt only immense pain, she was on her knees on the icy asphalt wet with rain, she kept holding her head in her hands, trying to stifle her sobs.
He lowered himself in her direction, god, she was beautiful even with her face overflowing with tears.
He brought two fingers under her chin, gently forcing her to lift her face to his, chaining their eyes together.
"Hey, Y/N..." he gently blew on her, gathering the tears that ran down her full cheeks with his thumbs, "Are you okay?"
If possible, Y/N exploded into more sobs, throwing herself on her professor. She pushed into his chest seeking comfort, Jungkook was frozen for a moment, he did not expect such a reaction from the girl, his heartstrings tugged filling with warmth, he returned the embrace immediately, holding that tender body to him.
"It will never end," she cried into his neck, breathing hard between sobs and bathing the boy's skin with warm salt water, "It will always be like this."
Jungkook stroked her hair, imprinting the sweet scent of her on his mind, mentally whispering to her that no, it would not be like this anymore, that he would protect her.
"No, Y/N... I'll talk to the principal, they won't hurt you anymore, trust me," he said instead continuing to gently caress her back, having her like this was like a dream just realized, he didn't even know how long he had wanted it, "Can you trust me, Y/N?"
He moved her face away from his chest, seeking a clear answer from her, he wanted to be sure she wanted his help.
Y/N let a trembling sigh escape, nodding. Jungkook's eyes were so sincere and crystal clear that it was natural for her to trust him, although her body still trembled at the mere thought of what Yoozu wanted to do to her.
"Yes, I can," she murmured, Jungkook felt the need to kiss her just then, she was so polite and tender his little girl, who knows if she would have said the same begging him to give her more.
"I'll drive you home, Y/N, I have my car right next door, okay?" the young woman nodded without thinking much about it, her mind still too shocked by recent events to really think.
Jungkook helped her up, escorting her to his car as if she had been a little doll in his hands.
They both climbed into the vehicle and Jungkook got directions to find their way, cast a glance at the younger woman's legs, his hand itching to touch them, but he forced himself not to go too far for the moment. Rather, he focused on the magnificent smell of his favorite student, but the closer he got to his destination, the more he found himself turning up his nose.
He didn't like that neighborhood; it was one of the most dangerous in the fucking city. Every day on the news there were reports of robberies, or worse.
He cast a sidelong glance at the girl, wondering how she had survived in that place so far. Knowing her in that bad place upset him in no small part, and when they reached the apartment building Jungkook's gaze grew hard-they could all get to those windows, they were pretty old, too.
"Well, I live here, professor! Thank you for the ride and... for the help," she found herself saying impishly, Jungkook melted into yet another smile that day, the real and sincere ones were all for her, she just didn't know it yet.
"Just ask, Y/N...and I'll be here for you," he said earnestly, the girl nodded, unable to respond and opened the door to get out of the car, gave one last wave and then ran inside.
Leaving behind the eager gaze of her teacher.
She closed the door to her apartment behind her back, a deep warm throbbing did not hint at leaving her anytime soon.
Jungkook's presence was all she could think about, she let herself slide against the surface of the door, in her mind were imprinted images of the man holding the steering wheel firmly in his strong hands, his muscular arms still uncovered and damp with rain, seemed strong enough to carry her without any effort at all, not to mention how he had defended her without too much trouble, quietly defying the economic power of Yoozu's parents, she clutched her legs to her chest, hiding her red face between them.
Damn, she was really in love.
#bts#bts fanfiction#bts smut#bts x reader#bts yandere#yandere bts#yandere bts x reader#jungkook x reader#yandere jungkook x reader#yandere jungkook#bts yandere smut#bts fanfic#yandere
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The narrative of D&D
Fantasy High Junior Year has made its exploration of the tropes, mechanics, and structures of D&D readily apparent, perhaps even more so than the earlier two seasons. This is unsurprising for a show in which the characters are, in-universe, extremely aware of their mechanics and indeed in a high school intended to develop them. And yet, while Brennan Lee Mulligan pokes at these structures, the story still rests squarely within them.
This is not accidental; in longer form narratives (and Fantasy High as an overall story certainly is one, though each individual season exists in a strange no-man's land of campaign length) there is a distinctive pattern to the D&D narrative, one that is outright stated in the player's handbook. D&D is a progressive advancement game; characters grow in power and in sociopolitical import as they level up. They begin, even at level 1, as exceptional people (no commoner stats for them) and are destined by the fact that they are in a D&D game for greatness. There are things D&D supports well; travel, social interaction, one-time skill use, and combat. There are things it does poorly, notably downtime and stories that are not built along the lines of heroic fantasy.
I think this is a value neutral statement, in that I think that trying to avoid playing D&D while playing D&D is a futile exercise; your character will become more powerful while playing it and the only way to avoid gaining this power is to play a different game. I also think that while D&D has the potential to comment on our world from a new perspective, as most speculative fiction does, and is certainly not without flaws, that conversation is one for a later date. The structure exists; like it or not, it exists. There are other games to play that support other stories.
Fantasy High is direct in its engagement: characters are aware of their classes. They learn about the conventions thereof in their high school coursework, and must justify their multiclassing, both with their current level of power in their base class as well as with what they have done (both narrative and mechanical justifications). The antagonists of Junior Year are the Rat Grinders, explicitly commenting on Experience vs. Milestone leveling; several characters provide an eye into such D&D player tropes as min-maxxing and focusing on RP vs only on the game and mechanical elements. The Seven, set in the same world, operates on a similar premise; the party risks being broken up because half are still in high school and they would not survive a split of that level. Adventurers at the Aguefort Academy must adventure, and both the humor and deconstruction come from the juxtaposition of the conventions of D&D with the typical life of a high school student. The characters do level up; they do become more recognizable; they do have to save the world, repeatedly.
A somewhat subtler deconstruction comes in the form of NADDPod's first campaign, or as it was introduced, The Campaign after the Campaign. As envisioned by Brian Murphy (a player in Fantasy High; it is perhaps relevant that the two shows both began production around the same time), the world in which it is set is grappling with the aftermath of the "campaign" of the three legendary heroes Alanis, Thiala, and Ulfgar, who had slain Asmodeus, among other feats. While this ended a war, it set off several crucial events. Most centrally to the story of NADDPod, Thiala, disillusioned with her role as the healer, broke her worship of Pelor and used the heart of Asmodeus to ascend to godhood; she would eventually become the final antagonist of the campaign. However, the death of Asmodeus also set off a power vacuum in Hell. NADDPod's third campaign is set two centuries after the first, and the new legendary heroes (the Band of Boobs of the first campaign) have been dealing with the aftermath of an extraplanar war of the gods; Mothership, the main antagonist, arose in Thiala's wake. This is all typical actions leading to consequences, but the idea that the butterfly that flapped its wings was the resentment of someone having to play the cleric is notable (and is directly contrasted by Emily Axford's Bahumia characters, who openly embrace healing and support casting, breaking Thiala's cycle while cleaning up her mess.) But NADDPod too is heroic fantasy, even with the science fantasy elements present in the second season, and even slots nicely into the PHB tiers.
Critical Role does not, per se, strive to deconstruct in the same way (though Matt Mercer does provide some direct retorts to Forgotten Realms lore, particularly that of drow). But like NADDPod, the consequences of past campaigns influence subsequent ones. Campaign 1 is very easily recognizable as a classic "gain influence and power" story, and while Campaign 2's heroes the Mighty Nein retain a refreshingly low profile throughout the story, it does still progress in a typical way, though in a rather more self-directed manner.
Campaign 3 is interesting, in that it initially deviates from some of the more classic tropes of early D&D, but ultimately succumbs (to its benefit, in my opinion) to the inertia of the heroic fantasy arc. Bells Hells do not work their way up from level 1 or 2 taking on odd jobs; they begin the campaign by joining up with a benevolent patron, and several party members have pre-existing powerful connections. They receive the use of a skyship by episode 22 and level 6 (something even Vox Machina considered having to steal at level 13) and inherit it not long after. And yet: despite this, and a pivotal set piece of the apogee solstice in which a comparatively low level party plays a part among many factions, following a brief split the campaign begins to run on more familiar tracks. For all the early privileges the team enjoyed and the theological debates they engaged in, they ultimately find themselves in a position identical to that of the archetypal Vox Machina: facing an evil wizard who, after a rushed solstice ritual mid-campaign, only partially unsealed a long-imprisoned ancient deity of manipulation and destruction and now wishes to finish the job. One must assume Delilah Briarwood is appreciating the parallels from within Laudna's psyche.
Worlds Beyond Number is a player on the scene to watch out for, especially because Mulligan has shown himself to enjoy playing with these tropes and his players are all immensely knowledgeable and experienced players (and in Aabria Iyengar's case, DMs) themselves. Rather like Bells Hells, two of its three characters are coming in already in storied positions, despite being level 2, and it will be interesting to see if it bucks the trend. I don't think it needs to. I think there's plenty of variety to be had within this subgenre, and I think a quiet pushing at the boundaries is frequently more effective than full-scale subverstion. But should that be the plan, it will take a lot of work; even with immense awareness of the path D&D sets forth it seems DMs - and players - tend to stay on it.
#i gotta make a separate like. website-based blog for shit like this i'm basically writing articles for free (which. they'd still be free)#cr tag#d20 tag#naddpod tag#wbn tag#i'd been thinking of this since fhjy got really into it and some joking around about c1 vs. c3 parallels motivated me to finally write it#anyway! hope you like it.#also i killed a very hilarious darling here expect a shitpost soon probably
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A New Interactive Novel
Links :
✧ Play the game
Last Released: Chapter 3
Total Word Count: approx. 137.3k
Last Updated: 27th of May 2024
✧ Bonus Content
Total word count: approx. 16.7k
✧ Ko-Fi / Patreon
✧ Discord
✧ Report a Bug
✧ Ask Guidelines / FAQ
✧ Character Descriptions / Official Character Art
✧ Pinterest References
Crown of Ashes and Flames is a fantasy interactive fiction game, free to play on pc and mobile. You play as the only remaining member of the royal family of Vesphire; living in the home of the man who took away everything from you.
It is currently in development and each chapter will be released as they are finished.
The war had taken everything from you.
King Luceris had taken everything from you.
You were just nine years old when all of this happened. One moment you were in your room sleeping and the next you were walking through smoke and ash trying to find your parents.
Love, he said, was the reason he started the war. Ironically, you lost everything you loved but you also lost yourself when he let you survive and dragged you away to his home.
In a new Kingdom with no one on your side what choices will you make to survive? Who will you become?
Inside of you, there’s something burning for revenge and there’s only one thing I want to tell you. Let it out.
Content Warning: This game is rated MA-17. Depictions of violence, injuries and blood, and death; trauma, depictions of mental health challenges, child marriage, psychological horror, animal cruelty, and optional sexual content. Player discretion is advised.
The story starts in the Kingdom of Vesphire, a fictional kingdom within a fantasy universe, but it truly begins in the Kingdom of Rosea.
The two kingdoms are situated in a world that was blessed by the gods, the lands were filled with magic and beasts of wonder. For unknown reasons the gods abandoned the realm taking everything they had brought with them while the beasts moved to forests and the sea. Anywhere that was far from civilization.
You were born and raised in Vesphire until tragedy struck and you were taken away to Rosea. Contrary to the snowy lands of Vesphire, Rosea was tropical in the north and temperate in the south with mountains surrounding the lane.
The Kingdom is a colorful land with green scenery contrasts to its large white buildings. The streets are always busy from early mornings to the late nights, and filled with calls from the shopkeepers from their wooden stalls with sun-faded striped fabric or blue tarps above it. It is truly a lively place.
The ruler of this kingdom is none other than Luceris De Rosea. He is the man who led destruction right onto your home, he is the one whom all of Rosea admire. The land is immensely beautiful but many of it's people harbor great hatred towards you due to you being the last royal of Vesphire.
✧ Play as the royal of your own making:
Name [including nicknames]
Gender [male, female and nonbinary options]
Pronouns [choose a preset or set your own]
Personality [develop personality traits that will influence event sequences and the behavior of other characters towards you]
Appearance [including scars and tattoos]
✧ Develop deeper relationships with the characters, each with their own themes and stories, and find romance.
✧ Build rapport with characters from all over the continent, aid them with their problems or use them as a pawn in your story.
✧ Build a codex as you explore the world that surrounds you; encounter people, places, history and magic.
✧ Encounter important timed choices with alternative results if time runs out or you choose to abstain.
The characters in this list are those with whom you can form a deeper relationship, whether it be platonic or romantic. While all characters are available to everyone, only Hunter is gender selectable.
It is important to note that these characters are not the only ones of significance.
Fadiya Akter - The Royal Mage’s daughter, and one of the only people that doesn’t have something against you. She’s cheerful, talkative and kind - like a fairy. Fiercely loyal to you, to the point that she gets into trouble just to defend you even in court. She is a powerful mage just like her mother. She is one year younger than you.
Helios De Rosea - The Crown Prince of Rosea, and the child of the man that destroyed your home. He has a radiating smile that instantly brightens up the room, like sunshine itself. He is the hero of all fairytales, the boy with a golden spirit full of light and hope. He keeps his distance from you, after all you are the last royal of Vesphire. He is one year older than you.
Hunter Oakes - Crown Prince’s shield and Sir Lancelot’s ward. Easygoing and reckless; their serene smile puts everyone at ease. They’re loyal to the hand that feeds them but understand what you went through was an injustice. They are four years older than you.
Soarine De Norazaan - Eldest daughter of the King of Norazaan, and an envoy to Rosea. Her smile is charming and practiced, she has a vixen-like personality. Soarine wishes to take the throne and better her kingdom, her desire for the throne is underlined by a thirst for revenge against the people in her kingdom who have forgotten their own history. She is one year older than you.
Vincent Annora - Son of the current General of the Imperial Army and the one who will take her position in the future. The perfect example of what a knight should be. He is very guarded and passionately protective of the people he cares about, he may seem rough around the edges but has a gentler side to him at times. He dislikes you due to his mother’s own hatred towards you and your late family. He is two years older than you.
Thank you for reading!
#interactive fiction#interactive novel#interactive story#if game#twine game#crown of ashes and flames#crownofashesandflames#crownofashesandflames if#twine interactive fiction#twine#twine if#cyoa#promo post#if wip
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Pro Tips from a NaNo Coach: How to Write a Clean(ish) Fast Draft
NaNoWriMo can seem like a daunting task sometimes, for NaNo newbies and veterans alike. Fortunately, our NaNo Coaches are here to help guide you through November! Today, author Jesse Q. Sutanto is here to share her advice on how to set yourself up for noveling success:
Dear Nano-ers,
My first book took me three years to cobble together. During that time, I joined Absolute Write—a free writers forum which I completely love and recommend to all aspiring writers—and I made a friend who convinced me to try doing NaNoWriMo. I was completely unconvinced, but I am a people-pleaser and I can never say no, so I agreed to try it for my second novel.
My second novel took me less than a month to write. It was a complete mess, but it was also a revelation. Often, I felt myself falling into that writing Holy Grail—the hole which consumes you, makes you forget the rest of the world, and absorbs you completely in the world you are creating on paper. I loved the process deeply, and never looked back since. All of my subsequent books have since been written in a matter of months.
And you know what? They were all a horrific mess. I did not learn how to do a clean and fast draft until my NINTH book, and I don’t think I would’ve ever learnt without the help of NaNoWriMo. So here are my tips on how to best tackle a sprint-a-thon like NaNo.
1. Try to come up with a loose outline.
When I first started writing, I was a pure pantser. I had no idea what was going to happen before I sat down to write. This is a completely legit way of writing, but I have since learned that it is massively helpful to have an idea, even a vague one, of what you are trying to say with your book. What was really helpful for me was to sit down for just five minutes before writing each scene and try to envision what I wanted the scene to achieve. Once I had that in mind, the scene became much easier to write.
2. Break down your writing time.
Ever heard of the Pomodoro technique? In order to hit 50,000 words a month, you need to write around 1,600 words a day. That is a heck of a lot of words to write! Break it down. Set 10 or 15-minute timers and use that to your advantage. Trust me, if you told me to sit down and write 1,600 words, I would be like, “Omg that’s too much!” But if you told me to just write for 15 minutes, that feels a lot more doable.
3. Give yourself permission to write trash.
Before each writing session, I actually say out loud: “I am going to write trash.” And this gives me permission to write whatever comes to my mind without judgment. You can always edit later, but for now, focus on letting the words out on paper.
4. Lean on others for support.
I made the mistake of thinking that writing is a lonely vocation. In fact, it is one of the most social things I could do. Social media, while a double-edged sword, has done so much for the writing community. I have found all of my close writer friends through social media, and I chat with them every day and consider them my close, lifelong friends. Don’t be afraid to reach out and make connections within the community. You are not alone.
Jesse Q. Sutanto is the award-winning, bestselling author of Dial A for Aunties, Vera Wong’s Unsolicited Advice for Murderers, Well, That Was Unexpected, The Obsession, and Theo Tan and the Fox Spirit. The film rights to her women’s fiction, Dial A for Aunties, was bought by Netflix in a competitive bidding war, and the TV rights to Vera Wong was bought by Warner Bros, with Oprah and Mindy Kaling attached to produce. She has a master’s degree in creative writing from Oxford University, though she hasn’t found a way of saying that without sounding obnoxious.
#nanowrimo#writing#nanowrimo 2023#writing advice#writing tips#writblr#by nano coach#jesse q. sutanto
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Star Wars Writing Resources
Note: None of the resources below are mine. I just assembled them in one place for your and my convenience. Feel free to use and reblog. If you know of any other useful site missing from the list, let me know and I'll gladly add it.
NOTE (05/17/23): There's a new, much more comprehensive version HERE.
Places
Interactive Galaxy Map by Henry Bernberg
Map of the Galaxy
List of planets and moons [Wikipedia /needs expanding]
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Star Wars Name Generator 2 [FantasyNames]
Star Wars Name Generator 3 [FantasyNames]
The character creator
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Star Wars Randomizer by @aureutr
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Clone Picrew by @batdad
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Star Wars Character Templates by SmacksArt [the ULTIMATE battery of template for any human/humanoid original character in any era. From troopers to droids, from Jedi to Sith, from KOTOR to the sequel Trilogy. 100% RECOMMENDED]
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In-Universe phrases and slang [Google sheet]
List of phrases and slang [wookiepedia]
List of equivalents to real-world objects [wookiepidia]
Star Wars Menu Generator
Helpful blogs
The amazing @fox-trot, who not only makes astonishing art and write an amazing fic, she also responds to medical questions and gives all kinds of references for writing medic characters.
@writebetterstarwars, which seems to be inactive, but there are a bunch of references there.
@howtofightwrite The place to find out how to write a good fight scene.
@scriptmedic no longer active, but it has a great deal of useful information.
@scripttorture for your whump needs. Major trigger warning for all its content.
Writing in General (For those who don't want to die like Stormtroopers)
SlickWrite: Completely free; online. Checks grammar, punctuation, flow, and writing style according to different settings (including fiction writing).
ProWritingAid: [RECOMMENDED] One of the most thorough online proofreader I've ever used. Although when using a free account gives extremely thorough feedback, it gives +20 different in-depth reports for only the first 500 words for free. However, you can earn a premium account license (for a year or for life) if you get 10 or 20 new users signing up for free; (if you wouldn't mind doing so using the link above and help me earn mine, please). The settings allow you to check your writing according to your needs, from general to formal to creative. It has a bonus that you can check depending on the genre you're writing. For example, in creative, you can choose romance or sci-fiction (there are 14 sub-genre in total). And just like google docs, you can share a document, and people can view, comment or edit.
LanguageTool: [RECOMMENDED] Another excellent proofreader. It also has a word limit in free accounts, but if you use the add-on for Google Docs, it counts each page as a new document, so hitting the limit is nearly impossible. It helps you to rewrite a sentence, even if it doesn't raise any flags; it's very useful for when your sentence is grammatically correct, but it doesn't feel quite right.
Grammarly, Hemingway Editor: No so great, but they do the basic job.
#star wars writing resources#star wars#the mandalorian#the bad batch#sw rebels#the clone wars#obi wan kenobi#obi wan kenobi show#tbobf#the book of boba fett#andor
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Signalis, Authority, and History
There's a level of nuance to how Signalis presents the violence of the authority of the nation that doesn't call attention to itself but which I really appreciate. Which is basically just, all the officers and cops and spies who make life hell for people like the Gestalt mine workers, Ariane, and the Itou family--we get little glimpses into who they are in Adler and Kolibri's diaries and despite the propaganda and the authoritative tone they take in official communications, for the most part they don't seem to actually be particularly invested in the hard line of national ideology. They uphold it though, viciously, both because things were worse under imperial rule (we don't get hard details on what it was like but it's mentioned in passing enough that I believe it) and because they're scared that if they don't they will be decommissioned and easily replaced. They are literally stamped out of a production line after all. There's a subtext of well, if I don't do it my replacement will anyway and I'm not trying to die so what's the point of rocking the boat?
I think Kolibri stands out to me most clearly on this because in communications from the block warden regarding Ariane there is emphasis put on how it is unacceptable and suspicious that she should be so interested and invested in art and literature that does not serve the purpose of furthering the goals of the nation. But we know that Kolibris themselves are bookworms, Adlers are fiends for stimulating experiences, and both get miserable FAST when deprived of art and puzzles and entertainment and hobbies. Y'know, just like anyone. Far be it from being a paragon of The Nation only interested in productive labor, we are reminded that the block warden, too, hates this shitty town and wants to transfer but is denied. They're hypocrites, but not monsters, nor brainwashed puppets of the state.
The monstrousness at play is not contained within any particular subset of evil individuals, or even an inherent universal force of evil contained in the broad notion of The Nation. There is no cosmic evil force that makes them all do these things to each other. The monstrousness is within the social systems, the mechanisms of how authority perpetuates on a structural procedural level, held in place by fear and tangible threats of violence, each link in the chain restraining the next through those threats out of fear that if they don't, then they'll be next. Regardless how many, if any, of those people in this chain are true dogmatic hardliners, they must act as such because failing to do so opens them up to danger.
Here then I think of the quote that is so prominent, "Great holes secretly are digged where earth’s pores ought to suffice, and things have learnt to walk that ought to crawl", from Lovecraft's The Festival. This is not just a chilling abstract visual that conveniently evokes a mineshaft-- in Lovecraft's story, this line refers to worms which ate the decomposing bodies of wizards whose wretched souls had remained after death, complete with the terrible powers they gained through contracts with demons. Those worms inherited both their power, and also the evil. The Nation, despite having overthrown the Empire, is built on imperial technology, in particular Replikas and bioresonance. So too, then, we can imply that The Nation inherited with those things some of the monstrousness of The Empire as well. There is no end of history, nor clean break with the past, no matter how violently it may seem to be rejected. That which remains from the past--and something inevitably always does--creates the present.
This is a game that is not shy about evoking East Germany. And I think all of this provides a sophisticated picture of repressive authority that we rarely see in fiction of the English speaking world, especially in games. The year the S23 incident takes place is notably 84, but, frankly, I find this to be more compelling and illustrative than 1984 (and I'm a librarian and have taught English classes so I get to say that). Orwell, let's be honest, presents a fairly one dimensional picture of authority, where people seize power and wield it against others out of seeming mustache twirling evil or malice.
Here though we get a more humanistic view. Authority did not come from nowhere and is not wielded arbitrarily out of gleeful cruelty or mindless brainwashed allegiance. People aren't "just following orders". Individuals have rich inner lives. They make decisions, and those decisions are based in the context they're in. Even the decision to carry repressive tools of the past into the present is a decision that was made strategically with the big picture in mind. Nobody woke up and decided to be evil that day. Everyone operates on self interest, and, we must assume, an earnest desire for things to get better. Even the [spoiler] program which served as an inspirational demonstration of The Nation's power, you can imagine the chain of officers and bureaucrats who genuinely wanted the people of the nation to believe in the future, to confidently trust that everyone was working together towards something great and beautiful. And, through a long chain of those people who couldn't say "No" without being decommissioned, we ended up with something unbelievably cruel.
We get to know Adler and Kolibri and the other officers not to say well they're human too, maybe it wasn't so bad that they condemned all those people to agonizing suffering, but to remember that if we keep looking for true monsters we will not find them. There are no monsters and there are no demons. There are only people making decisions. A better world is possible. A better world, where Adler is just a paper pusher who does puzzles after work instead of signing papers to authorize torture, where Kolibris are librarians instead of spies and cops, where EULEs can gossip and play piano and ARARs can do maintenance on facilities that don't contain torture rooms, is one that would not have led to the Ariane and Elster's tragic cycle and ultimate end.
Authority and its attendant cruelty is not contained, radiating forth from The Great Revolutionary and Her Daughter, it is within the social systems of control. When those two women die, that cruelty will continue so long as those social systems continue. Like Lovecraft's worms, no matter how long dead the evil of the past is, so long as it continues to be fed upon, that evil will not only remain, but evolve into something new in the present. A better world can't be achieved through the death of the old world alone, even if violent overthrow is warranted. There is no end of history. There is no clean break from the past.
"Men make their own history, but they do not make it as they please; they do not make it under self-selected circumstances, but under circumstances existing already, given and transmitted from the past. The tradition of all dead generations weighs like a nightmare on the brains of the living."
Karl Marx, The Eighteenth Brumaire of Louis Bonaparte
#Signalis#Didn't include everything because this is already very long#But there's a lot to add to this kind of reading from other former Eastern Bloc states that go beyond a kind of braindead#Simplistic Authoritarianism bad communism bad freedom good type of view common in the English speaking world#That go more into well what is authority and how does it work and how has it remained durable and violent before during and after the cold#The Romanian movie Bad Luck Banging is very good for this in expressing how things have been more similar than different#Under monarchy fascism communism and liberal democracy over the last 150 years there#replika joker voice maybe the real monster is SOCIETY#op#quality content
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