#fly footwear

[wcs-2023]

CSE Fashion sneaker.

#fashion #footwear #sneaker #basketball #Highschool #cool #flashy #Queen NY #rapper #ll cool j #dj envy #50 cent #ny #pretty #fly #lebron james #stephen curry #kevin durant #james harden #kyrie irving #chris paul #sports #sporty #ny ny #green #teenager #hip hop #nike #back to school #school shopping

[jorrated]

Redid my Maya Knux gijinka! Now with notes and sources on how I did the design (It's kinda long, around 2k words jsyk):

The hairstyle:

Knux has pretty long spikes, so I knew I wanted to give him long hair! Braids or dreadlocks look pretty fitting, so I tried looking for references of hairstyles to see if any fit what I was looking for:

Source: Mayavase.com (Photograph by Justin Kerr)

http://research.mayavase.com/kerrmaya_hires.php?vase=1092

http://research.mayavase.com/kerrmaya_hires.php?vase=1453

http://research.mayavase.com/kerrmaya_hires.php?vase=694

http://research.mayavase.com/kerrmaya_hires.php?vase=1340

While all the vases show a variety of interesting hairstyles, I particularly loved the look of the braids in K694 (the third picture). Being tied upwards wouldn’t really fit Knux however, so something like the man in K1340 (fourth pic) with his hair fully down, or the 5th man from left to right in K1092 (first pic) with a cloth holding the hair would be really nice!

I didn’t want to give him a headpiece, if only to not clutter his head, but also I didn’t think it’d fit Knux as a warrior. The ruler’s headpiece in K1453 (second pic) however allows the hair to come off it, and seems to have some dangly adornments on the end of the strands/braids/locks, which I found super pretty. Plus:

“Elite Mayan men and women styled their hair to show off their pointed heads, crafted through the careful head flattening they experienced as children. Women gathered their long hair on top of their heads in flowing ponytails. For special occasions they braided their ponytails and decorated them with ornaments and ribbons. Mayan men grew their hair long but burnt the hair off their foreheads to accentuate their elongated profiles. They would bind their hair into one or many ponytails or tie it in a bundle on top of their head. Mayan slaves had their hair cut short as one visible mark of their inferior status.” p.399

Source: Fashion, costume, and culture: clothing, headwear, body decorations, and footwear through the ages (Sarah Pendergast and Tom Pendergast, Sarah Hermsen as Project Editor), 2003.

https://archive.org/details/fashioncostumecu0000pend/page/n5/mode/2up

Taking all of that! I settled on tight braids with a few adornments made of jade and wood, with a red cloth to keep his hair from his eyes. Almost all of the braids are pulled together into a ponytails, but there are some smaller braids loose.

It’s somewhat of a mixture of styles, combining ornaments of special occasions, with the long hair of elites on a character like Knux. But I kept these ‘contradictory’ aspects of the design to remember that Knux kinda learns about his ancestors on the go, through murals, writings and technology, so I doubt he’d have a great grasp on what he should and shouldn’t wear. I think it adds character as someone who’s trying to figure out himself, his history and his place in the world.

Shoes and Accessories:

For footwear I kept it simple, just turned Knux’s existing shoes into sandals:

“Ancient Aztecs and Mayans of Central America adopted a thick-soled sandal with a protective legging attached at the heel, while the top of the foot and shin remained exposed.” p.135

Source: Encyclopedia of Clothing and Fashion (Valerie Steele), 2005

Although my gut instinct was to cover Knuckles from head to toe in accessories, I also tried to keep it simple like the shoes. He’s a very mobile fellow so he can’t have too much weight or annoying bits flying everywhere and getting in his face. So I kept his moon necklace, like in Fleetway, just adjusted the shape to have a bit more of details:

“The jewelry worn by the Mayan, Aztec and Inca people was rich in variety and quite beautiful. Without metalworking skills, Mayans made jewelry from many materials. Mayan men wore nose ornaments, earplugs and lip plugs made from bone, wood, shells and stones, including jade, topaz, and obsidian. Necklaces, bracelets, anklets and headgear were made with jaguar and crocodile teeth, jaguar claws and feathers.” p.402

Source: Fashion, costume, and culture: clothing, headwear, body decorations, and footwear through the ages (Sarah Pendergast and Tom Pendergast, Sarah Hermsen as Project Editor), 2003.

https://archive.org/details/fashioncostumecu0000pend/page/n5/mode/2up

As stated here, Mayans didn’t have metalwork, so I imagine this is an artifact that his ancestors got from another group of people.

Just a page before they also mention how the Maya people used to file points into their teeth, to make their mouths more appealing. This includes shaping them into pointy teeth, (like the classic shark teeth), but they could also file them into other shapes, like in this picture:

Source: https://www.archaeologynow.org/blog-3/blog-post-title-two-txwxl (I’m pretty sure this isn’t the source of the image, but I couldn’t find an actual source that wasn’t an uncredited blog)

The Maya people are also notorious for their good dentistry, as seen the stone ornaments in the teeth above. I think the filling is something Knux could do on his own, but anything that would involve actual dentistry would be too much. But it’s still interesting to read about!

(Here’s an article named “Mayan Esthetic Dentistry: Using Modern Techniques and Digital Imaging Technologies to Link the Past to the Present” by Yassine Harichane if you want to learn more!)

While a non-permanent version of stones on teeth seemed cool, like Jade incisor-coverings, at the end of the day I don’t think Knuckles is too vain, so I didn’t add that to the design. Although I think he’d definitely try out a bunch of things like this, just to try to understand them.

For additional outfits I gave him a red layered cape and a green huipil! The red cape is just to bring back more red into the design, since I gave him a lot of green. And the huipil is a nod to his poncho in the comics! (Although huipiles are commonly associated with women and girls, I still wanted to give him one, not only to bring up his partial detachment to his ancestors, but also because Knux probably wouldn’t think much about gender in general let’s be honest)

Source: Mayavase.com (Photograph by Justin Kerr)

http://research.mayavase.com/kerrmaya_hires.php?vase=638

Somewhat based the red cape on the 4th man in this picture, from left to right, but I kept it simple, as maybe just some fabric Knux found around the island, nothing too fancy.

For the huipil I wanted to do something more detailed but was having a really hard time coming up with designs. And I didn’t want to straight up plagiarize someone’s else work, so I kept it vague, maybe some day I’ll sit down and give it a more detailed version. I did come across a very nice store/ catalog that sells traditional Maya textiles, and this one was very gorgeous! Highly recommend give this and the other textiles a look!

In the end I made the huipil look vaguely like the ones shown in page 128 of the following book:

“In the Museum collection, costumes that looked very much alike usually turned out to be from villages that shared a language. Among Cakchiquel villages, dialect differences were usually mirrored by costume differences. Working on this principle we were surprised by the striking similarity of style in the huipils of San Antonio Aguas Calientes (fig. 195) and San Martín Jilotepeque (fig. 196). These villages, while both Cakchiquel, spoke very different dialects and were separated geographically (map, below). The similarity of their huipil was so remarkable we felt the need to investigate these two villages more thoroughly and found that a multi-cultural history probably accounted for these unexpected similarities of style. Huipils from these villages may well illustrate the earliest examples of pan-Maya acculturation after the Conquest.”p. 127

Source: Threads of identity: Maya costume of the 1960s in highland Guatemala (Patricia B. Altman, Caroline D.West), 1992.

https://archive.org/details/threadsofidentit0000altm/page/n7/mode/2up

Lastly on accessories, which I don’t know if it counts as an accessory but I didn’t know where to put it: the body paint. Last time I gave Knux a human design I couldn't find a good resource on Maya people painting their bodies. Every source mentioned and was in consensus that some of the people did paint their bodies, but that was the extent of the info. I wasn’t able to find any patterns or meanings of the body paintings, or even good visual reference for it. But! This time I was able to get a bit more:

“Body painting was a common Maya practice. Classic Period murals and polychrome vases depict warriors covered with red or black paint; sometimes their bodies were striped with red paint. Paint was also used around the eyes and nose to give a fierce expression. In the 16th century, these practices continued. Women also applied red paint to their faces and bodies, but presumably to make themselves look beautiful, not fierce. Small paint jars of red hematite mixed with mica were found in the houses at Cerén, and these may have been for cosmetic use. Unmarried young men painted their bodies black, and so did those who were undergoing periods of ritual purification and fasting. Priests often wore blue body paint. “p. 338

Source: Handbook To Life In The Ancient Maya World Lynn (V. Foster), 2002.

Source: Mayavase.com (Photograph by Justin Kerr)

http://research.mayavase.com/kerrmaya_hires.php?vase=2800

http://research.mayavase.com/kerrmaya_hires.php?vase=2573

http://research.mayavase.com/kerrmaya_hires.php?vase=7996

I of course wanted to give him red paint, and I really liked this design of the red lining the cheeks on the face down to the neckline. However in most of these depictions the red on the body is accompanied by the white face, which I can’t actually tell if the face has white paint, or the body has black paint, like described in the quote before. Either way I chose to only use the red, to keep in line with Knux’s original design.

(It’s worth mentioning that these vases shown depict rulers, as you can see the intricate thrones and altars, which isn’t really fitting with Knux. But again, I want to keep some mismatched aspects into his design, not only warrior-related things.)

The main outfit:

Last but not least, the main outfit. Don’t have much notes on this I’m going to be honest, I just tried to keep in line with descriptions of warriors clothing:

“While some warriors may have been resplendent on the battlefield, the common Maya soldier fought with little clothing other than loincloth and body paint, based on battle scenes in the few Maya murals that remain (see figure 2.9, page 54).” p.147

Source: Handbook To Life In The Ancient Maya World Lynn (V. Foster), 2002.

I considered putting him in a loincloth for accuracy, but tbh I was scared people were going to be weird about it, and so I gave him a skirt with some fabric that emulates the look of a loincloth and some scrap fabric around his waist and limbs! He actually ended pulling up a lot from the dude I mentioned in vase K1092 (the very first ref pic in this post) lol!

And that´s all, hope y’all liked it :P

#jo.art #sonic the comic #knuckles the echidna #gijinka

[ckret2]

Chapter 47 of human Bill Cipher thinking that being imprisoned in the Mystery Shack is looking pretty good right now:

The Eclipse: Part 5

Bill and Ford are just... so energized and enthusiastic after their near death experience. Not to mention fashionable.

But they've got nothing on Dipper.

And, at long last, Ford and Dipper badger Bill—who's just too tired to lie—into explaining what kind of an "eclipse" involves a giant flying axolotl making gravity disappear.

####

When they reached the cave, Ford discovered that his antique lantern was too waterlogged to light.

"I'm not sure how we're getting to the top now," Ford said. The cavern directly behind the waterfall had some ambient lighting, but it wouldn't carry very far. "I know you can see, but I don't trust you to lead me through a cave system in the dark, no offense." He was surprised at himself for saying no offense.

"If I was planning to let you fall off a cliff, I could've saved myself a swim in the lake." Bill had taken off his backpack and was rummaging through it. "Didn't your lantern go out when you took four-eyes hiking through here? You should have learned your lesson."

Bill must have meant Fiddleford, though it was strange to hear him single out Fiddleford as "four-eyes" when Ford wore glasses too. "I did learn my lesson. I brought three flashlights as backup," Ford said. "Which are in Dipper's backpack."

Bill laughed weakly.

"Did you bring a flashlight?"

"Better." Bill pulled out a kazoo. He blew a stream of water from it, shook it, and then took a deep breath and played a long high note that wavered up and down.

Ford cringed at the noise. "Bill, what—?"

Bill held up a finger to silence Ford. Okay, fine. He was curious now.

It took a few moments of increasingly irritating kazoo playing, but Ford heard a soft clinking sound coming from the deeper caverns; and then several geodites—small creatures that looked like stone orbs with crystal limbs and teeth and glowing eyes—curiously emerged into the main cavern. Ford hadn't seen these creatures since he'd documented them in the eighties. He hadn't known they could be summoned via kazoo. They began making a high pitched humming along with Bill's kazooing. 

"There you are." Bill stuffed the kazoo into his backpack and crouched down, holding out a hand until a couple of geodites crept closer to inspect it; and then he scooped up the closest one. The others startled into breaking off singing, but hovered nearby, chirping and clicking. "Okay, grab a flashlight." The light the geodites' eyes gave off wasn't very bright; but it was enough for Ford to see Bill's smug smirk. They proceeded into the caves, and a dozen-odd more geodites—perhaps out of curiosity, perhaps out of concern for the two hostages—followed along behind them.

The climb went much slower than it had just a few hours earlier. Unsurprisingly, without low gravity on his side, Bill was the holdup this time. Not only was he not as experienced in spelunking as Ford, but between his waterlogged dress shoes and his borrowed trout slippers he didn't have any appropriate footwear, and he'd elected to carefully climb barefoot again. When Ford had climbed up this path with Fiddleford in the 80s, it had been a six hour climb. He had no idea how long it would take with Bill.

But even at that, Ford hadn't expected Bill to need to pause so often to get his energy back. It seemed like the more Ford recovered from their fall in the lake, the weaker Bill got. In any other situation, he'd suspect Bill of slowing them down on purpose, but after... well, even that aside, Ford couldn't think of any reason Bill would want to delay getting home.

"It's just this body that's dizzy," Bill said, the fourth time they had to stop for him to sit. "Probably one of those... counterproductive stress reactions human bodies get." He wiped a film of sweat off his forehead, then stopped to examine how his hand trembled when his geodite's spotlight eyes fixed on it. "That or it's because I've only had a handful of cereal for the past two days."

Ford stared at him. "You what? Why?"

Bill shrugged. "Body wouldn't let me get more down. Wasn't my idea."

"Well, for goodness's sake, eat something now."

Bill took off his backpack, pulled out a cereal box, and opened it. He grimaced. He poured out a puddle of sugary lake water and dissolved cereal.

Of course. "Here." Ford pulled a tube of astronaut meat out of his backpack and offered it over. "It's not the most nutritionally complete meal supplement, but it's something. It'll have protein."

Bill took the tube with a grimace, but squeezed out a dollop of meat paste and licked it; and then he gagged so hard he doubled over. He clapped a hand over his mouth to keep from retching and offered the tube back. "Mmmf." The geodite hopped out of his lap in alarm and retreated to the group of hangers-on traveling with them.

The meat paste wasn't great, but that was a disproportionate reaction out of the alien who liked to mix chocolate sauce and mustard. This was a bigger problem than Ford had anticipated. "Keep it. If you can get down even a tiny bit every few minutes, that's better than nothing."

Bill nodded jerkily.

"I think it's better if we reach Dipper and get out of here as soon as possible."

Bill nodded more enthusiastically.

What would they do if Bill couldn't make it the whole way? Would Ford have to leave him in the cave and come back for him later? Ford hadn't tied the infinity belt's cable to Bill like he'd meant to, he just realized. It seemed unnecessarily cruel to try now; but it might be useful if he did have to leave Bill behind. He didn't know that they had any better option, he couldn't carry Bill all the way up and down. Especially since Bill had let go of his geodite, and Ford suspected the rest might abandon them if he put down his own...

They'd have to figure that out if it came to it. For now, they kept walking—Ford glancing back regularly to check on Bill, and Bill pretending he didn't notice.

####

After another half hour and another two increasingly frequent breaks, Ford saw a faint light in the tunnels ahead—yellow-white, not like the geodites' natural blues and purples. "Bill, is that...?"

"Hm?" Bill looked in the direction Ford was pointing. His right eye twitched, and then he had to squeeze his eyes shut in pain. "Yep. Boy child at 12 o'clock."

Ford called out, "Dipper?"

"Great Uncle Ford!" Dipper's voice echoed through the caves. There was a sound of clattering rocks as Dipper scrabbled down the tunnel to join them. The geodites scattered in fear, peering out from behind stalagmites as Dipper's flashlight swept over the scene. "Grunkle Ford! Are you okay?"

"Yes, yes, I'm fine. Are you—?"

Dipper collided with Ford to hug him. (Ford held his geodite out to the side so he could return a one-armed hug.) "I'm so sorry I saw you go over the cliff but I couldn't do anything I was in the mindscape the whole time something sucked my soul out of my body—"

"Not it, I'm innocent," Bill said unnecessarily, "nobody look at me." He'd taken advantage of the break to immediately sit on the ground. His abandoned geodite crept back over to check on him.

"—and—and wow, that was the Axolotl you were talking about, right?" Dipper let go of Ford to gesture like a fisherman demonstrating the size of an enormous catch, "It was huge, it had to be—I don't know, as long as the county? The whole state? How did it get so big? Is the Axolotl an alien or some kind of mutant Earth axolotl? Are all axolotls aliens—?"

"Now, hold on," Ford said, putting a hand on Dipper's shoulder, "what huge axolotl? What are you talking about?"

"You didn't see it?" Dipper paused, looked Ford up and down, and said, "What are you wearing?"

Ford grimaced, tugged his bandanna up a little higher, and turned his geodite away when it tried to aim its spotlight eyes at his neck to see what he was doing. "We had to borrow some dry clothes."

"He couldn't see the Axolotl," Bill said. "You shouldn't have, either."

"Sor-ry. Getting sucked out of my body wasn't my idea—"

"Hold on," Ford said again. "What do you mean, sucked out of your body?"

As they headed back down toward the waterfall, Dipper and Ford exchanged their versions of events. It didn't take long for them to realize Bill had saved both their lives with a swift efficiency that, had it been applied to any less altruistic a task, could have been called "ruthless." They didn't say anything, but neither one could stop from glancing back toward Bill.

"What?" he snapped, clinging to his geodite a little tighter like he thought they were planning to take it. "I don't owe you an explanation. You're not dead! Be grateful. Stop looking at me."

They stopped looking at him. Bill should be gloating about them owing him their lives. He should be convincing them they had to pay back their debt. Silence alone would have been worrying; but bristling like he wanted them to forget what he'd done was baffling.

As Dipper finished explaining his version of events, he said, "I think I remember meeting the Axolotl before—like you said." He directed this last comment back over his shoulder toward Bill.

Bill—whose entire attention had been focused for the last ten minutes on walking without collapsing, tripping, or dropping his geodite—simply muttered, "My condolences."

"Wait," Ford said, "You've... met a giant invisible axolotl before?"

"Mabel and I both did."

"When?"

Dipper opened his mouth, paused, and glanced back again at Bill for help.

It took a few seconds for Bill to register the question. "Oh—they've never met before. Not in this reality."

Exasperated, Dipper asked, "Then why do I remember it?"

"I told you—echoes," Bill said. When Dipper continued giving him an expectant look, Bill sighed deeply and said, "This is an embarrassing oversimplification, but you're at least familiar with the concept of branching timelines, right?"

"Of course I am. Every time you make a decision, the timeline splits into two paths—"

"Cute that you think it caps out at two," Bill said. "And a decision doesn't always split the timeline, sometimes the branches collapse back together depending on the gravity of the decision you made. I don't literally mean a decision 'you' made—you've never made a decision that important—but sure, you've got the basic idea."

"Fine," Dipper snapped. "So I met it on another branch, right? When?"

"Never," Bill said.

"Okay. Yes. But there is a branch where... some version of me met it. Right?"

"It depends on how you define 'is.'"

Dipper puffed out his cheeks with the effort of restraining a yell. He looked at Ford for either help or sympathy.

Ford winked surreptitiously at Dipper and said, "It's probably some complicated chronological issue. I doubt Bill can explain it in a way humans can understand." Under his breath, he loudly muttered, "Some 'teacher.'"

Bill straight-armed Ford aside to walk beside Dipper. "You humans have no sense of humor," he said. "I said you met him never because it's literally true. You had an accident that landed you in a time and space outside time and space—the meeting happened never and nowhere. It's where he prefers to take visitors. That timeline terminated after your meeting—and I don't mean you died, I mean he terminated that entire timeline."

"Really?" Dipper shivered. "With... With everyone in it? Why did he do that? Did something dangerous happen in that timeline, or was it unstable, or...?"

"That's how he usually ends casual meet-and-greets," Bill said. "Higher dimensional beings. He sees your reality from a perspective unimaginable to you. Remember when I told you you're just a movie projecting on a wall to him; he's got no problem with pulling the film out of the reel to inspect a few frames and then turning the entire projector off when he's done. What does he care if that's somebody's entire reality?" He paused to think that over. "Maybe the projector metaphor's getting strained. Imagine flipping through a book with all the pages out of order, and meeting him is like somehow flipping to a page outside the book... No, that's a little too contrived. I'll stick with the projector."

"When did we... when would we have met him?" Dipper asked. "And—when I say 'when' I mean—you know what I mean."

"You mean, when would you have made the decisions that could have led to you meeting him? Depending on your perspective, either last August or 207̃05. Time travel was involved."

"Last August..." Dipper thought back. "Was that when we were—?"

"Treasure hunting, yeah. By the by, I never asked—" Bill gestured vaguely around them at everything in general, "—which dimension did I end up in? Is this the one where you went hunting in the 1400s or 1800s?"

"Uh—1800s."

"Hm. Knew this wasn't a 207̃05 treasure hunt timeline, Questiony doesn't have a pet enslaved time pirate."

"A what?"

"So you never had a chance of meeting the Axolotl anyway," Bill said. "Hey, fun fact! Did you know there's a time pocket where twelve million alternate versions of you, your sister, and the puppet with the goggles failed at your quest and plummeted out of time? I wonder how long the last of them survived! I meant to check in after Weirdmageddon. Human flesh isn't that nutritious and doesn't have much water, but with millions of bodies and a little determination— Hey, wanna know how long you all were there before you started resorting to cannibalism—?"

"No," Ford said before Dipper had to. "And I'll thank you not to get off topic to try to give my gnephew more nightmares."

Bill shot him a sideways glance. "Remind me to tell you about the time pocket formed by all the timelines where you and Specs did your first portal test without checking your math."

"So if I wasn't even supposed to meet him—how did I see him today?" Dipper asked. "Did he pull me out of my body into the mindscape so we could talk, or...? But he didn't even tell me anything, was he just trying to get me to remember meeting him in the terminated timeline—?"

"He wasn't trying to do anything," Bill said. "He wasn't here for you, he didn't care. Shadow on the wall."

"Then what was he here for? You?"

It took Bill too long to answer. He just shrugged vaguely. "Probably not."

"Huh." Instead of questioning Bill, Dipper briefly turned introspective himself, gaze far away and thoughtful. "I think I remember a little more about meeting the Axolotl now. The first time, I mean."

"Oh, do you?" Bill asked. "Ha! Poor kid."

"Mabel and I were in some kind of rocket car?" Dipper's brows furrowed in concentration. "And the Axolotl had a... bean bag chair?"

Bill scoffed. "He still has that old thing?! Wow."

"It was really comfortable."

"It's also really tacky."

"You talked about him like he was some kind of... of big... eldritch cosmic horror thing," Dipper said. "What kind of a cosmic horror has bean bag chairs?"

"What, do you think being a vast multidimensional amphibious monstrosity with an incomprehensible mind and a body that can only been seen in lower dimensions as grotesque shapeshifting cross-sections protects you from having bad taste? He'll flay your sanity straight out of your gray matter—and you won't even have the comfort of knowing your mind-shredder had nice interior decor sensibilities!"

"I can sympathize with the experience," Ford muttered. "I was driven to the brink of paranoid madness by a nightmare demon who thinks Doric columns go with checkerboard flooring."

Bill let out a shrill "Ha!" and smacked Ford's shoulder.

"But he remembered me when we met," Dipper went on. "He told me to say hi to Mabel. And—the last time we met, we—talked. I don't remember it all yet, but... you were wrong about him. There was nothing insanity-inducing about him. He was just... nice."

"You don't think the madness sets in all at once, do you?" Bill turned back to Dipper, with an air of what Ford uncomfortably felt like was ill intent. "Go on then—what did you talk about? You can't remember it, can you? Why not? Just a harmless little conversation, right?"

Dipper frowned in thought. "There was something important, but—I can't remember what it was. What was it?" He muttered, "I know it was something important—"

"And there we go!" Bill gestured at Dipper with a flourish, triumphant. "Now you're digging for the significance of the whole thing. You're trying to comprehend the motives of something that has a state of existence your mind wasn't built to understand! You'll either go mad trying to understand his motives—or you'll go mad because you do understand. You're doomed now, kid—this is gonna haunt you for the rest of your days." He laughed. "Try to stop thinking about it now while you're ahead!"

"I'm not going insane," Dipper said. "Just shut up, I'm trying to remember."

"'I'm not obsessed, I swear! I can stop thinking about it any time I want!' Sure."

"Shut up," Dipper repeated. "It had to have been something important! Otherwise why would he dragged me out of my body and—and shown me the fourth dimension just so I could meet him?"

"Don't sound so self-important! You never saw the fourth dimension; if you had, you wouldn't think he looks like an axolotl. He visited this dimension's mindscape," Bill said. "And he didn't even mean to drag you into the mindscape! It was just a side-effect of his gravitational pull. He tugged you toward him just like everything else in town; but Earth'sgravity doesn't extend through planes like the mindscape, and his does. Yanked your spirit right out of your body."

"Then why was I the only one?" Dipper demanded. "Why didn't you or Grunkle Ford leave your bodies?"

"Your spirit's more loosely attached to your body than ours."

"Why?!"

For a moment, Bill's face twisted with displeasure; and then he sighed in resignation. "Ah, heck with it. You've been astral projecting."

Dipper's mouth worked uselessly. He croaked, "What?"

"It's when you—"

"I know what it is! I mean—what? How? When?"

"At least as long as I've been here. How long have you been having those out-of-body dreams?"

"Y—!" Dipper socked Bill's arm. Bill didn't even flinch. "You said those were nightmares!"

"And I lied," Bill said tiredly.

"Why?!"

"Thought you'd be annoying about it."

"I've been dealing with this all year, you—!" Dipper groaned in aggravation. "Why am I astral projecting! I wasn't trying to learn or anything!"

"How should I know, I wasn't around. Best guess, I think I ripped up the Velcro sticking your soul to your body when I yanked you out to puppet it," Bill said. "Oops."

Dipper gaped at him in outrage. "'Oops'?! That's all you can— I've been terrified and I thought it was a nightmare and it was real all along and it was all your fault and you won't even—"

"I knew you'd be annoying."

"I'm annoying?! How would you like it if you'd spent a year getting dragged out of your body in your sleep—!"

Bill abruptly stopped walking, turned toward Dipper, and said with an intensity that startled Dipper into silence, "You don't have the slightest idea how much I'd like it. How would you like it if you'd been trying for weeks t—" Bill cut himself off before he could get more heated; and instead, only said, "If you. Wanted to get out of your body. And couldn't. And some brat down the hall is doing it without even trying."

Dipper remained frozen, jaw locked tight in a grimace, until Bill turned away and trudged on. Dipper snapped, "But I don't want to do it. And it's your fault I am."

"Great. Nobody's satisfied." Bill sighed. "Make the most of it. Watch late night TV. Learn to meditate or something, I don't care. You've got nothing to worry about, it's harmless." He paused. "As long as nothing else crawls in your body while you're outside of it."

"WHAT?!"

"It's fine. Nothing'll get you in the shack through the unicorn hair barri... hm. Well—you're safe in the shack."

"But I have to go home at the end of summer! Will something be able to get me then?!"

Bill shrugged. "Hypothetically."

"Am I gonna die?!"

"Given my understanding of human mortality? Sure, sooner or later. Wanna hear your top five most likely causes of death?"

"No! Is it possible to—to stop? Can I control the astral projecting?"

"Yeah, sure, I guess. Ask me next time you're out of your body. I'll show you"

"Can't you show me n—"

"No. Not while you're in your body."

Dipper scowled. "Fine! Next time I'm projecting, I'm kicking you awake until you help me." He turned away from Bill; and, after a moment of fuming, mumbled to himself, "If I've been astral projecting... then that time I visited the neighbors... oh, man..." He trailed off, getting lost in his own thoughts.

Keeping silent during that discussion had been agony for Ford.

Every few seconds, he'd wanted to butt in either to eagerly ask for more information about the Axolotl or astral projection, or—far more often—to express his rage on Dipper's behalf, that Bill (of course!) had put him through this, and then not even had the decency (of course!) to try to rectify it.

But it was Dipper's conversation. It was about Dipper's problem, and anyway Dipper had been trying so long to pry some sort of useful information out of Bill—it would be cruel of Ford to snatch the conversation away from him when he was finally getting somewhere. He'd have a lot to discuss with Dipper once they were home and could get away from Bill.

But staying outside the conversation had let him observe three points he might have otherwise missed.

One: Bill really wasn't himself. Back when he'd been playing as Ford's muse, whenever he got to answer questions, he'd always done it with an air of theatricality and barely-suppressed glee; and after he'd given up that act, he'd answered questions with smug arrogance, the glee turned to sadistic delight at the bad news he could deliver. Now, he simply answered them. Even his attempts to be condescending gradually got less enthusiastic until they petered out completely.

Two: Bill was answering questions he never would have answered that morning. After telling them as little as he could about the thing coming to Gravity Falls, even trying to avoid admitting it was the Axolotl, now he was freely talking about the Axolotl's taste in furniture as though he knew the beast personally. After hiding that Dipper was astral projecting for over a month, he simply told him. Heck with it. He'd admitted it was probably his fault. He'd said the last two words Ford had ever thought he'd hear come out of Bill's mouth: I lied.

Three: this was the longest Bill had walked without needing a break all day. His voice was stronger. His steps were more steady. Ford had even seen him squeeze out a few dollops of astronaut paste between comments—and he struggled to make himself swallow, but he didn't gag.

And now that Dipper had stopped asking him about the Axolotl and about astral projection, Bill's footing was growing less certain again. He wove unsteadily on the path and had to pause to lean a hand on a stalactite, taking deep breaths. "Gimme a second."

Bill was distracting himself. He was keeping himself going through conversation, the simple ritual of receiving and answering questions. Ford understood: sometimes, in desperate circumstances, you had to burn yourself out to get somewhere safe enough to collapse and recover. When you had no choice but to push yourself, the best thing you could do was think about anything but your exhausted, failing body. It made it easier to keep moving and burn through what energy you had left.

Ford had once wondered if his "muse" was some manner of creature that was compelled to answer the questions his protégés asked him. This was perhaps the closest Bill had ever gotten to actually being such an entity: answering questions because he had to to go on, and willing to give away almost anything as long as it kept him moving.

Ford stopped next to Bill. "So. The Axolotl was the source of your 'gravitational eclipse,' I suppose."

"Astute observation," Bill said flatly.

"I take it that it isn't 'eclipsing' gravity so much as canceling it out. The Axolotl must have a mass similar to Earth's, if the force it exerts flying by above us is nearly identical to the force of Earth below us."

"More or less."

"But according to Dipper's observations, this Axolotl is only the size of Oregon at most. Did he underestimate its size? Or perhaps it's incredibly dense...?"

Bill gave Ford a sharp sideways glance. Were this any other conversation on any other day, this would be when the gloating started. Well, well, well, look who finally believes I was telling the truth, finally crawling back to me to give you all the answers you can't find yourself— But Bill only looked away again, pushed himself back upright, and kept walking. "You're the square looking at the sphere and thinking it's a circle," Bill said. "The majority of the Axolotl's mass is in dimensions you can't see. The little bit of him that's visible in the mindscape is just a... a feeler. Or an anglerfish's lure. The rest of him is close enough to exert a gravitational pull—but not in a dimension you can see."

"Which dimensions does he exist in?"

"I can't tell you because your species knows so little about them that the answer wouldn't mean anything. You haven't even decided whether or not you want to officially call the dimension that time shines from the 'fourth' dimension—I could tell you he comes from the seventeenth dimension and it wouldn't mean anything but an impressively high number to you."

Dubiously, Ford asked, "Does he come from the seventeenth?"

Bill waved a hand vaguely. "Heck if I know. The most I've ever seen at once is nine, and I was on a lot of psychedelics at the time. My eyeball popped."

"Eugh." 

"Worth it, though. If you ever wanna feel cosmically insignificant in the most breathtakingly beautiful way possible, and you don't mind going blind, let me know. I think I can remember most of what I was on."

"Pass," Ford said. "If the Axolotl is so enormous, then why was only Gravity Falls affected by its gravity? At a minimum, shouldn't have the rest of the Pacific Northwest been impacted—if not the whole planet?"

"He wasn't near the rest of the Pacific Northwest. In the third dimension, Gravity Falls is obviously connected to Oregon; but in higher dimensions, it's..." He tried unsuccessfully to pantomime something mountainlike. "Imagine if the second dimension were a flat sheet of stretchy fabric. If somebody plucked the fabric up in the middle and made a peak, a creature living on the surface of the fabric would still be able to travel across its slope like it was flat, right?"

Ford tried to visualize Bill's description. "Right."

"And so if a fly flew past the peak of the fabric, it'd cross near whatever town's at that peak without getting near the towns at the bottom of the slope."

"Rrright."

"That's what Gravity Falls looks like from the fourth dimension," Bill said. "In the third dimension you can't see anything, but to fourth dimensional beings it sticks out of the fabric of spacetime like a thousand mile high pillar in the middle of a desert. That's why Time Baby put his capitol here."

Now, Ford wasn't sure that sounded right, but he didn't know enough about the seventeenth-or-whatever dimension to dispute it. "And why you kept trying to punch through to our dimension from here?" he guessed. "I imagine stretching the fabric of spacetime that far might make it easier to tear."

Bill shot him a sour look, but didn't deny it.

"Why did the gravity go down slowly for two days and then come back all at once? Did the Axolotl just leave faster than it came?"

"You know how the Doppler effect works?"

Ford hesitated. "Yes. Obviously."

"Well, in higher dimensions, gravity works like a reverse Doppler effect. It spreads out in front of a moving object—"

"Oh, come on."

"—and compresses behind the object—"

"Now you're just making up scientific-sounding nonsense because you know I can't disprove it."

"I'm not, and as soon as you get me a pen and paper I can prove it." Loftily, Bill said, "There's a simple equation that can explain higher dimensional gravity."

Ford was pretty sure he was being made fun of. He didn't mean to laugh, but he did. Dipper looked at him like he'd lost his mind; but trying to explain what was so funny would probably just make him look more insane.

Bill looked nearly as surprised.

####

"... And the smaller axolotls, what are they—heralds, worshipers? Children?"

Bill scoffed in disgust, "I don't know, I've never asked him. I see them like the flies orbiting a cow's tail. They migrate with him, that's all I know."

"Then the Axolotl really was just 'migrating'?"

"Well. Migrating in the sense that a mayfly watching a human walk back and forth to the office thinks it must be 'migrating.' He has..." Bill gestured vaguely, "duties, that mandate he travel fixed routes through the multiverse. He just happens to have a years-long workday. His commute doesn't usually take him past 46'\."

"'Duties' as in... divine duties?"

"It depends on if you worship him for doing them. I don't."

The cavern was growing light again, and the distant waterfall was audible. Ford quietly sighed in relief. Even as oddly forthcoming as Bill had been, Ford doubted that even two-thirds of the information he'd shared was true. But it was hard to tell. It had always been hard to tell.

Dipper helped Ford deflate the raft and pack it up. As he did, he said, voice low, "Is it just me, or is Bill kinda...?"

Ford cast a sideways glance across the cavern. Bill was crouched in front of the geodite he'd carried all up and down the tunnel, backpack in his lap, pouring a pile of soggy cereal onto the ground for the geodite to eat. Ford was surprised he'd gotten so attached to the creature. "I think he's been in some state of mental shock since the fall in the lake," Ford said. "And it seems he hasn't been able to keep down a full meal since we left yesterday. I suspect he's barely on his feet. The sooner we can get him back to the shack, the better."

"Oh." Dipper frowned toward Bill. (He was now pouring cold medicine on the cereal. Ford would have to ask him about geodite diets.)

"What are you thinking?"

Dipper shook his head. "I just thought... He seems like he's thinking about something. And he's giving so much away... I don't know. I wanted him to talk, but now it makes me wonder if he's scheming something."

From what Ford had seen, at the moment he doubted Bill could so much as scheme a way to ruin a picnic. But now he was second-guessing his perception. Ford knew Bill better than anyone; but that also meant Bill knew how to manipulate Ford better than anyone. What was Dipper seeing that he didn't? "Really? Do you think so?"

Dipper hesitated. "I—thought so? Maybe not." (Well, now they were both second-guessing themselves.) "I just don't know why he'd tell us so much if he isn't up to something. It feels like a distraction."

"Ah." Ford nodded. "I think the distraction is for himself."

"Mm." (Ford wasn't sure if Dipper had heard him.) "I just feel like there's—something. I can feel it in the back of my head." He stared at Bill a moment longer; then shook his head and turned away. "Maybe it's not him, maybe it's the Axolotl. He said something I can't remember. Something about degrees."

"Degrees?"

But Dipper didn't reply. He'd returned to his work, lost in his own head, mumbling under his breath the way he did whenever he was trying to work something out. Something else for Ford to ask about later.

When they got in Tate's loaned motorboat to head back out, Dipper got a look at the rainbow trout slippers Bill had put back on, and let out a choked laugh of surprise; and then that was the last sound any of them made as they crossed the lake. Ford steered, Dipper remained lost in his own thoughts, and Bill stared at his friendship bracelet, thumb running around the glass evil eyes.

####

(Finally a few mysteries solved! I hope y'all enjoyed, and I look forward to hearing what you think. Next week is another emotionally wrenching chapter!!)

#bill cipher #human bill cipher #grunkle ford #stanford pines #dipper pines #gravity falls #gravity falls fic #gravity falls fanart #fanart #my art #my writing #bill goldilocks cipher

[femmefatalevibe]

Femme Fatale Guide: Small Ways To Look More Polished (Essential Style & Beauty Tips)

Some simple fashion & beauty tips to help you look more put together to turn heads and feel your best daily. Hope this helps xx

Style:

Always steam, lint roll, and snip any threads from your clothing before heading out the door

Ensure your top, pants/skirt, and outerwear proportions flatter your body shape. Choose cuts, hemlines, and strategically tuck or button (or unbutton) each garment to create lines that flatter your figure

Be mindful of how your pant/skirt/dress hemline aligns with the shaft of your footwear. You don't want any bunching or awkward gaps

Learn which colors are the most flattering on your skin tone (and which shades wash you out)

Study your body shape and the silhouettes that best streamline/elongate your frame

Find the right balance of textures/fabric weight (too many "heavy" fabrics like faux fur, quilting or puffer-style items when styled together can look bulky if not styled carefully)

Invest in a capsule wardrobe and neutral basics made in high-quality fabrics (Pima cotton, cashmere, silk, heavyweight denim, merino wool, etc.)

If an item does not look quite right on your body, tailor it or toss (donate) it out

Make sure all of the hardware matches with all of the jewelry, handbag, watch, cuff or button details, and footwear you choose for any given outfit

Maintain your accessories and footwear. Ensure they're no creases or scuff marks before heading out the door

Beauty:

Always keep your eyebrows well-shaped, brushed, filled in, and regularly tweezed

Tweeze and/or dermaplane your face as needed

Prioritize skincare/SPF for flawless skin

Ensure your foundation/concealer/brow products are all a perfect color match and fully blended into your skin

Use concealer to outline your brows and lip shape for greater definition

Strategically apply bronzer/contour, highlighter, and blush to your face to flatter your natural hollows, and prominent features (top of cheekbones, the tip of the nose, right under the brow), and use a light wash of color where your face would be naturally flushed

Find a flattering lip shade that suits your skin tone and doesn't make your teeth look yellow/dull

Embrace healthy hair habits (condition generously, use a wide-toothed comb and a specialty hair towel on wet hair, use a heat protectant and a round brush for blowouts/styling and satin or silk hair ties/pillowcases, get regular trims)

Use dryer sheets to minimize hair frizz and water or Vaseline to slick back fly-aways

Exfoliate and moisturize religiously (dry brush or sugar scrub with lotions including ingredients like hyaluronic acid or glycerin, depending on your skin type)

Use cuticle oil around your nails & apply hand cream/lip balm daily (or substitute with Vaseline for any of the three)

Maintain a diligent nail routine (consistent nail shape, classic pink, nude, red, or vampy polish color, and a high-quality top coat)

#femme fatale #dark feminine energy #dark femininity #fashion tips #beauty tips #fashion and beauty #fashion advice #beauty advice #life advice #beauty hacks #tips and tricks #it girl #queen energy #high value woman #high value mindset #elegance #classy life #high maintenance #femmefatalevibe

[shares-a-vest]

Prompt: Tall (Discord Drabble) I don't think I've written Steddie-height difference discourse/banter so here we go...

As Dustin huffs another frustrated breath beside her, Robin rolls her eyes. She can feel the kid folding his arms beside her as they watch Steve and Eddie flap about, arguing about their non-existent height difference near the front door.

Steve promised he would do all the restocks today while Robin showed Dustin the ropes, prepping their friend for a potential summer job – one that only Keith could officially grant.

But she didn't expect her best friend to immediately become distracted by Eddie's nonsense. He's become kind of a (total) pest, coming in on one too many breaks from the mechanic down the street to tease, taunt and sickly flirt with Steve at every possible opportunity.

Robin grips her notebook, her Bible of Family Video work processes she wants to impart on Henderson in order to impress his potential employer.

She thinks she'll just about break its goddamn spine if the scene before her carries on any longer.

"You are not taller!" Steve complains, holding his arms tight against his sides and puffing out his chest for maximum height.

Eddie snorts, "Oh pish-posh, Steve."

He mirrors Steve's stance and honestly, as she eyeballs it, Robin is sure Munson looks to be an inch taller.

... At least in his work boots.

Steve must read her mind because he quickly points to said height-assisting footwear and clicks his fingers.

"Boots, off!" he commands and Eddie grins.

"Yes, sir!" he enthuses.

"Yuck," Dustin grimaces.

Robin thinks her eyes might roll back into her skull, never to return.

Shoes off now, Steve and Eddie square up again. Steve smirks.

"See?" he teases, "Taller."

Eddie practically hisses as he looks him up and down, fists clenched tight. He murmurs something to himself before he attacks Steve's hair, patting his quaff down and smoothing it out with flat palms. Steve screams, batting him away.

His resistance creates a chaotic (and more than a little pathetic) slap-fight.

"What-cha-fu – "

"You're a no-good cheat with that hair!"

"Don't touch it!"

"Don't worry, Stevie, you're still bigger where it counts."

Dustin claps his hands over his ears.

"Disgusting!"

Steve manages to shirk away from Eddie's hold around his waist, jumping back far enough that he almost falls straight into the shiny new cardboard cutout of Tom Cruise in Top Gun.

"Henderson!" he pants, clutching at his lower back. He takes a moment to gather himself before fishing in his back pocket and retrieves his wallet.

He hurls the thing across the store. It goes flying as Robin and Dustin both fail to catch it. The wallet hits a candy display, knocking a box of 3 Musketeers and scattering them all over the floor inside the counter space.

"Oops," Steve says, bringing his hand to cover his mouth.

Robin catches his eye and scowls.

"Dustin..." Eddie huffs, winded, "Go buy a tape measure."

#at this point family video is the setting of a sitcom for me 😂 #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #robin buckley #dustin henderson #lilys drabbles #stwgdailyprompt

[anon-sect]

Request for @inanimatetffantasies , also the picture source

Jace had a good friend that was going to be in town for a sports event. Corey had planned to be there for a few days before flying back home. When he saw his friend Jace stayed in the same city. He thought he might be able to save a little money on his trip.

Corey asked Jace if he didn't mind staying with him for the few days, to which he had no problem with the request. Corey had saved a few bucks. He was also happy that Jace offered to pick him up from the airport as well. It would be a nice weekend, he thought. He would arrive on that Friday and fly back on Monday. The sports event was on Saturday and Sunday. He saved a lot thanks to his friend Jace.

On Friday night, Corey and Jace were having a Netflix night and some drinks. They both were friends from the college days and haven't seen each other for the past six years. It was a good time of catching up with each other. Jace had gone back into the kitchen to get them both another drink.

Corey noticed a small bottle of different colored gummies sitting by the television. There was no label to it. He decided to try one since they looked tasty. He had pulled one out and dropped it in his mouth just as Jace came back into the room. He saw the look of shock on his friend's face as though he had done something wrong.

"I knew I should have put those away before you came." Jace spoke; he never intended anyone he cared about to ever eat one of those gummies. They were only reserved for people who he thought deserved a little punishment. "I hate that you already eat one. There is no way to reverse the change once started. I will work on a solution so that you aren't stuck that way forever." He added to a confused look on Corey's face.

"I have no clue what you are talking about, but the gummy tasted good. What did you mean by no reversing the change once it's started?" He asked as he suddenly had a weird feeling. The room started to look bigger in size, including Jace.

"Those are my TF gummies I created. I would give one to someone I didn't like and thought they needed to be punished. It will transform you into an inanimate object. What you become depends on what color you eat. Sorry to say I haven't developed a reversal formula just yet, but I have been working on it." Jace paused, yet curious at what his old college friend will become. "What color gummy did you eat by the way?" He asked as he watched Corey shrink even further down in size. He was already down to 2.5 feet tall.

"This is crazy, and you have no way of reversing it." Corey screamed as his skin was changing. "It was a white one." He added. He noticed that his skin was turning to cotton and soft. His size continues to decrease by the second. He soon found himself not able to move as he lay on the floor looking up at his giant friend.

"Sorry to tell you, but you will become a pair of white socks, a perfect size for my feet." Jace paused as he considered actually wearing him. He was close to developing a reversal formula, though. "I wonder how you will feel on feet. I say we try it once the transformation is complete." He added, smiling.

Corey didn't like the thought of being worn on foot like footwear, but the transformation was complete. He was a perfect pair of white socks. He had no means to voice his objection to being worn or a way to stop Jace from wearing him. He felt powerless in his friends hands as he was placed on feet. The feeling was slightly degrading as he felt the wiggling of toes. His sense of smell and taste was heightened beyond his normal sensation. He could taste the saltiness of his feet and smell a strong foot odor. He wanted so badly to peel himself off his friend's foot, but no ability to do so.

Jace loves the way the socks feel on foot. They were so comfortable. He never got bored of wearing human transformed objects. They were the most comfortable clothing to wear and the most durable. He usually didn't care about reversing the transformation, but the socks on his feet were a good friend who ate the wrong gummy. He didn't have to wear him, but it would also be a shame not to use a pair of durable socks at the same time. He would work on a reversal formula just for Corey.

FIVE MONTHS LATER......

Jace had done it. He actually created a reversal formula that would revert the transformed object back to normal form. He tested on a hamster that he feed one of the gummies to. The hamster was turned into a pair of nice underwear. He poured several drops of the reversal formula on it and the underwear became the hamster once again. Even though his friend was supposed to only spend a weekend at his place, it ended up being a five month stay so far. But he really didn't have any complaints. Corey was a good pair of socks. He laid the socks on the floor and did the same as he did for the hamster. Nothing happened, Corey still remained in sock form. He wondered why it didn't work, till he remembered something. Three weeks back, he was watching a porn video and grabbed the nearest sock. He jerked off in it. Not just it, but both socks. He realized that the socks he jerked off in was Corey. Since his DNA was mixed in with the socks, it prevented the formula from working. One night of a porn video doomed Corey to be his permanent pair of socks.

At first, he sort of felt bad about it. Then he thought, if Corey hadn't been so nosey about the gummies, he would not have been turned into a pair of socks. He thought had Corey asked first, and then he would not have been his socks for these five months. So, he thought he shouldn't be too torn up about it. Besides, he used Corey to work out and wore him nearly every day. He was just that comfortable pair of socks. There was one silver lining for Corey. He would last for a very long time serving his feet.

#inanimate transformation #foot domination #shrinkage #sock transformation

[ataraxiaspainting]

Cherry Wine.

Yan Chrollo x F Reader.

Synopsis: It is your last day of actual freedom, and Chrollo intends to have it end with a mix of your design and his own. Everything is perfectly set. All he has to do now is wait for you to come into the web.

Warnings: Yandere themes, a wild Feitan appears, stalking, drugging/restraining (chloroform/handcuffs), and kidnapping.

Word Count: 1k.

*~*~*~*

A familiar jingle accompanies the turntable’s rendition of Tchaikovsky’s Waltz of the Flowers. It is your keychain, moving with your key as you unlock your apartment door, moving as your feet shuffle on your doormat to get rid of the dirt the soles had acquired from walking. The sounds of tired sighs, your headphones being placed beside the rack where your jackets and umbrellas and shoes are placed. Chrollo knows all of these melodies by heart because those notes make up the beautiful orchestra that is you. 

He hears the little creaking noise of the door closing, along with the lock being turned, sealing your fate. A small sound of the closet you keep near the entrance, which holds your bags and fancier footwear like high heels. Chrollo respected the silent rule of never wearing shoes inside, something that is out of character for him whenever he breaks into other peoples’ homes, and had placed his own black loafers behind that one expensive purse you only used one time for a presentation you had to make for your professors and peers. 

He had Shalnark record the entire thing and has rewatched it multiple times, each one seeming better than the last.

Everything about you, from how you walked, how you were so expressive with your facial expressions, how you seemed to be able to befriend anyone, everything about you felt like it came from another world. Or perhaps he is the one who came from another world, metaphorically? Chrollo chuckles at the thought. It would make sense, really, Meteor City felt like another world, that is for certain.

One of your cats meows loudly, the larger but older one from the way the meow was scratchy like nails on a blackboard, most likely being right next to you. He is distressed, perhaps. Chrollo is an unwanted visitor, after all, and despite being more of a cat person, he had to deal with your cats more than your dog, oddly enough. While your dog cowered and hid under the table, whining like she had been reduced to that of the small puppy she was when you first adopted her, your cats teamed up to attempt to scratch his eyes out whenever they jumped on the kitchen table or couch, hissing and possibly screaming bloody murder. Somewhere deep within Chrollo’s heart, it hurts a bit.

He knows that because of your naivety, you will just pet the cat, take off your coat, and your boots, and go upstairs, where your dining table has been set by Chrollo. It’s a welcome gift, in Chrollo’s opinion, but also perhaps an apology one as well.

As soon as you walk into the kitchen, your fate is as doomed as a little fly caught in a spider’s web.

“Come on,” You grumble. “Already? Geez. I just got that bag too…” Are you talking to your cat? “What the hell? I know you have stomach problems but… gosh.”

Ah. Do you plan on switching out the brand of cat food again?

“I guess that’s my own fault though for getting a cat I knew has digestive issues, huh? I can’t be mad at you. You’re almost the same age as me and… that’s a lot in cat years.” Chrollo hears the sound of a yawn as he presumes you are stretching. You must be tired, you have been on your feet all day today helping out your peers with their assignments, as usual. “It’s just now I have to clean up all this puke… argh.”

Should I speed things along? 

A text message from Feitan, who has been outside your apartment door, though you didn’t see him, unsurprisingly. He is most likely getting annoyed, from the tone of the writing, because Feitan can be doing much more important things for the Troupe instead of helping you “settle in” as Chrollo put it.

That won’t be necessary. Trust me. Everything is going as planned so far, even if this is a minor setback.

The reason why Chrollo didn’t choose someone like Phinks or Nobunaga to help him with this task is because Feitan is the most silent. He can easily imagine the other two scaring you away accidentally if they accidentally lose their cover.

The table is set, with flowers and books and other things you love. All he has to do is wait.

You should have just brought Machi.

Chrollo sighs at that, just barely audible. But he knows Feitan is nothing but loyal to him, so he knows that he will not try anything that he does not like.

Machi is busy shopping with Paku and Shizuku for the other things I need for [First], it would be rude to ruin their own task, Fei.

With that, Chrollo’s message is left on read.

Everything is going according to plan, and Feitan will not ruin it, even if he had wanted to.

All that is left is to wait. You’ll come on your own.

Feitan is only here if you attempt to run afterward, after you see your gifts, after all.

He hears footsteps, coming up the stairs, at long last.

One.

Two.

A large meal is placed on the side of the table that has an empty chair. Chrollo sits across, smiling. Plates and bowls filled with things that are sweet, savory, and everything else in between. They are all your favorites, Chrollo double-checked with Shalnark before he had left. Other items are placed on the table as well, like that jewelry set you were eyeing last week but unfortunately was too expensive for you. You were trying to limit how much you spend, a good habit to build surely. It is a shame you will never get to use that skill, though. Unless Chrollo gives you an allowance each week based on how well you behave, an entertaining concept in his opinion, but if it ever becomes reality it will have to wait a few weeks at the very least.

Three.

Four.

Five.

Six.

Chrollo also had Feitan carry handcuffs, in case the chloroform does not work as it was intended to.

But that is after you two talk, it would be rude to not introduce himself and show off everything he has bought for you.

Seven.

#aya abstractions #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere hunter x hunter #yandere hxh #yandere chrollo #yandere chrollo x reader #yandere chrollo lucilfer x reader #yandere chrollo lucilfer #yandere hunter x hunter x reader #yandere hxh x reader #chrollo x reader #chrollo lucilfer x reader #hxh x reader #hunter x hunter x reader

[femoso-seben]

Mini Witch

Part2,

You have no idea where you are. You could smell salty and your hair felt crusty and icky. On the other hand, the little blob, König (it calls itself that you refer it as Takoyaki) was crawling along leading you through the trees and soon onto flat airid plans. The flatness turns dry and sandy and there is the ocean.

The little ugly brat vanishes into the water leaving you on the beat.

You could walk away!

You did.

You could smell the scent of civilization (manure). The small village is quant. You found yourself walking from one shot to another. Your sister had left you a note.

“It is easier for your familiar to protect you if they have a weapon.” You found yourself in front of a weapon smith shop. Nothing struck you until a massive axe, like an executioner’s blade.

You needed a few things and had a few money. You needed food for travel new footwear where and a new cloak for the cold.

As night falls you walk back to the ocean to find your very much unhappy and very ungrateful familiar waiting for you. He transforms into a soggy ass man.

“Here, Takoyaki,” he took the ace and stared at it. He swung it around a few times before nodding like it was for him well.

You spend the night on the beach. The cool air of the ocean keeps the summer heat off you. You awoke feeling slimy and sticky. You look down to find your stupid familiar sleeping on your breast again.

“Perv,” you gran it off your skin and drop it into the sand. He curled up as if you dropped a slug in salt. His eyes open and he glared at you.

You get up clean up your clothes and gather your things, that cloak should be done soon.

“Wohin gehst du?” He asks, I look at him, he’s in his human form. A massive hunk of a man. If he wasn’t a familiar you would have surely pounced on him.

“I bought something wait here.” He sat there and you could have sworn it was pouting.

Something was odd.

Your skin crawled the moment you walked into the Villegas. The air was tense and eyes watched you. They were judging and pointing to you. Fear creeps up your back, you stand out like a sore thumb. You kept your head low and got moving but their eyes never stopped staring at you.

You pick up your cloak and try rushing out of the village. Your heart beat loudly in your chest, and fear gripped your mind… if you had a soul your soul be grasped.

“WITCH!” a man in black yells, all the blood rushes from your face as you feel your heartbeat I your ear. You turn and to your horror men on horseback and bow and arrows are waiting.

Boom. Boom. Boom.

You stare on eyes wide like a kitten, body frozen like a baby deer. You were nothing but a child in the face of adults… even if you were a few centuries older than them. You weren’t ready!

Where were your sisters when you needed them? Maybe you should have traveled with them for the first few trips as they suggested.

Your mind went to your familiar… that little thing can’t save you…

Your hands itch and the next thing you know, staff and hand shooting out magic. Fireballs rain down as arrows fly your way. You ran, shoot magic as you did so.

You had nowhere to go! Your sisters were nowhere to protect you. You're a dead witch running.

As your lungs burn and your angry voice screams for your head and your dismemberment. You only had one way out. That stupid ugly thing.

You collapse onto the sand but you can’t find your stupid familiar anywhere.

You’re going to die.

“WITCH!” You froze and stiffen.

You have no energy left. You turn around and back into the ocean. There is a small line were archer ready to shoot you dead.

Arrows fly.

“KÖNIG!” You shout.

The waters erupted. Tentacles shoot out and you turn to find a large monstrous humanoid tentacles man. The small axe in his hand looks like a toothpick. You cast an increasing size magic on it and soon the axe fit his new size.

He swung it, cutting man and horse apart, blood oozing into the sands.

You fall into his tentacles.

“He is very loyal”

“Maybe having a familiar doesn’t suck…

------------

@milkywayhou

taglist: @maylovesyousomuch, @trgraves-valx1f0r

#call of duty #cod x reader #cod #cod mw2 #modern warfare 2 #konig cod #konig x reader #konig mw2 #konig call of duty #konig #konig x you #octopus! konig #octokonig #octo!könig

[burntheedges]

Notes on inclusivity in x reader fic

I’ve seen a lot of posts about this this week so I wanted to share the things I think about when I write and how I try to be more inclusive. I’m not saying I invented these – I definitely did not. This is also not an exhaustive list. I’m just good at organizing information (thanks, grad school) so I thought it might be helpful for others to list out what I'm thinking about while writing. I’m completely open to feedback on these! And I’ll add to the list as I learn and think of more. 

Notes on hair, skin tone, body type/size (and clothes), language, and gender below the cut.

Hair

The main thing to avoid here is having fingers run through reader’s hair. That’s not possible or desirable for a variety of hair types. Things I like to do instead:

Hand on the back of the neck

Hand on jaw, side of neck, or cheek (especially hand on side of neck with thumb caressing cheek)

Fingers tracing face, cheekbones, lips

Kisses at the hairline

Skin tone

I think we all know about avoiding blushing at this point. I like to use:

Cheeks heated

Felt heat rise in your cheeks

Face felt hot

Your cheeks were warm to the touch

You could feel the heat in your cheeks

But there’s also other considerations, like wind chafing (which can cause redness, but only on some skin) and effects of actions like clenching your fists or what happens when you’re feeling faint:

Windburn, raw skin, dryness, chafing, peeling instead of redness

Not using “white knuckles” to emphasize clenched fists or a tight grip on something

Not having the reader “turn white” or pale when they’re shocked, feeling faint, sick, etc.

Instead, try: looks sick, ill, shaky, weak, trembling

Body type & size

Clothing

I try to only specify clothing, footwear, and/or makeup when plot relevant:

Going out on a date? Try “your favorite outfit” or “the new outfit you bought” which allows the reader to fill in something they would want to wear in that situation.

If I need reader to have a pocket, I might specify jeans, but not what type.

If I need reader to be comfortable, I might say they’re wearing their most comfortable clothes, but not what they are.

If I need reader to be wearing a top and pants, I’ll just say that without adding details.

Another note here - it’s possible to add descriptors that can be relatable and add to the vibe without adding specifics. For example:

“You were wearing your favorite jeans that fit you just the way you liked.”

"You were already uncomfortable because your only clean pants were the ones you hated, with the broken fly."

“You slipped on your most comfortable clothes that you liked to wear around the house.”

“You found a top in your closet that you hadn’t worn in ages, and felt perfect for the moment.”

If needed, specify without over specifying:

In Maintenance Request, there’s an important, plot-relevant scene where reader spills coffee on her white blouse. So I said she was wearing a white blouse, but nothing else about her outfit. That allows you to picture whatever you want (and whatever type of blouse) with just that one detail.

You can say, for example, that reader is wearing lingerie and it has lace, without adding so much information that the reader can't picture themselves in it.

Body size and weight

In terms of reader’s size, one thing to think about is writing that the other person lifts the reader or carries them anywhere. That’s not inclusive of plus-size bodies (like mine). But it’s possible to include similar physicality without that particular detail:

Throwing a leg over a shoulder

Tugging on hips (on the bed)

Pushing into a wall and crowding in

Pulling someone down on top of you

Height

Not everyone is shorter than these love interests we’re writing about. Try:

Leaned in for a kiss (instead of up)

Brought your lips to theirs 

Angled your head for a kiss

Reached for them (instead of reached up)

Language

You don’t have to speak a language to imagine that your reader might. Instead of implying that dialogue in another language is “incomprehensible” or saying reader doesn’t understand, try:

You didn’t hear what he said (let’s the reader decide if they understood)

Include the dialogue but mark it as being in the other language (possibly in italics?)

Talk to one of the many fans on here who speak that language! 

Check out and bookmark helpful posts like this one about sexy talk in Spanish from ali @urmomsgnocchi

Gender

Label whether it’s f!reader, gn!reader, m!reader, nb!reader, etc.

Note about tagging

But like anything else, the most important thing to do is tag! If you want to have someone lift the reader, for example, you can do that – just tag for it, or specify that you’re not tagging for everything. That allows people to choose how to engage. ETA: It’s not possible to be inclusive of every reader’s experience in every fic, but tagging allows everyone to know what’s going on.

I like to add a note on the main fic post about any details I’ve added to reader’s backstory, see this one as an example.

Note about learning

Like anything else, we do better when we learn more. I learned a lot of this from reading fic and reading others’ helpful guidance and suggestions way before I ever started writing. But I also learned some from editing myself, which gets easier the more I practice. For example, I originally had a detail in to know the light about reader's skin turning red and irritated from cold wind – but I caught it, and changed it to be more inclusive. I caught it because I’ve been purposefully editing and monitoring my own writing for inclusivity. It gets easier with practice.

I hope this is helpful and I’m also happy to add any other suggestions or link to anyone’s posts. Also happy to have feedback. <3

Here are some posts that helped me learn and do better: About inclusivity and language from @flightlessangelwings

#writing #x reader fic #inclusivity #inclusivity in x reader fic #x reader inclusion #x reader #writing x reader #i don't know what tags to use #about writing #writing resource

[swagbatical]

Fools turning up to wizard duels: soft cloak, big floppy hat, impractical footwear, a pipe kindled with reaction dampening plant, possibly a scribe or bard to exaggerate their story later

Me the very cool and intelligent wizard turning up to wizard duels: Full suit of custom armour to protect against slashes, a shield to protect from blunt strikes, a helmet forged with a scary face to intimidate, conductive eel lining to nullify electricity attacks, my thick staff enchanted to be slightly more flexible as it now is used as a bow, phoenix feather fletched arrows that fly faster than any spell can be uttered and resonate enough magical energy to easily target for casting my own spells.

#wizard posting #wizard-posting #wizardblr #wizardposting #wizard duel #wizard swag

[djarinsbeskar]

HERE, THERE BE MONSTERS: THE MINOTAUR PART 2

A/N: Imagine not updating a fic for nearly two years... hah-- couldn't be me (sweats). But my Minotaur is one of my most darling boys and I just couldn't leave him sitting in my drafts. Special thanks to the #1 Minotaur fan probably ever @astroboots for giving this a look over and for being the biggest hype woman for out hornyed hero. Artwork by machiavellicro on deviantart!

Pairing: Minotaur!Din Djarin x Nymph!Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ NO Minors)

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: gross misuse of mythology, mentions of unsolicited attention/dub-con, discrimination and prejudice, suggestive themes. Reminder that this is a MONSTER FUCKING fic, so be warned for future chapters.

NOTICE: I learned the new lay of the land, so there's no more taglist. Instead you can turn on notifications for @djarinsbeskar-writes to stay up to date.

Prev Next

Day 1

The stars were veiled.

Something hovered just out of sight that impeded your view of them. They remained dim despite the darkness and shied their faces away from shining down on such a netherworld.

You’d never felt so alone.

Taken immediately from Hera’s court, the guards who had once addressed you as familiars, friends and lovers over the years escorted you to your prison with rough hands and cold hearts. In that moment, they became strangers to you, and you had to wonder if you ever knew any of them at all.

A sprawling void of space greeted you when you arrived. A no man’s land forsaken by the gods as unconquerable, and those that lived trapped within its ever-growing perimeter at the mercy of the beast that prowled with eerie bellows and heavy footfalls.

Half man, half beast. With the horns of a bull and the strength to match, you feared you wouldn’t survive the night as you were pushed unceremoniously through the outer hedge.

You squeaked – frightened – and stumbled through the dense brambles that should have prevented your entry, but instead dragged you in deeper with thorny, greedy branches snagging on soft skin and the wafer-thin linen of your dress.

You fell to your knees on the other side, hands sinking immediately into a morass of mossy, damp earth. Hair falling around you in a tangle, you blew at the strands futilely before giving up and used your hands to push them back instead.

Scrambling to your feet, the dainty sandals you normally wore were useless against this unrelenting land. You’d never had to worry about footwear before… you hardly even needed it dancing under the moonlight or swimming among the stars.

The breathless, euphoric laughter of that time felt eons ago as your lungs constricted with fear.

Just breathe, you coached yourself, in and out… in and out.

It wasn’t working.

Not when your eyes finally moved past the initial, blinding panic to take in your surroundings. What you could see of them, anyway. A coffin of shrubbery greeted you on all sides, so tall they practically eclipsed the sky, the air cloying with a simmering malice you were reluctant to inhale as it tightened around your windpipe with the flex of a brutal grip.

And still, your wracked breathing was too loud in the oppressive silence.

Disturbed carrion birds flying overhead made you jump, squeezing your eyes closed reflexively. A fell wind followed the birds, blowing through the maze ruthlessly. It howled and whipped up the detritus as you folded in on yourself for protection, screaming in your ears with the anguish of those who found themselves trapped here.

However, unlike their torment, the wind eventually passed, and you cracked an eye open warily.

The labyrinth had changed.

Already? You thought with a hitched sob, swallowing it soon after lest you burst into tears and never stop.

There hadn’t been a path behind you where you first fell through the hedging. But by the looks of the narrow stretch of dirt that eventually became clouded by fog, you were deeper into the labyrinth than you first anticipated.

The thought had your stomach sinking.

There went your plan to keep to the perimeter in the vain hope of possibly escaping. You had no choice but to follow the path, deeper into the maze and towards the maw of the beast that inhabited it.

The wind returned intermittently, sometimes changing the labyrinth, sometimes not. Sometimes, it revealed hidden holes between hedgerows that led to another pathway that – while thrilling initially – proved just as complex and endless as the path you escaped from.

Hours of walking and nothing changed.

You were completely lost.

Tears spilled freely down your face now as you tried to stifle the sobs that escaped on every hiccupped inhale when your doom finally dawned on you. No one was coming to save you. Your feet hurt, your dress was filthy, and you were freezing.

You just wanted to go home.

But there was no one to hear your sorrow or respond to your pain. No one to care for you or comfort you or tell you that everything would be okay. You were alone after an eternity of living amongst others.

How little you knew of your own self.

Your vision blurry, you swiped the back of your hand across your eyes to glance at the next intersection of more dreary hedges. Quelling your sniffles, you listened. Trying to pick out any sound that wasn’t the breeze or your misery. A din of chatter or a chime of music, a—

Wait.

You held your breath. Was that—?

There!

A faint gurgle of running water filled your heart with song. There was a river nearby! Or a stream at the very least. You wanted to squeal at just the sound of something other than the wind and rustling branches you’d been subjected to for the last few hours.

And a river meant you could finally bathe.

It was hardly the most useful thing you could’ve done. You should have been looking for shelter, for warmth, for company and safety in numbers, but just the thought of getting clean… it was something familiar and you couldn’t let it go. It was something you would do whether at home among the stars, in the residencies of various deities or indeed, even here, in hell.

Yes, you smiled as bravely as you could, a bath would make everything better.

But you still had to find said river and that proved more than difficult. It was nigh on impossible after several more hours of walking.

Your grand plan of keeping left as much as possible proved fruitless as you came upon two dead ends that forced you to double back until you were confused again. It seemed like the promise of getting clean was growing less and less likely, your feet aching, and spirit defeated.

What a cruel… cruel place…

It was during your pursuit of water, however, that you happened upon the first settlement unfortunate enough to have been swallowed by the maze.

Doors latched shut and chimney’s smoking, you mistook the warm glow behind shuttered windows for warm inhabitants. But this was the labyrinth. No one cared for a sobbing woman banging at their doors for help, whether she was innocent or not.

You carried the condemnation of a goddess and for that you were shunned by even those forsaken by Olympus.

“Please, help me…” you hiccupped, voice raw when your forehead met the cold wood of the last door you tried to no avail, self-pity turning your fear to fury for a white-hot second. “It wasn’t my fault! It wasn’t me… he—”

Your voice broke as it rose, agony bringing you to your knees on the doorstep of indifference.

“Why won’t anyone listen!” You roared at the door, your face a mess of tears and a supernova of hurt illuminating your irises.

“Damnable woman!”

Everything that followed happened in a blur. The door flew open far enough for the man on the other side to shove you off his doorstep where you fell back on your bottom heavily.

“You’ll bring him here with all your wailing.” A frosty, uncompromising glare met you where the human looked down his nose at you. “Take your wickedness away. We might all be prisoners here, but do not think for a second that makes us the same. We were born into this hell, you were sentenced to it, filth.”

“But I—” You scrambled back to your knees only to be met with a bucket of dirty water that chilled you to the bone.

“There, consider it a gift.” He scoffed. “He won’t be able to smell you under all that for a while. Be grateful for this much and leave our village in peace!”

You sat frozen, in shock and unable to speak or move or do anything as the door was slammed in your face once more. Humans had… never treated you this way before and even though you knew their cruelty could rival the gods, it shook you to your core to be on the receiving end of both.

A rank smell made you gag, breaking your stony cage enough for you to get back up on shaky legs and leave.

Suddenly, scattered cottages became bear traps in your eyes, and you fled from them lest you get punished by their fiery teeth once again.

The maze was safer and, perhaps it was coincidence, but when you came across a lazily meandering river breaking the perpetual rows of hedging minutes later, you chose to believe the land had rewarded you for thinking as such. Turning your face up to the kraken-cruel clouds above, tears tracked through the stains on your face gratefully.

How odd… where before gifts of splendour hardly made you bat an eye; you’d never felt more thankful to an environment that was technically your foe for merely leading you to a river.

When you looked back down to take in your surroundings, you were shocked to see trees line the far side of the river in place of towering hedges. A forest lay within the maze, a fact you’d never heard about in rumours before. But then, an endless forest could be as disorienting as the labyrinth itself… so you didn’t count yourself lucky just yet.

But first… you stripped.

Down to the nude, your nipples pebbled at the cool air as you kicked off your ruined shoes to step into the gentle course of the water. Cold! You shivered. Accustomed to more tepid warm waters, the cold was startling on your soft body.

Baths here were less about enjoyment and more about brevity, you supposed.

You gave yourself a hurried wash, scrubbing yourself free of the dirt and grime and who knew what else had been in that water you’d been drenched in. Cupping the water over your hair, the back of your neck prickled from something other than the cold, but when you looked back, only ominous shadows greeted your paranoid gaze.

Right, you swallowed around the bulbous lump of fear in your throat, best not to linger. Something told you staying in one place for too long would spell disaster.

That in mind and with a wrinkle of your nose, you pulled back on your soiled dress with the promise to wash it during the daytime. A soaking dress during the night would only make things more miserable for you, after all.

And that was how you made your way into the forest, for nothing else if but a change of scenery and hopefully, a safe enough place to rest your weary, heartbroken bones.

It wasn’t half an hour later, though, that the same patch of grass where your dress had lain while you bathed was disturbed anew. A scent, tempered by filth that irritated his nostrils, cut through the bloodlust that guided him every night and caught his attention. That, and a trail of light powder clinging to the grass like morning dew.

It led him to the water’s edge, a great horned shadow that hushed even the rivers gentle gurgle when his eyes fell upon it.

The powder clung to him when he touched it, iridescent specks catching in the reflection of his dark eyes before he brought it to his muzzle and sniffed. His pupils dilated, starlight catching like kindling in the back of his mind, his body responding.

An exhaled plume of condensation sent the dust into the air where it scattered like the spray of blood from his last victim’s jugular.

Stardust…

He crouched low to find the scent again, picking it up over the water where his long tongue moved distractedly over his muzzle to catch what remained of the powder there. Suddenly, lust of a different kind rose to battle with his insatiable desire to spill blood, and the trajectory of his hunt changed.

A star had fallen into his domain, and he was going to find it.

#djarinsbeskarwrites #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin au #din djarin smut #the mandalorian smut #minotaur!din #the minotaur #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian #htbm #here there be monsters collection #taurus #mando x reader #mando x you #mando #star wars #star wars au #pedro pascal #din djarin fanfic #din djarin fanfiction

[asamiontop]

“I’ve been wondering,” Lena strides past Kara, tugging her along like a rip current.

“Yeah?” Kara follows her best friend’s perfume intuitively, not a thought in her head.

“Your boots.”

“What about them?”

“I’m working on your new suit,” Lena explains, so casually. As if it didn’t make Kara’s chest swell with that uniquely flustered sense of pride and importance. Being the sole focus on Lena Luthor’s attention could do that to a person. Kara especially. “And I need to make a decision about footwear.”

“I’m all ears,” Kara grins. She parks herself against the desk where Lena’s now docked her tablet. “What have you been wondering?”

Lena turns away from the device and flashes Kara a sly smile. Her keen gaze sweeps deliberately down Kara’s front then glides back up slowly, settling for a prolonged second at the place where the tops of Kara’s boots kiss her thighs.

Kara’s never felt quite so naked in her suit before. She swallows.

“They’re thigh high,” Lena observes rather unnecessarily, sounding a little strangled all of a sudden. “That can’t be practical.”

Frowning, Kara straightens. She likes her boots the way they are. When she crosses her arms in front of her chest to protest, Lena’s eyes fly to her biceps. They widen just briefly before bouncing back up to her face. Lena plows forward somewhat breathlessly.

“I’ve been trying to identify the benefits but I honestly can’t say I’ve found any.” Her eyes drop once more to Kara’s thighs. “Coverage above your ankles is redundant now that your suit has pants with pierce and abrasion resistant nano fibers. Any extension of the leather above the knee only serves to limit range of motion.”

Lena takes a breath, seeming uncharacteristically anxious. Concerned, Kara tunes in to her heartbeat. She does that sometimes, checks in if she thinks something’s wrong. And maybe also when she craves the soothing rhythm of Lena’s warmth from across the city. She finds the young Luthor’s heart rate a tick higher than normal. Strange.

Lena licks her lips, still staring intently at the juncture where red leather gives way to blue fabric.

“And I can only imagine they…” she tilts her head appraisingly, hesitates on a thought, “they get a little snug if your leg muscles are… um, tight.”

Kara’s not exactly sure what’s bothering Lena, but the heated focus of her stare is enough to make the Super fidgety, feeling warm all over. She settles back against Lena’s desk once more and crosses one leg over the other.

Lena’s eyes track the movement sharply, never once glancing away. In the background, Kara hears that familiar rhythm ratchet another beat faster. Hm. Could Kara have caused that?

Experimentally, Kara slowly flexes the muscles of one leg then the other, pretending to settle into her spot. Sure enough, she notices the rim of her boots gently digging into her skin as her quads expand. She also notices how Lena’s breath escapes her in an urgent little puff. Kara watches intently as the young Luthor bites unconsciously at the corner of her lower lip.

Kara shifts her legs again subtly and Lena swallows. It’s audible even without superhearing. Kara’s crinkle gathers between her brows, perplexed by Lena’s behavior. The engineer hasn’t said a word in over five seconds, not even to conclude her observations and yet she seems so fixated on where Kara’s boots reach her thighs and—oh. Oh.

Before Kara can help herself, her grin turns smug. “What’s your point?”

Dazedly, Lena shakes her head. She blinks up at discerning blue eyes. “That perhaps the tall boots aren’t worth athe extra effort.”

“I dunno Lena,” Kara uncrosses her arms, slow as molasses, and takes a step into her friend’s space. “What do you think?”

Even flushing at the increased proximity, Lena doesn’t step away. She simply tilts her chin up, meeting Kara’s gaze through sinfully long lashes.

“W-what do I think?” Lena repeats. She must be flustered—Lena Luthor does not make a habit of speaking extraneously. “I… It doesn’t matter what I think, Kara. It’s your suit.”

She’s speaking in a near-whisper now and the tenuous intimacy in her voice is tying knots in Kara’s throat.

“I care what you think,” the Super insists, preening at the way her height allows her to tower ever so slightly over Lena’s figure.

Lena doesn’t answer right away, just continues to study her, so Kara helps out. She tilts a degree closer and delights in the way Lena’s eyes flutter closed just briefly.

“And I have a hunch you like the boots,” Kara suggests quietly.

An attractive blush splashes high across Lena’s cheekbones and Kara smiles as she watches it spread. Lena is so arrestingly beautiful.

Eventually, after a quavering but measured breath, Lena answers.

“And what if I do?”

It’s whisper quiet, but Kara thrills at the affirmation, a jolt of elation sizzling down her spine. She hums thoughtfully, inching forward until their chests are almost touching. Lena’s eyes won’t leave her face, darting between her mouth and darkening blue eyes as the sound of her heartbeat thunders in Kara’s ears.

“Then I think we keep the boots.”

Ever the consummate professional, Lena scowls. “No matter how much I may like them, they’re still impractical. Form should follow function, not the other way around.”

“I wouldn’t call them functionless, Lena.” Kara regards her for a second, then leans down until they’re cheek to cheek. She drinks in the sound of Lena’s breath hitching and speaks softly against the shell of her ear. “Not when they make you look at me like that.”

“That’s hardly an intended function, Kara,” Lena counters, albeit weakly, swaying slightly into the scant space between their bodies.

“Maybe not intentional, but I think it’s my favorite function yet,” Kara purrs. She pauses for effect, letting her voice drop to a gravelly rumble she’s never heard from herself before. “I like having your eyes on me.”

The admission shoots through them like a current, electrifying the already charged air. Both women tense, green eyes boring into blue as a spark of understanding arcs between them and sets aflame something glorious and long overdue.

The silence drags on, pregnant and crackling, until Lena softly clears her throat. She looks away with a clench of her jaw and Kara openly admires the way it juts her features into gorgeous relief.

Kara feels movement at her abdomen and glances down in surprise to find Lena’s fingers gently disentangling themselves from her belt. When Lena had grabbed hold of her was anybody’s guess. Lena speaks just as Kara begins to peel her hand away from where it had taken residence on Lena’s waist—quite without her knowledge.

Tenderly, meaningfully, Lena flattens a hand over Kara’s stomach. She lingers there for a moment, a hopeful entreaty offered in her eyes, then steps away. She throws Kara a diffident smile and turns back to her work with nothing but that enticing color adorning her cheeks.

Eventually, without looking up from her tablet, Lena shrugs.

“I guess we can keep the boots.”

#boots. the boots! i never understood the boots. they’re made for eyes only #lezbehonest #supergirl #supercorp #lena luthor #ficlet #my fics #flirting #confident (cocky?) Kara #helpless lesbian Lena

[coochiequeens]

Is anyone really surprised?

Gender-neutral lavatories are more dirty than men's and women's toilets, a new study has claimed.

The study examined the levels of bacteria in various types of hospital toilets.  

Lavatories for women were found to carry far fewer microbes than those for men. For instance when staff toilets were compared, door handles for men were found to be around eight times as dirty as those for women.

Gender-neutral lavatories are more dirty than men's and women's toilets, a new study has claimed.

The study examined the levels of bacteria in various types of hospital toilets.  

Lavatories for women were found to carry far fewer microbes than those for men. For instance when staff toilets were compared, door handles for men were found to be around eight times as dirty as those for women.

Professor Stephanie Dancer, a consultant microbiologist and researcher at NHS Lanarkshire said: 'The move to convert traditional male and female facilities to unisex facilities in some hospitals raises concern that people might be exposed to higher risks of contamination.

'Single sex and disabled toilets should be retained; with additional facilities labelled unisex and available for anyone. But based on this study's findings, I don't believe we should be abandoning single sex toilets in favour of unisex toilets, since these toilets had the highest microbial burden overall. 

'Our results appear to confirm what is generally thought in society: women clean because their perception of dirt and disgust entices action whereas men either don't notice a dirty environment or don't care. It follows that women are more likely to leave a bathroom 'clean', while men assume someone will clean up after them.' 

The study involved swabbing 10 different surfaces in six types of toilets across three general hospitals in Lanarkshire, Scotland.

It has not yet been published in full, but it was presented at the ESCMID Global CongressESCMID Global Congress in Barcelona, Spain, which was held from April 27 to 30.

Heather Binning, of the feminist group Women's Rights Network, told The Telegraph the research confirmed 'what we have always known'.

She said: 'Men do not have the same hygiene standards as women and mixed-sex toilets are far dirtier than those which are used only by women and girls.' 

The research team found floors and high surfaces yielded higher levels of aerobic bacteria and fungi than hand-touch sites. They stated this was likely due to the fact that hand-touch sites are cleaned more thoroughly than other surfaces

Pathogens such as E.coli, Stenotrophomonas maltophilia and Klebsiella pneumoniae were as likely to be found on air vents, ceilings and the top of doors as on floors. 

Professor Dancer said: 'In contrast with hand-touch sites, floors are a major repository of dirt. Anything in the air eventually ends up on the floor, along with whatever is brought in on people's footwear or shed from skin and clothes when they use the toilet.'

'We think that the only logical explanation for this is that toilet flushing aerosolises whatever is in the toilet bowl, whereupon tiny water particles carrying these organisms fly up to the ceiling and contaminate high sites.' 

'Airborne microorganisms and contaminated surfaces carry a potential risk for infection. Hospital toilets should have lids, which should be closed before you flush, and patient toilets should be cleaned more frequently than other toilets.' 

However the researchers state that none of the toilets sampled in the study had a window, and they would be interested to see how the results would change with an abundant supply of fresh air.

Professor Dancer also advises for people to wash their hands and close the toilet lid before flushing at home. 

#Men still don't wash their hands often enough #Older women pregnant women and women with young children should have access to cleaner single sex stalls #ESCMID Global Congress

[ecstarry]

"First Gift" a microfic with a really funny (and honestly hard) prompt revealed on the tags for the lovely @sixlane

Regulus had received a total of three gifts from James. 

The first one was for his birthday, they had been dating for less than a month, yet James had wrapped up a beautiful dark green notebook with Regulus’ initials embedded in silver foil. The second gift was a bracelet with a little sun pendant, he gave it to Regulus as “monthiversary” present. And the third one was a framed drawing of the two of them flying around the Quidditch pitch, this one James had insisted it was “just because”.

Regulus had given James a total of zero gifts. 

As Christmas approached, he was determined to find his boyfriend the perfect gift. He did. The first time Regulus visited Potter Manor he couldn’t help but notice some funny looking footwear around the house. They were all different colors and had some sort of pins latched onto the holes that were on top of the shoe. 

He later learned they were ‘all the rage’ amongst Muggles as James had put it. He enlisted Remus’ help and went to the store himself to pick everything out. 

Under the Potter’s christmas tree, in a red and gold box were two pairs of James’ funny shoes: Crocs. Regulus settled on a green pair for himself and a crimson one for James, on top of them there were little pins with stars, the sun, a snake and a lion to decorate them. 

James has worn them every night since.

all of my microfics with your prompts are here

#prompt: croc #lane tag < 3 #thank you babe #jegulus #marauders #james potter #regulus black #gay dead wizards #james x regulus #starchaser #sunseeker #jegulus microfic #microfic #writer #fanfic writing #harry potter fanfic #euge's microfics

[nix-writes-mcyt]

Reunited

Oneshot Tango x Reader Contains: Fluff -----------------------

With a sigh, you rise from your seated position, checking the clock again. 10.03am. Mornings are long these days, and not just because it's summer.

No, that's how it would be anyway. But these mornings drag even more. These mornings are unusually quiet and uneventful. You have no Tango to make them anything else.

He's been gone for so long now. At this point, you've lost track of the weeks, but it's got to be nearing three months now. Perhaps that's passed already.

At first, you kept going as per usual, seeing hermits you'd normally see, getting in on the community projects. Lately you just haven't had the motivation. You've not even ventured outside your base.

You spend much of your time in the cottage you built for Tango and you at the beginning of the season. You've added a few things to the grounds outside since Tango has been gone, but nothing major. You don't want to remove all the Tango from this space.

It's safe to say you miss him. No one can doubt that.

You glance out of the window as you walk past, the giant silhouette of Deep Frost Citadel no longer intimidating. At this point it only brings you sorrow.

You've spent many an hour staring from various windows, hoping to catch a glimpse of the one you love. Hoping he will come home at last. Sometimes you think you see something moving in the distance, but who knows? Maybe you're too far away to tell.

Your communicator beeps quietly in your pocket, it's not an uncommon occurance but it doesn't happen often still. Every now and then someone will check up on you, see if you're okay since you're not venturing out as much any more. That's what you expect this message will be too.

You're pleasantly surprised when it isn't. When the message reads - <Xisuma> I'll be 5 minutes, be ready to leave. Or else ^.^

The threat and uncharacteristically cute face give you mixed messages, but you decide you'd rather be safe than sorry. X isn't very threatening, sure, but while you don't think he'd hurt a fly you've never seen him in that situation to be sure.

So you move away from the window and go sort yourself out for company.

Before you know it there is a pounding at the door, you find yourself pulling on your footwear and trying not to smack your face into the wall as you rush to silence the knocking.

Xisuma looks unimpressed, or so you think behind the mask anyway, pulling you out of the house.

"We'll I'm at least glad I didn't have to drag you out of the house." He says, the slightest hint of amusement in his voice. The emphasis on the word 'you' seems strange, but you decide not to question it.

Xisuma gives you some coordinates, just in case, but tells you to just follow him and it'll be easier. He shoots off into the sky, making flying look easy.

You've not flown in some time. While there is some muscle memory it's certainly rough going. You're a little all over the place for the first five minutes, but you settle back into it fast enough.

The landing isn't particularly smooth, not at all. You almost go flat on your face, but manage to save it last minute and roll.

Xisuma helps you up, not uttering a word or any kind of an expression. Once you're on your feet he immediately sets off walking.

You follow behind him as best you can, relying on the small path. Here the trees are thick, the spruce forest pretty dense. It's beautiful though, the dark green of the leaves glowing from the sunlight above. Moss covers most of the podzol, small white flowers managing to grow over the layer of green.

You haven't been walking for long when Xisuma comes fully back into sight, a clearing up ahead.

Here you're able to see the sky once again, but that's not the most impressive feature. There is grass here, mixed with the moss, on it grows many many flowers of all different colours.

Hidden in the tree line you spot a small building, but see no door for it. Not that it seems you'll be going over there.

X pulls out a picnic blanket, laying it in the center of the clearing. "Care to sit?" He suggests, nodding in approval when you take a seat on the blanket.

Then Xisuma leaves without a word, moving towards the small building. You think of asking him what he's doing but decide not to. That's a man that works in mysterious ways.

Being alone again makes you miss home. You haven't left in so long, not that it isn't nice to, it's just who knows how far you are from Tango.

You can feel the sadness that comes with that thought rising in you. Xisuma disappears and you sigh deeply, choosing to focus on the trees just past the building.

This keeps you occupied until Xisuma reappears. Not that he really looks like himself, the helmet and armour is gone or covered up by long, black robes lined with blue. His eyes glow frosty in the darkness cast by his hood.

This isn't Xisuma at all. This is "Tango?"

"The one and only, my love." He takes a seat in front of you, taking down his hood. His hair is a mess, you can see the dark circles that have formed under his eyes. He looks paler now than he ever has. But it is, unmistakably, Tango.

You forget any sadness, any anger that you haven't seen him sooner. All you feel is happiness in this moment. Especially as he shuffles and pulls you into his side for a hug.

  "I'm sorry it's taken so long to do this. I lost track of time in the dungeon." His voice is sincere, you know he's not lying. You had also lost track of the time in your own home waiting for his return.

"I would have waited forever to see you again." You say in return. Your eyes meet Tango's, his expression is still sad.

"I know you would, as I would for you. But let's be honest, all this time apart hasn't done either of us very good." You nod in agreement. It's not like he's wrong.

The time apart has done a number on you both, it seems silly when you look at it in hindsight. All the problems being apart for so long has caused. You can't change that now, but Tango speaking once again fills you with hope.

"I'm coming home. Every night. No excuses. I even got a Bdubs Offical.' Tango smiles now, a smile you've missed dearly. He waves the clock around, taking the time to point out the Bdubs signature on the back.

You wrap your arms around him, the joy you feel taking over your entire body. Tango holds you just as tight, as if to say he wasn't going to let go again.

You make a mental note to thank Xisuma for bringing you here, for just generally being there for you. It's good to have friends that care about you. It's good to have Tango back If he belongs.

#tango x reader #tangotek x reader #hermitcraft x reader #mcyt x reader #tango tek x reader #hermitcraft #hermitblr #mcytblr #mcyt #hermitcraft season 9 #tango #tangotek #tango tek #fluff #oneshot

[tripleyeeet]

IN ANOTHER UNIVERSE, MAYBE (2)

SUMMARY: It's always been hard being the sibling of a superhero. Lately though, it feels next to impossible.

PAIRING: Miguel O'Hara & Female Reader

WORD COUNT: 5,136

WARNINGS: Angst, enemies-to-lovers adjacent, descriptions of a panic attack/dissociate behaviours, inappropriate use of medication/alcohol consumption.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Okay, first of all, the amount of love I've received from this fic has been insane??? Like, y'all really knocked it out of the park, both here and on AO3 and I'm absolutely astounded? Thank you so much! You guys have literally motivated me so much so hopefully this chapter lives up to the hype of the first? :)

CHAPTER LIST / LAST CHAPTER / MASTERLIST

-

“God, I am never drinking again.” 

You stumble into the living room with your hands against your eyes, palming the sockets roughly. It’s morning, maybe even early afternoon, and already the sun is pushing through the blinds, coating the apartment in enough light that it makes you squint. On the couch Miguel grumbles under the covers as you walk by, pulling the fabric over his head as he readjusts his position, directing himself away. 

You’re surprised to see him there but say nothing, opting to wander into the kitchen to pour yourself a glass of water, noticing a fresh sticky note on the fridge: Call me when you’re up —Pete!

Hm, he must’ve gone over to MJ’s for the night.

Peeling the note away, you continue your trek for hydration, grabbing a glass that you fill and chug down twice before feeling satisfied enough to continue. Or at least, enough to survive considering just how sore you are. From your knees down you can feel the leftover aches from walking home; the many miles you’d managed to travel in your drunken state now heavy on your mind. There are at least one or two blisters on each foot thanks to your poor choice of footwear while the muscles surrounding your shins feel like they might actually be burning through your flesh.  

As you walk back through the living room you try not to groan at the pain, turning your attention to Miguel who’s now reluctantly awake. 

“Morning, grandpa.” 

You walk over and press the sticky note to his forehead, ignoring the way he swears under his breath and looks at you with narrowed eyes. 

“It’s not nice to assault people with sticky notes before they’ve had coffee.”

Shrugging in response, you walk back to your bedroom to grab your phone, listening to the creak of your couch as Miguel shifts out of place. 

It’s weird that he’s still here. After everything that happened last month, you were certain you’d never have to see him again. Being Peter’s boss and not much else, he’d become nothing more than a disdainful memory as time went on. A poor impression from the past that Peter never talked about. If you were honest, you weren’t expecting to hear about him so soon, much less see him, especially without his mask. 

So seeing him here, sitting so nonchalantly on your couch is a bit strange. Off-putting in a way that leaves you emotionally winded as you sit on the edge of your bed, staring at your notifications. 

There’s about half a dozen apologies from Peter alone, each variation more extreme than the last. Mixed between there’s a few memes and a picture of him pretending to cry on MJ’s floor with the caption sorry for being the worst brother, which you immediately save for future use. There’s also one from Harry asking you to send him a work email that you ignore and another from Gwen once again asking you to come for brunch. 

You glance at the time, noticing that it’s nearing eleven. She and Harry are probably already at their usual spot, munching away on overpriced, organic eggs and inhaling mimosas. (Something you'd normally enjoy but can’t quite fathom doing thanks to the pain currently rippling through your body.) 

Groaning, you curl further into the bed, feeling your head shift like an ocean wave that sends you flying across the room. In response, you shut your eyes as tight as possible, hoping that if you roll with the movements you’ll get used to them faster. 

Immunity through the power of will and all that. 

“I see you’re still alive.” 

You refuse to open your eyes. You need to focus on getting better —on pushing through the swirling motions that attack your brain because if you don’t you’ll be stuck here all day, helpless and in pain and way too dizzy. No longer will you be a person, but instead a shell. A fragile casing of sensitive flesh stretched over bruising bone that will slowly but surely deteriorate over time. 

“Are you always this dramatic?” 

The urge to argue persists, flowing through you just quick enough that you find yourself opening one eye, noticing his stance. 

He’s standing nonchalantly in the centre of your room; hands placed neatly on his hips. On his face, the tiniest of smirks pokes out of the corner of his mouth, prompting you to lift your head, blinking at what feels like a rare sight.

“Are you always this hostile?”

“Only in the morning.”

“Even towards complete strangers?”

“Especially to strangers.”

“Makes sense why you don’t have many friends.” 

“And how would you know that, stranger?”

He’s got that teasing tone that Harry always has. The one that sounds so condescending that it borders flirtation. Immediately it makes you roll your eyes and direct your attention back to your phone, realizing just how little you want to continue this conversation. You’re too hungover. Too sick and tired to do this whole back-and-forth thing, so instead you call Peter, putting the call on speakerphone with a sigh.

It rings twice before the other end clicks to life, a very joyful and awake Peter greeting the both of you. “Good morning friends, how are we doing on this beautiful morning?”

Almost in unison both of you grumble out a quiet fine that makes Peter laugh, prompting you to look at each other with shared disgust. 

“Are you hungover?”

“What do you think?”

“Gwen called me this morning,” he says, changing the subject. “She wants to go for brunch.”

“That’s nice, but I will not be attending on the account of the fact that I’d rather die.” 

“So dramatic,” Miguel chimes in.

Ignoring him, you place your phone onto the pillow next to you and tighten the covers around your throat.

Your head is still spinning but less so, the waves feeling more like lakeside tides than oceanic swells, leaving you thankful. There’s nothing worse than the spins after a night out. You can handle the stomach aches and even the vomiting but the second you can feel that mental drift you’re a goner. 

“Okay well, MJ and I are going to go if you change your mind. Miguel, you're welcome to come too.”

“No thanks,” he says, unsurprisingly. 

There’s a pause after that. One that lasts a solid five seconds but feels like a lifetime longer thanks to the way Miguel continues to stand there, staring at your pathetic frame tucked haphazardly beneath the covers. 

“You know staring is rude, right?”

“Is it?”

“Yeah, and weird too considering I barely know you.”

“You saying it’s weird for strangers to stare at strangers?” 

“A little, yeah, so knock it off.” 

He gives in, his eyes diverting towards the window before they move to the door, motivating his body to leave the room without another word. Once he’s gone you let out a sigh of relief and listen to his footsteps, hearing the way they move through the living room and into the kitchen. 

It makes you wonder why he’s even still here, taking up space in a home he isn’t really welcome in. You figured it was obvious from the beginning that he was nothing more than an overnight guest. A protective stand-in meant to slip away in the dead of night with no word or note. He was never meant to linger the way he is now and a part of you wonders if he already knows. If instead of picking up and applying said social cues, he’s opting to ignore them for some higher purpose. 

It wouldn’t make much sense but then again, you don’t really know Miguel so maybe he’s just a lingerer. Maybe he’s socially awkward and doesn’t understand that when you’re being mean to him it means you want him to leave your house so you can vomit in peace. 

“I see you guys are getting along.”

“Swimmingly.”

“Did you two have a good night?”

“Yes, oh my god it was amazing!”

“Really?”

You offer a fake laugh that Miguel walks in on, raising his brow in confusion. “No, we had a terrible time. Your boss is mean, Peter.” 

Offended, Miguel opens his mouth to speak but quickly closes it, watching the way you smirk beneath the covers, watching his brows knit together.

“How am I mean? I walked you home didn’t I?”

“Sure, begrudgingly.” 

He scoffs, his palms moving to encompass his hips again. “I didn’t realize I was supposed to enjoy walking you home. I’ll remember that next time.”

Next time?

You narrow your eyes and stare directly at him, noticing the way he mirrors your expression. It’s subtle at first, the way the crinkles of his eyes sort of deepen to match the lines across his forehead. His skin is rough —aged looking most likely due to the fact he probably slept terribly— and the bags beneath his eyes are the heaviest you’ve ever seen, even rivalling Peter’s on some of his rougher days. Like you, he looks more like a corpse than a person, his face devoid of anything other than the sickened frustration of having to deal with your attitude.

“I’m gonna be honest if you’re ever running late again, please call someone else.”

It’s obvious you’re talking to Peter but as you speak you continue staring at the man in front of you, glaring at the way his weight shifts beneath your gaze.

You hope he’s uncomfortable. You hope he’s embarrassed or at least feeling a little self-conscious for acting like such a child in a space that he hopefully never feels welcome in. If you were him you’d certainly be.

“Yeah, so, anyway, is that still a no to breakfast or…?”

-

You’re beginning to regret ever wanting to get involved in Peter’s double life. Or at least, its most recent developments. Up until last month, everything was fine. Simple and controlled and not at all hectic like it is now. Back then, everything was smooth sailing when it came to helping. Your only responsibilities being lie to May and make sure the window was always unlocked before you went to bed. Two very mundane tasks you could practically do in your sleep. 

Nowadays, it feels like an endless loop of stress. Kind of like when you were eighteen and just finding out that your brother was a superhero for the first time. Everything is complicated again. The stakes feel higher than ever before knowing the truth that there’s a world out there just like yours, endlessly repeating. That instead of just one Spider-Man there’s probably a million variations doing the same thing Peter’s doing. 

You’d be lying if you said it didn’t make you look at everything differently —intensively. With each new person you pass you wonder what their version is like somewhere else. Are they still male or female? Are they younger? Older?

As you walk into brunch alongside Peter and MJ, it’s all you can think about as you stare at Gwen, remembering her counterpart. How she looked so familiar but you couldn’t quite place it. 

You realize now that it’s because she’s your Gwen, but not. A direct copy but a good decade younger. They have the same hair colour and eyes and that little gap between their front teeth and upon seeing her it makes you wearily shift into your seat, putting on your fakest smile. 

She’s already a bit tipsy when you arrive, you can tell. Her eyes are half closed and the grin plastered across her face is hazardously wide. 

“Oh, my god, hi! I’m so glad you came!”

If it weren’t for the table between you she’d be pulling you in for a hug, tightening her grip around your shoulders until the air inside you was gone. You inhale nervously at the thought, wondering if other Gwen would do the same. 

It’s hard to tell what traits transfer over. Considering she’s a spider person in her universe it’s more than likely she’s completely different, right? Perhaps relating more to Peter. It’d make sense that all spider people kind of have the same vibe. Perhaps like your brother, they’re nerdy and into photography and have partners with nicknames that double as their initials. Like him they'd live double lives, trying their best to find the balance between being crime-fighting arachnids and regular civilians with the help of their sisters. 

Or brothers. You figure in other universes you’re probably a guy too. Hell, maybe even in some you're the spider person having to navigate through life with the help of your brother. 

“Sorry we’re late,” Pete grins, pulling out the chair beside you so that MJ can sit down. “Somebody had a bit too much to drink.”

You shoot him a look as he sits at the head of the table, sticking out his tongue for good measure. 

You hope in the universe where you have superpowers you give him a hard time. 

“It’s fine, we overdid it too,” Gwen says, looking at Harry who rolls his eyes and looks at Peter, the two of them sharing a knowing glance. 

“Hope you wore a condom,” you say, at which MJ and Gwen gasp, both of their mouths curling into cheeky grins that you can’t help but share. 

Its always been obvious that the two of them are together, even though neither of them would ever admit it. It’s weird but Gwen says it’s a part of the intrigue, having this unlabeled relationship that she can just ride without the responsibility of making it a bit deal. 

Both you and MJ think it’s because she secretly likes the drama of it all, but knowing how she’d react to such a claim, neither of you says that out loud. 

“Did you make it home okay?” Gwen changes the subject before anyone can even join in, making you sort of sad because you love to tease. 

“Relatively. Threw up on the walk home but that’s New York, baby.” 

“Walk home?” Harry questions.

You freeze, remembering Miguel. He doesn’t exist in this world. At least, not to anyone other than you and Pete and maybe MJ. You’re not entirely sure what he’s told her but you figure she knows in some capacity because he wouldn’t have called you otherwise. 

“I mean drive, sorry, drive home. I’m still hungover.” You try to laugh it off but Harry and Gwen share that look. The familiar one where they think you’re lying but know better than to actually bring it up. It’s the same look they give you sometimes when you’re covering for Peter and you hate it, feeling your chest tighten every time it’s shared right in front of your face. 

It reminds you of how you felt having Miguel around. Something about the way he looks at you every time you talk fills you with that familiar twang of insignificance. Like whatever you say isn’t good enough. 

With your friends you know it’s because you’re insecure about your lying capabilities. With Miguel though, it’s different. Yes, it feels the same physically but emotionally it’s an entirely new set of feelings. Ones that have you second-guessing their origins, remembering the way your stomach would twist each time he’d insult you. Each time he’d look at you with those dark eyes and pouting mouth. 

Thinking about it now, he reminds you very little of Peter. Aside from the moniker of Spider-Man the only similarities (so far) you can confidently say that they share is the art of sarcasm and deflection. The way their voices can become so monotonous at the drop of a hat is unparalleled, even with all the tension, and it’s frustrating. 

It makes you wish you didn’t wear your emotions on your sleeve. Like Peter and Miguel, you wish you could box it all up in the form of calm words so that nobody even got the chance to look at you the way Harry and Gwen still are. 

Secretly, you wish you were the spider person of this universe. Not because you want to save lives, selfishly. No, you mostly just wish you were stronger like them. Less like yourself and more like your brother who sits at the head of the table holding MJ’s hand with the biggest smile you’ve ever seen. 

And not so secretly, you want what he has. You want to be confident and to have people look at you in a way that’s filled with adoration. To have them survey you and conclude that you’re decent rather than picking out your flaws. You want May to look at you with fondness. You want her to be proud of you in the same way she’s proud of Peter and to affirm your belief that you’re doing alright for yourself even without filling her desires for grandkids. 

You want Harry to look at you with respect. To stop looking through you just because you’re Parker’s sister who just so happens to be smart too. You want him to take him as seriously as he takes Gwen without the sex. Without the implication that to be valued, you need to provide him with something worthwhile. 

You want Gwen to appreciate everything you do for her. To stop taking advantage of you at work and in life —to provide you with the comfort of an actual friend. 

You want value, you decide. Whether that’s through the gain of superpowers or not. All you want is a little bit more than you’re given and you wish you could express that as you sit at the table, watching everyone talk and laugh as if you’re not really there.

Beside you, MJ leans into Peter as he talks, resting her chin on her hand in longing silence while the two across the table sit, completely engrossed. You try your best to listen in too, picking up that the story involves his boss over at the Bugle. Something about how his last few pictures of Spider-Man were so good he nearly fell off his chair. 

You fight the urge to roll your eyes and pull out your phone, scanning the screen mindlessly, clicking on apps and profiles over and over again until the waitress shows up and asks for your order. You get a mimosa regardless of your hangover and a bagel breakfast sandwich with all the extra fixings, knowing you need it. Then you wait. Wordlessly exhausted, wishing that instead of deciding to tag along you’d stayed at home under the comfort of your covers.

-

Once you step over the threshold of your apartment you let out a sigh of relief and sink into the couch alongside Peter who rubs his face. By now your social battery is running at a negative ten, making your mind fill with nervous thoughts that have you frowning as you curl into yourself, clutching your knees to your chest.

You shouldn’t have gone, you decide then. Regardless of the extended invitation, it was obvious you were only invited because Gwen was drunk and felt bad. That’s usually how it went nowadays. 

“They’re a lot, aren’t they?”

Peter’s always known how much you struggle with people —how you overthink every interaction after it’s happened. It’s how it’s always been and he’s used to it. 

As you nod, you feel his hand against your shoulder, tightening. It’s a gesture of understanding but at the moment it feels like pity so you brush him off, frowning even harder. 

“You okay?”

You aren’t. You’re overstimulated from the amount of interacting you’ve done in the last twenty-four hours. From Harry and Gwen to Miguel and back you haven’t had a break all day and you can feel your mask slipping. Physically, your chest is aching for a breath you can’t quite get, the realization of your interactions pushing you over the edge and all you want to do is scream.

You were such an asshole today. Sure, you’re always kind of mean but this morning specifically felt like a step above the rest with the way you argued with Miguel as if you knew him. As if last night was just another night between you, adding to countless others. You were brash and unwelcoming and rude, and despite how you feel about him sometimes, you still feel pretty shit about it.

“Do you need anything?”

“No.” 

Your tone is stubborn, dripping with an arrogance that has Pete sighing because he knows he can’t do much. When you’re in these moods all he can really do is let you live through your anger —to explore the hate you feel inside in private. It’s how you’ve always done things. So when Peter looks at you with sympathy you can know that’s it. He won’t press the matter further. He’ll just get up and leave and go to MJ’s for the night. Check-in in the morning like he usually does.

As he stands you’re met with feelings of both relief and regret, watching the way he carefully pats your head and steps over your legs. Inside, your stomach drops as he wanders to the doorway, slipping on his shoes and coat without saying a word, knowing that it never solves anything —just makes it all messy. 

Again, like always, you wish you were like him in these instances. Because maybe then you could have a normal relationship that doesn’t rely on boundaries you wish didn’t exist. Instead of pushing everyone away you could sit with them —talk to them. Express instead of repress. Prove to them that the love you want is the love you deserve. 

If you were in any other universe you’re certain you could do it. In this one though? 

You’re too scared. 

-

When you’re alone, it happens, the calm before the storm. 

As the hours move and you lay exhausted on the couch staring at your phone, you find yourself scrolling. Distracting yourself from the inevitable breaking point by watching YouTube video after YouTube video. First, you start with your usual poison, simple documentaries about things like haunted houses or murder cases that remained unsolved. Lazily, you click thumbnail and thumbnail, half absorbing all the names and dates and details as you lie prone, trying not to think about it. 

It takes hours for you to fully accept your emotions and when you do it’s a mess. Now lying in bed, it’s nearing eight and your deep dive on unsolved mysteries has turned into videos discussing the topics of the multiverse. You’re not sure why you decided to delve into all that but regardless, as you do you’re in your head again, clutching a pillow tightly against your cheek as you try to steady your thoughts. 

You bet Miguel’s world has a version of you that’s nicer. One that treats him with respect. They’re probably a spider person too which is why he looks at you with such disdain every time you argue. You’re a lesser version of them —no comparison. They’re better and it drives you insane, thinking that the approval of a man you hardly know is important. 

Aside from Peter, there’s absolutely nothing connecting you. You’re from different worlds both literally and figuratively, so it doesn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter.

Except that it does, doesn’t it? Deep down, regardless of how well you know one another, this man has managed to find his way inside your skin. You’re not sure when or how or why but somehow he’s always there, lingering at the back of your mind like a memory. Like he’s absent until he’s not —until something reminds you that he exists and that he thinks you’re too inexperienced to understand that he doesn’t like you. 

You figure he doesn’t like you because you’re stubborn. You’re sure there are other reasons but that’s the only one that really jumps out. The way he speaks to you is a direct example of that. Changing subjects often, he doesn’t like when you push his pull. Doesn’t like when you defy his authority or pry. He wants complete and total control and when you’re around he knows he doesn’t have that. You don’t trust him enough to give it.

His version of you probably gives him whatever he wants. Probably spoils him by following him around like some lost fucking puppy. They’re probably older than you —experienced— and have the backbone of an earthworm. 

He probably loves it. 

Shoving your face into your pillow you let out a loud groan, letting the tears well and overflow against the fabric of your pillowcase.

It’s sudden, the storm. Erupting out of nowhere over something that shouldn’t matter. Quickly, there’s a rage that fills inside you, quietly creeping from the depths of your soul in the form of breathless gasps and shaky hands. 

You turn upwards to face the ceiling, the tears coating your eyes in a layer of disarray. You can’t see anything but the blurred beige above you. Everything moves like brushstrokes across the canvas, thick and liquidy and not quite good-looking. It makes you blink in annoyance and throw your forearms over your head, trying to stop the world from letting you see or shake or feel anything other than regret. 

It’s painful, the storm. It feels like a deep wound being opened back up again. All the build-up of scar tissue is there, shoved amongst the perfectly good parts. Usually, they linger there together but as the wound is peeled open by your own hand, you can feel the worst of it start to push. 

As it surfaces, you can feel the catalyst begin to wake. The rate at which the chemicals in your brain begin to increase, pushing you over the edge.

It fucking hurts. 

By now your wound is gaping, ripping at the base of your chest. It’s hard to breathe under all the pressure of the damaged flesh. Under all the memories of a life you once thought was good. Decent 

In another universe, you hope to god you feel just like this. Like the world is caving in and you’re the last survivor. At least then you wouldn’t feel so alone —so beside yourself while everyone else so carelessly continues moving. 

It helps calm the storm. Thinking of you —another you. Regardless of if they’re better or worse or completely equal to you, the thought of this feeling extending across the expanse of a place you don’t quite understand fills you with ease.

It closes the hole in your chest —pushes all the tainted flesh back inside for safekeeping. Slowly, it settles into something you can handle again, sewing up the edges that’ll inevitably leave a new scar. 

As you sit up from your bed, brushing past the tears to clear your vision, you feel your breath begin to steady. A slow one-through-five inhale, followed by another one-through-five exhale, each one becoming stronger than the last as you look towards the window, noticing the familiar blue and red spandex standing silently on your fire escape. 

He doesn’t move when you notice him. Doesn’t fly through the air or duck out of sight. Standing there, it’s as if instead of flesh he’s made of stone, unwavering in his attempts to watch you carefully through the window. It’s scary if you’re honest. The way he looks so detached from the world. Even without seeing his face, it’s as if there’s nothing behind the angered design that adorns his features below. His emotions feel completely blank underneath the fabric, making you wonder. 

What’s he thinking about?

As you inch toward the edge of the bed, you see him twitch. It’s subtle. The fingers of his right hand sort of jolt lightly in the air, and it’s over before you can even think about it, so you don’t. Instead choosing to forget as you move towards the window. 

Surprisingly, he still doesn’t move. All he does is breathe, letting the rise and fall of his chest ruin the image of his fixed stance. He’s nervous, like you, you determine. Scared, like you.

It motivates your movements, pushing you through the room until you’re standing in front of the window, reaching for it with shaky hands.

Why hasn’t he left yet?

You push open the window, slowly, watching his body begin to move towards it, his leg pushing through the moment you step away.

“What are you doing here?”

He doesn’t respond. At first, you assume it’s because he’s embarrassed and doesn’t know what to say but then he moves. Lifelessly, he brushes past you and wanders into the living room, forcing you to follow as he drops onto the couch with a groan. 

Seriously, why is he here?

You open your mouth to repeat your previous question but are interrupted by his mask. Almost instantly, it disintegrates before your very eyes, revealing fresh injuries that have you holding your tongue because laying there, he looks like Peter after a rough night. Maybe even worse thanks to the shiner that takes a good portion of his left eye. 

“Do you have any painkillers?” 

You don’t even respond before you leave the room, wandering into your bathroom to grab the usual meds you give Peter. They’re prescription, originally given to you for period cramps, but they do wonders on a battered body.

When you reenter, Miguel’s face is scrunched in pain, struggling to find comfort. Because of this, you practically run to the kitchen, grabbing all the usual items: water, ice packs, scotch, carrying it all in one go. 

“What’s the scotch for?”

You untuck a glass from the crook of your elbow and settle on the floor beside the couch, pouring it halfway to the top before downing it.

“None for me?”

You pour another one. “You’re not meant to take it with pills but Peter always says it makes him sleep better.”

“Okay.” 

You’re no doctor, but you’ve experienced this same formula countless times. If he takes one pill with one full glass of water then drinks the scotch, followed by another water he’ll be out like a light in no time.

“Pill, water, scotch, water,” you instruct, watching him closely as he follows suit, chugging back everything in under a minute.

After it’s done he settles into the couch again, tucking ice packs against his face and chest before glancing your way with a grin. “Stuff’s nice. Goes down good.”

He sounds like he’s been hit by a bus, his voice rubbed raw, scratching your brain in a way that makes you squint as you pour yourself another glass.

“Good cause it cost a pretty penny.” 

“Yeah?”

You nod, opting to sip this one, still feeling the burn of the other radiating throughout your chest. “Ben bought it for me. A graduation present or something.” 

“Wasn’t that ages ago?”

“Your point?”

All he does is grin and close his eyes.

-

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